Upon your brydale day, which is not long: So ended she; and all the rest around So forth those joyous birdes did passe along, 110 115 And all the foule which in his flood did dwell Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell 120 The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend The lesser starres: so they, enrangèd well, And their best service lend Against their wedding-day, which was not long: 125 Sweete Themmes, run softly, till I end my song. At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kyndly nurse, That to me gave this lifes first native sourse, 130 There when they came, whereas those bricky towres, Next whereunto there standes a stately place, Of that great lord which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feeles my freendles case. Olde woes but joyes to tell, Against the bridale daye, which is not long: Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end my song. 140 Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, Great Englands glory and the worlds wide wonder, Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder, And Hercules two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare. 145 Faire branch of honor, flower of chevalrie, 150 That fillest England with thy triumphes fame, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name, That through thy prowesse and victorious armes 155 Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes, Through al the world, filed with thy wide alarmes; 160 To ages following, Upon the brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end my song. From those high towers this noble lord issuing, Like radiant Hesper when his golden hayre 165 With a great traine ensuing. Above the rest were goodly to bee seene Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, 170 With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature Fit for so goodly stature, That like the twins of Jove they seemed in sight, 175 Received those two faire brides, their loves delight; Each one did make his bryde, Against their brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end my song. 180 1596. 1596. SIR WALTER RALEIGH THE SILENT LOVER Passions are likened best to floods and streams; The bottom is but shallow whence they come. HIS PILGRIMAGE Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My bottle of salvation, 1651? 5 My gown of glory, hope's true gage; 5 Whilst my soul, like a quiet palmer, Travelleth towards the land of heaven, ΤΟ Where spring the nectar fountains. There will I kiss The bowl of bliss, And drink mine everlasting fill 15 Upon every milken hill. My soul will be a-dry before, But, after, it will thirst no more. Then, by that happy blissful day, More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, To quench their thirst 20 20 No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, For there Christ is the King's Attorney, 40 Who pleads for all, without degrees, And He hath angels but no fees. And when the grand twelve-million jury Against our souls black verdicts give, 45 Christ pleads His death; and then we live. Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader! Unblotted Lawyer! true Proceeder! and spread, Set on my soul an everlasting head! Then am I ready, like a palmer fit, To tread those blest paths, which before I writ. About 1603. 1651 ? 55 THE CONCLUSION Even such is Time, that takes on trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, Who in the dark and silent grave, 5 But from this earth, this grave, this dust, 1628. 1618? JOHN LYLY SONG BY APELLES Cupid and my Campaspe played He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, Loses them too. Then down he throws 5 The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how); With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin: 1581? 1584. WHAT BIRD SO SINGS, YET SO DOES WAIL What bird so sings, yet so does wail? O'tis the ravished nightingale; ΙΟ “Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise: Brave prick-song! Who is 't now we hear? 5 None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. |