To be so pestered with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answered, neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not; for he made me mad And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark), Was spermaceti, for an inward bruise; SHAKSPEARE. APOSTROPHE TO SLEEP. SLEEP, gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody: O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds; and leavest the kingly couch, Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them SHAKSPEARE. THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE. So farewell to the little good you bear me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; Never to hope again. SHAKSPEARE. THE HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters are, Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame or private breath. Who envies none that chance doth raise, Who hath his life from rumours freed, Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great. Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands WOTTON. THE SWEET NEGLECT. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, Though art's hid causes are not found All is not sweet, all is not sound! Give me a look, give me a face, That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. JONSON. ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. THIS morning, timely wrapt with holy fire, I thought to form unto my zealous Muse, What kind of creature I could most desire To honour, serve, and love; as poets use. I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise, Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great; I meant the day-star should not brighter rise, Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat. I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride; I meant each softest virtue there should meet, Fit in that softer bosom to reside. Only a learned and a manly soul I purposed her; that should, with even powers, The rock, the spindle, and the shears control Of destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, and wished to see, JONSON. THE PLEASURES OF HEAVEN. THERE all the happy souls that ever were, There shall the brother with the sister walk, And sons and daughters with their parents talk; |