Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, In that it falls her sacrifice.
Pursue no more, my thoughts, that false unkind; You may as soon imprison the north-wind, Or catch the lightning as it leaps, or reach The leading billow first ran down the breach, Or undertake the flying clouds to track
In the same path they yesterday did rack.
Then like a torch turned downward, let the same Desire which nourished it, put out your flame.
Lo, thus I do divorce thee from my breast, False to thy vow, and traitor to my rest! Henceforth thy tears shall be, though thou repent, Like pardons after execution sent. Nor shalt thou ever my love's story read, But as some epitaph of what is dead.
So may my hope on future blessings dwell, As 'tis my firm resolve and last farewell.
My once dear love, hapless that I no more Must call thee so, the rich affection's store That fed our hopes lies now exhaust and spent, Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent.
We that did nothing study but the way To love each other, with which thoughts the day Rose with delight to us, and with them set, Must learn the hateful art how to forget.
We that did nothing wish that heav'n could give Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must As if not writ in faith, but words and dust.
Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make, Witness the chaste desires that never brake Into unruly heats; witness that breast Which in thy bosom anchored his whole rest; 'Tis no default in us, I dare acquite Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white
As thy pure self. Cross planets did envý Us to each other, and heaven did untie Faster than vows could bind. Oh, that the stars, When lovers meet, should stand opposed in wars!
Since, then, some higher destinies command, Let us not strive, nor labor to withstand What is past help. The longest date of grief Can never yield a hope of our relief; And though we waste ourselves in moist laments, Tears may drown us, but not our discontents.
Fold back our arms, take home our fruitless loves, That must new fortunes try, like turtle doves Dislodged from their haunts. We must in tears Unwind a love knit up in many years. In this last kiss I here surrender thee Back to thyself, so thou again art free; Thou in another, sad as that, resend The truest heart that lover e'er did lend.
Now turn from each. So fare our severed hearts As the divorced soul from her body parts.
Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, Instead of dirges, this complaint; And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse,
Receive a strew of weeping verse From thy grieved friend, whom thou might'st see
Quite melted into tears for thee.
Dear loss! since thy untimely fate My task hath been to meditate On thee, on thee; thou art the book, The library whereon I look, Though almost blind. For thee, loved clay,
I languish out, not live, the day, Using no other exercise
But what I practise with mine As day tells hours. By thy clear
Which such a strange eclipse doth I give thee what I could not keep.
And follow thee with all the speed Meantime, thou hast her, earth; Desire can make, or sorrows breed. much good Each minute is a short degree,
Like to the falling of a star, Or as the flights of eagles are, Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, Or silver drops of morning dew, Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood: Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up, the star is shot; The flight is past, and man forgot.
FROM Harleian Ms. 6917
A contemplation upon flowers
Brave flowers, that I could gallant it like you And be as little vain!
You come abroad and make a harmless show, And to your beds of earth again;
You are not proud, you know your birth, For your embroidered garments are from earth.
You do obey your months and times, but I Would have it ever spring;
My fate would know no winter, never die Nor think of such a thing;
Oh, that I could my bed of earth but view And smile, and look as cheerfully as you.
Oh, teach me to see death and not to fear, But rather to take truce;
How often have I seen you at a bier,
And there look fresh and spruce;
You fragrant flowers, then teach me that my breath Like yours may sweeten, and perfume my death.
The Introduction and Notes are at page 1010 FROM JOHN PLAYFORD's Select Musical Airs and Dialogues, 1653 [Victorious beauty]
With characters of beauty And such a one, as some that view
Her lovely face perhaps may say, Though you have stolen my heart away,
If all your servants prove not true May steal a heart or two from you.
FROM HENRY LAWES's Airs and Dialogues, 1653
A dialogue betwixt Time and a Pilgrim Pilg. Aged man that mows these fields- Time, Pilgrim speak, what is thy will?
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