Groom.-Then I perceive, when from the flame Bride.-'Tis true, for when that mutual change Bride.-Thy bosom then I'll make my nest, Since there my willing soul doth perch. Groom.-And for my heart, in thy chaste breast, I'll make an everlasting search. O blest disunion, that doth so Our bodies from our souls divide; INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED KNOW, Celia (since thou art so proud), Of common beauties lived unknown, That killing power is none of thine; I gave it to thy voice and eyes; Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Tempt me with such affrights no more, Let fools thy mystic forms adore; I'll know thee in thy mortal state. Wise poets, that wrapped the truth in tales, THOMAS DEKKER Circa 1570-1641 LULLABY GOLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes, Rock them, rock a lullaby. Care is heavy, therefore sleep you, Rock them, rock a lullaby. SWEET CONTENT ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! Honest labour bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? Then he that patiently want's burden bears Honest labour bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! THOMAS HEYWOOD --1649? GOOD-MORROW PACK, clouds, away, and welcome day To give my Love good-morrow; To give my Love good-morrow, Wake from thy nest, Robin-redbreast, Give my fair Love good-morrow! ROBERT HERRICK 1591-1674 TO DIANEME SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes TO MEADOWS YE have been fresh and green, Ye have been filled with flowers; And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours. Ye have beheld how they With wicker arks did come To kiss and bear away The richer cowslips home. You've heard them sweetly sing, With honeysuckles crowned. But now we see none here Whose silvery feet did tread, And with dishevelled hair Adorned this smoother mead. Like unthrifts, having spent Your stock, and needy grown, You're left here to lament Your poor estates alone. TO BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, |