« PreviousContinue »
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and
nay, Her feeble force will yield at length, When craft hath taught her thus to say:
“ Had women been so strong as men,
In faith you had not had it then.”
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, -and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew :
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back. The wiles and guiles that women work, Dissembled with an outward show, The tricks and toys that in them lurk, The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought? Think, women love to match with men, And not to live so like a saint: There is no heaven; they holy then Begin, when
doth them attaint. Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.
But soft ; enough,—too much I fear,
Lest that my mistress hear my song ;
She will not stick to ring mine ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.
As it fell upon a day,
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beast did leap, nnd birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring:
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone :
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefullst ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry,
Teru, Teru, by and by :
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ;
None take pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion, he is dead;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead :
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle fortune smild,
Thou and I were both beguild.
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy like the wind ;
Faithful friends are hard to find.
Every man will be thy friend,
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such like flattering,
Pity but he were a king.”
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have him at commandement;
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They, that fawn'd on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need;
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.
Take, oh, take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seald in vain.
Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow,
Are of those that April wears. But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.
Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak'st
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,
’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence :
Love and constancy is dead;
Phænix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they lov'd, as love in twain Had the essence but in one ; Two distincts, division none : Number there in love was slain. Hearts remote, yet not asunder ; Distance, and no space was seen 'Twixt the turtle and his
queen : But in them it were a wonder. So between them love did shine, That the turtle saw his right Flaming in the phenix' sight: Either was the other's mine. Property was thus appall'a, That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was call’d. Reason, in itself confounded, Saw division grow together; To themselves yet either-neither, Simple were so well compounded; That it cried, how true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain. Whereupon it made this threne; To the phonix and the dove, Co-supremes and stars of love ; As chorus to their tragic scene.
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here inclos'd in cinders lie.
Death is now the phænix' nest;
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest.
Leaving no posterity :
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be ;
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair ;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.