Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams Did once thy heart surprise. Nay, suns, which shine as clear As thou, when two thou didst to Rome appear. A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, Let Zephyr only breathe, Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death. Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels: And nothing wanting is, save She, alas! SLEEP, SILENCE' CHILD SLEEP, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe ; Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath : TO THE NIGHTINGALE DEAR chorister, who from these shadows sends, And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains Sith, winter gone, the sun in dappled sky Now smiles on meadows, mountains, woods, and plains? The bird, as if my question did her move, With trembling wings sobbed forth, 'I love! I love!' Her hair about her eyne, With neck and breast's ripe apples to be seen, At first glance of the morn, In Cyprus' gardens gathering those fair flowers I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours. The winds and trees amazed With silence on her gazed; The flowers did smile, like those upon her face, A hyacinth I wished me in her hand. MADRIGAL II THE beauty and the life Of life's and beauty's fairest paragon, The soul with many a groan Had left each outward part, And now did take its last leave of the heart; Seeing so fair him come in lips, cheeks, eyes, BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER 1586-1616 1579-1625 I DIED TRUE LAY a garland on my hearse Maidens willow branches bear; My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Lightly, gentle earth, FRANCIS BEAUMONT 1586-1616 ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY MORTALITY, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Sleep within these heaps of stones; Who now want strength to stir their hands; With the richest royallest seed That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried, 'Though gods they were, as men they died! Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. SIR FRANCIS KYNASTON 1587-1642 TO CYNTHIA, ON CONCEALMENT OF HER BEAUTY Do not conceal those radiant eyes, The starlight of serenest skies; Lest, wanting of their heavenly light, Do not conceal those tresses fair, Do not conceal those breasts of thine, Do not conceal that fragrant scent, No spices grow in all the rest. Do not conceal thy heavenly voice, Which makes the hearts of gods rejoice; Lest, music hearing no such thing, The nightingale forget to sing. Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse, Lest that the seas cease to bring forth Do not conceal no beauty, grace, |