ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKESPEARE. [Under the frontispiece to the first edition of his works: 1623.] THIS figure that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut, Wherein the graver had a strife With nature, to outdo the life: O could he but have drawn his wit, His face; the print would then surpass George Wither. CHRISTMAS. O now is come our joyful'st feast; Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is drest, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, And let us all be merry. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, Without the door let sorrow lie; Now every lad is wondrous trim, Our lasses have provided them Young men and maids, and girls and boys, And you anon shall by their noise Perceive that they are merry. Rank misers now do sparing shun; Their hall of music soundeth; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, The country folks, themselves advance, And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry. Ned Squash hath fetcht his bands from pawn, And all his best apparel; Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn With droppings of the barrel; And those that hardly all the year Had bread to eat, or rags to wear, Now poor men to the justices With capons make their errants; And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants: But now they feed them with good cheer, And what they want they take in beer, For Christmas comes but once a year, And then they shall be merry. Good farmers in the country nurse The client now his suit forbears, Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, Hark! now the wags abroad do call For nuts and apples scrambling. Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound! Anon they'll think the house goes round, For they the cellar's depth have found, And there they will be merry. The wenches with their wassail-bowls Our honest neighbours come by flocks, And here they will be merry. Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes have, And mate with everybody; The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play the noddy. Some youths will now a mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-ho, And twenty other gambols mo, Then, wherefore, in these merry days, No, let us sing some roundelays, To make our mirth the fuller: And, while we thus inspired sing, Bear witness we are merry. George Herbert. VIRTUE. SWEET day! so cool, so calm, so bright, The dews shall weep thy fall to-night; Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, And thou must die. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses; And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, But, though the whole world turn to coal, SUNDAY. DAY most calm, most bright, The fruit of this, the next world's bud, The indorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a Friend, and with His blood; The couch of time, care's balm and bay: The week were dark, but for thy light; Thy torch doth show the way. |