Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due,

It makes the father less to rue.

At six months' end she parted hence

With safety of her innocence;

Whose soul Heaven's Queen (whose name she bears),

In comfort of her mother's tears,

Hath placed among her virgin train:
Where, while that severed doth remain,
This grave partakes the fleshly birth,
Which cover lightly, gentle earth.

ECHO'S LAMENT FOR NARCISSUS

SLOW, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; Yet, slower yet; O faintly, gentle springs;

List to the heavy part the music bears;

Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers;

Fall grief in showers,

Our beauties are not ours;

O, I could still,

Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,

Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil.

AN EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY, A CHILD OF
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL

WEEP with me, all you that read
This little story;

And know, for whom a tear you shed
Death's self is sorry.

It was a child that so did thrive

In grace and feature,

As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive
Which owned the creature.

Years he numbered scarce thirteen

When fates turned cruel,

Yet three filled zodiacs had he been
The stage's jewel;

And did act (what now we moan)
Old men so duly,

Ah, sooth, the Parcae thought him one

He played so truly.

So by error to his fate

They all consented,

But viewing him since, alas, too late

They have repented;

And have sought, to give new birth,
In baths to steep him;

But being much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.

JOHN FLETCHER

1579-1625

INVOCATION TO SLEEP, FROM VALENTINIAN

CARE-CHARMING Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud
Or painful to his slumbers;-easy, sweet,
And as a purling stream, thou son of Night,
Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain
Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain;

Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride!

TO BACCHUS

GOD LYÆUS, ever young,

Ever honoured, ever sung;

Stained with blood of lusty grapes

In a thousand lusty shapes;
Dance upon the mazer's brim,
In the crimson liquor swim;
From thy plenteous hand divine,
Let a river run with wine:

God of Youth, let this day here
Enter neither care nor fear.

JOHN WEBSTER

(?)-1625

SONG FROM THE DUCHESS OF MALFI

HARK, now everything is still,

The screech-owl and the whistler shrill

Call upon our dame aloud,

And bid her quickly don her shroud :

Much you had of land and rent,
Your length in clay's now competent;
A long war disturbed your mind,
Here your perfect peace is signed.

Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,

Their death a hideous storm of terror.

Strew your hair with powders sweet,

Don clean linen, bathe your feet,

And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck;

'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;
End your groan and come away.

SONG FROM THE DEVIL'S LAW-CASE

ALL the flowers of the spring
Meet to perfume our burying;

These have but their growing prime,
And man does flourish but his time.
Survey our progress from our birth;
We're set, we grow, we turn to earth,
Courts adieu, and all delights,
All bewitching appetites!
Sweetest breath and clearest eye,
Like perfumes, go out and die;
And consequently this is done
As shadows wait upon the sun.
Vain the ambition of kings

Who seek by trophies and dead things

To leave a living name behind,

And weave but nets to catch the wind.

IN EARTH, DIRGE FROM VITTORIA COROMBONA

CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,

Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm

And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm;

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

For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN

1585-1649

SONG

PHEBUS, arise!

And paint the sable skies

With azure, white, and red:

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed
That she thy career may with roses spread:

The nightingales thy coming each-where sing:
Make an eternal Spring!

Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;
Spread forth thy golden hair

In larger locks than thou wast wont before,

And emperor-like decore

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:

Chase hence the ugly night

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.

This is that happy morn,

That day, long-wished day

Of all my life so dark

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn

And fates not hope betray),

Which, purely white, deserves

An everlasting diamond should it mark.

This is the morn should bring unto this grove

My Love, to hear and recompense my love.

Fair king, who all preserves,

But show thy blushing beams,

And thou two sweeter eyes