And thou yet in that frost Which flower and fruit hath lost, As if all here immortal were, dost stay. For shame! thy powers awake, Look to that Heaven which never night makes black, And there at that immortal sun's bright rays, Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days! 232. TH Saint John Baptist HE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he than man more harmless found and mild. His food was locusts, and what young doth spring With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. There burst he forth: All ye, whose hopes rely On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn ; Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!' -Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? Only the echoes, which he made relent, 6 LOVE is the blossom where there blows Every thing that lives or grows : Love doth make the Heav'ns to move, Love the strong and weak doth yoke, And makes the ivy climb the oak, Under whose shadows lions wild, Soften'd by love, grow tame and mild: Love no med'cine can appease, He burns the fishes in the seas: Not all the skill his wounds can stench, While in his leaves there shrouded lay I the bud and blossom am. Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be! See, see the flowers that below Like unto a summer shade, But now born, and now they fade. Every thing doth pass away; There is danger in delay: Come, come, gather then the rose, Gather it, or it you lose! All the sand of Tagus' shore Every grape of every vine Is gladly bruised to make me wine: FRANCIS BEAUMONT 1586-1616 234. On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey MORTALITY, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Think how many royal bones Sleep within this heap of stones : Here they lie had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands: Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried 'Though gods they were, as men they died.' Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings; Here's a world of pomp and state, 235. 236. Dawn FLY hence, shadows, that do keep Fly hence, shadows, that do keep 1586-1639 1588-1667 Many a merry meeting My love and I have had; She was my only sweeting, She made my heart full glad; The tears stood in her eyes Like to the morning dew: Her cheeks were like the cherry, The fives did fit her shoe: In summer time or winter She had her heart's desire; I still did scorn to stint her From sugar, sack, or fire; The world went round about, No cares we ever knew: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo! To maidens' vows and swearing Henceforth no credit give; You may give them the hearing, But never them believe; They are as false as fair, Unconstant, frail, untrue: For mine, alas! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo! |