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The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty,
Is lust in action ; and till action, lust

Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle,
Is perjur’d, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty ;
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;

A little pale, with damask dye to grace her,
Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight;

None fairer, nor one falser to deface her.
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,

Her lips to mine how often hath she join’d,
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,

Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
On purpose laid to make the taker mad :

How many tales to please me hath she coin'd,
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ;

Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing!
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
A bliss in proof,—and prov’d, a very woe;

Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream:

She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth,
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well She burnt with love, as soon as straw out burneth;
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing,

She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?
Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain ;

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.
Have put on black, and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain :

If music and sweet poetry agree,
by
And truly not the morning sun of heaven

As they must needs, the sister and the brother, Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,

Then inust the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even

Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Doth half that glory to the sober west,

Downland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
As those two mourning eyes become thy face.

Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ;
O let it then as well beseem thy heart

Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such,
***
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,

As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
And suit thy pity like in every part.

Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound,
Then will I swear beauty herself is black,

That Phebus' lute, the queen of music, makes: And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,

When as himself to singing he betakes.
O call not me to justify the wrong,

One god is god of both, as poets feign;

One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue ; Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded,
Use power with power, and slay me not by art.

Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring!
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,

Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded!
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside.

Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting! What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, might

And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can bide?

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ;
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows

For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;

And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,

For why? I craved nothing of thee still:
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee;
Yet do not so ; but since I am near slain,

Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.

Crabbed age and youth,
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,

Cannot live together; 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,

Youth is full of pleasance,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Age is full of care :
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. Youth like summer morn,
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,

Age like winter weather;
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee :

Youth like suinmer brave,
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; Age like winter bare.
Thy grace being gain’d, cures all disgrace in me. Youth is full of sport,
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; Age's breath is short,
Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Exhal’st this vapour vow ; in thee it is:

Youth is hot and bold,
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.

Age is weak and cold ; Jf by me broke, what fool is not so wise

Youth is wild, and age is tame. To break an oath to win a paradise ?

Age, I do abhor thee; Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle,

Youth I do adore thee ;

O, my love, my love is young:

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, Age I do defy thee;

Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. O sweet shepherd, hie thee,

Do not call it sin in me, For methinks thou stay'st too long.

That I am forsworn for thee;

Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,

Juno but an Ethiope were ; A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly ;

And deny himself for Jore,
A flower that dies, when first it'gins to bud;

Turning mortal for thy love."
A brittle glass, that's broken presently;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

As it fell upon a day,
And as goods lost are seld or never found,

In the merry month of May, As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,

Sitting in a pleasant shade As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,

Which a grove of myrtles made, As broken glass no cement can redress,

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost,

Trees did grow, and plants did spring: In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

Every thing did banish moan, Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share :

Save the nightingale alone : She bade good night, that kept my rest away;

She, poor bird, as all forlorn,

Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care, To descant on the doubts of my decay. [row;"

And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,

That to hear it was great pity: “ Farewell," quoth she, “and come again to-mor

Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, Farewell, I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Teru, Teru, by and by: Yet at my parting sweetly she did smile,

That to hear her so complain, In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:

Scarce I could from tears refrain; May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,

For her griefs, so lively shewn,
May be, again to make me wander thither:
Wander, a word for shadows like myself,

Made me think upon mine own.
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain;

None take pity on thy pain : Lord how mine eyes threw gazes to the east ! Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest,

King Pandion, be is dead; Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead: While Philomela sings, I sit and mark,

All thy fellow birds do sing, And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; Careless of thy sorrowing. For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty, Even so, poor bird, like thee, And drives away dark dismal dreaming night:

None alive will pity me. The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ;

Whilst as fickle fortune smild,
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight:

Thou and I were both beguild,
Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow; Every one that flatters thee
For why? she sighed and bade me come to-morrow. no friend in misery.
Were I with her, the night would post too soon ; Words are easy like the wind;
But now are minutes added to the hours:

Faithful friends are hard to find.
To spite me now each minute seems an hour; Every man will be thy friend,
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! Whilst thou hast where with to spend ;
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now But if store of crowns be scant,
borrow;

No man will supply thy want. Short night, to-nighi, and length thyself to-morrow. If that one be prodigal,

Bountiful they will him call; On a day (alack the day :)

And with such like flattering, Love, whose month was ever May,

“ Pity but he were a king." Spy'd a blossom passing fair,

If he be addict to vice, Playing in the wanton air.

Quickly him they will entice; Through the velvet leaves the wind,

If to women he be bent, All unseen, 'gan passage find;

They have him at commandement; That the lover, sick to death,

But if fortune once do frown, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath:

Then farewel his great renowo : “ Air,” quoth he," thy cheeks may blow;

They that fawn'd on him before, Air, would I might triumph so !

Use his company no more. But, alas! my hand hath sworn

He that is thy friend indeed, Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:

He will help thee in thy need;

THRENOS.

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FROM THE TEMPEST.

If thou sorrow he will weep;

Co-supremes and stars of love,
If thou wake, he cannot sleep:

As chorus to their tragic scene.
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear thee part.
These are certain signs to know

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

Grace in all simplicity,

Here inclos'd in cinders lie. Let the bird of loudest lay,

Death is now the phenix' nest; On the sole Arabian tree,

And the turtle's loyal breast Herald sad and trumpet be,

To eternity doth rest, To whose sound chaste wings obey.

Leaving no posterity : But thou shrinking harbinger,

'Twas not their infirmity, Foul pre-currer of the fiend,

It was married chastity.
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near.

Truth may seem, but cannot be ;

Beauty brag, but 'tis not she; From this session interdict

Truth and beauty buried be. Every fowl of tyrant wing,

To this urn let those repair
Save the eagle, feather'd king;

That are either true or fair ;
Keep the obsequy so strict.

For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,

SONGS FROM SHAKSPEARE'S PLAYS.
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,

Come unto these yellow sands, That thy sable gender mak'st

And then take hands : With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,

Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

(The wild waves whist) Here the anthem doth commence :-

Foot it featly here and there ; Love and constancy is dead ;

And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.

Hark, hark ! Phenix and the turtle fled

Bur. In a mutual flame from hence.

Bough, wowgh,

[dispersedly.

The watch-dogs bark : So they lov’d, as love in twain

Bur. Bough, wowgh, Had the essence but in one ;

Hark, hark! I hear Two distincts, division none :

The strain of struiting chanticlere
Number there in love was slain.

Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.
Hearts removed, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen

Full fathom five thy father lies, 'Twixt the turtle and his queen ;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes :
But in them it were a wonder.

Nothing of him that can fade,
So between them love did shine,

But doth suffer a sea-change,
That the turtle saw his right

Into something rich and strange.
Flaming in the phænix sight:

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,
Either was the other's mine.

Hark, now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell.
Property was thus appallid,

[Burden, ding-doug. That the self was not the same ; Single nature's double name

Where the bee sucks, there lurk I:
Neither two nor one was callid.

In a cowslip's bell I lie :

There I couch when owls do cry.
Reason, in itself confounded,

On the bats back I do fly,
Saw division grow together ;

After sunset, merrily:
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded,

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
That it cried, how true a twain,
Seemeth this concordant one!

FROM TWELFTH-NIGHT.
Love hath reason, reason none,

Come away, come away, death,
If what parts can so remain.

And in sad cypress let me be laid ;
Whereupon it made this threne

Fly away, fly away, breath ;
To the phenix and the dove,

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

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Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither ;

Here shall he see

No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live is the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hitber, come bither;

Here shall he see

No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.

Spring.
When daisies pied, and violets blue,

And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckow-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckow then, on every tree,
Mocks marry'd men, for thus sings he,

Cuckow;
Cuckow, cuckow,–0 word of fear,
Unpleasing to a marry'd ear!
When shepherd's pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are plowmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,

And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckow then, on every tree,
Mocks marry'd men, for thus sings he,

Cuckow;
Cuckow, cuckow,-0 word of fear,
Unpleasing to a marry'd ear!

Winter.
When icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sing he staring owl,

To-who;
Tu-wbit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude ;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green daily
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere daily

Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot :
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember'd not.
Heigh ho! sing, &c.

Why should this a desert be?

For it is unpeopled ? No; Tongues I'll hang on every tree,

That shall civil sayings show. Some, how brief the life of man

Runs his erring pilgrimage ; That the stretching of a span

Buckles in his sum of age. Some, of violated vows

"Twixt the souls of friend and friend : But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every sentence end,

A DIRGE.

Will I Rosalinda write ;

And with leaves and flowers do cover
Teaching all that read, to know

The friendless bodies of unburied men.
This quintescence of every sprite

Call unto his funeral dole
Heaven would in little show.

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,
Therefore heaven nature charg'd,

To raise him hillocks that shall keep him warm,
That one body should be fillid

And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm; With all graces wide enlarg'd:

But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,
Nature presently distillid

For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
Helen's cheek, but not her heart;

Cleopatra's majesty :
Atalanta's better part;

Hark, now every thing is still ;
Sad Lucretia's modesty.

The screech-owl, and the whistler shrill,
Thus Rosalind of many parts

Call upon our dame aloud,
By heavenly synod was devis'd :

And bid her quickly d'on her shroud.

Much
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

ye

had of land and rent;
To have the touches dearest priz’d.

Your length in clay now's competent.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,

A long war disturb'd the mind :
And I to live and die her slave.

Here the perfect peace is signed.

Of what is't fools make such vain keeping ?
FROM CYMBELINE.

Sin, their conception ; their birth, weeping :
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

Their life, a general mist of error,
And Phæbus 'gins arise,

Their death, a hideous storm of terror.
His steeds to water at those springs

Strew the hair with powder sweet,
On chalic'd flowers that lies;

D'on clean linen, bathe the feet :
And winking Mary-buds begin

And (the foul fiend more to check)
To ope their golden eyes ;

A crucifix let bless the neck.
With every thing that pretty bin ;

'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day:
My lady sweet, arise ;

End the groan, and come away.
Arise, arise !

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BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

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Guid. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages :
Both golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ;
Care no more to clothe, and eat ;

To thee the reed is as the oak :
The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this and come to dust.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Aru. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan :
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee and come to dust.
Guid. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee !
Guid. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Aru. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have ;

And renowned be thy grave!

FROM THE ELDER BROTHER.
Beauty clear and fair,

Where the air
Rather like a perfume dwells,

Where the violet and the rose

Their blue veins in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else :
Where to live near,

And planted there,
Is to live, and still live new ;

Where to gain a favour is

More than light, perpetual bliss,
Make me live by serving you.
Dear, again back recall

To this light,
A stranger to himself and all;

Both the wonder and the story

Shall be yours, and eke the glory:
I am your servant, and your thrall.

JOHN WEBSTER.

FROM THE MAID'S TRAGEDY.
Asp. Lay a garland on my hearse,

Of the dismal yew ;
Maidens willow branches bear;

Say, I died true :
My love was false, but I was firm

From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie

Lightly, gentle earth!

A DIRGE.
Call for the Robin-red-breast, and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,

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