Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke: why swell'st thou, then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.

1633.

ΙΟ

THOMAS HEYWOOD*

PACK, CLOUDS, AWAY, AND WELCOME, DAY
Pack, clouds, away, and welcome, day!
With night we banish sorrow.

Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft,
To give my love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow.

Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing,
To give my love good-morrow!

To give my love good-morrow,
Notes from them all I'll borrow.

Wake from thy rest, robin-redbreast;
Sing, birds, in every furrow!
And from each bill let music shrill

Give my fair love good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow,
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves
Sing my fair love good-morrow!
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing, birds, in every furrow!

1605?

JOHN FLETCHER

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ΙΟ

15

20

1608.

SHEPHERDS ALL AND MAIDENS FAIR

Shepherds all, and maidens fair,
Fold your flocks up, for the air
'Gins to thicken, and the sun

Already his great course hath run.

See the dew-drops how they kiss
Every little flower that is,
Hanging on their velvet heads
Like a rope of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And bright Hesperus down calling
The dead night from under ground;
At whose rising mists unsound,
Damps and vapours fly apace,
Hovering o'er the wanton face

Of these pastures, where they come
Striking dead both bud and bloom.
Therefore from such danger lock
Every one his loved flock;

And let your dogs lie loose without,
Lest the wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, and ere day
Bear a lamb or kid away,

Or the crafty thievish fox

Break upon your simple flocks.

HENCE, ALL YOU VAIN DELIGHTS

Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly!
There's naught in this life sweet,

If man were wise to see 't,

But only melancholy,

O sweetest melancholy!

5

Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up without a sound;
Fountain-heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale Passion loves;
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls.
A midnight bell, a parting groan,
These are the sounds we feed upon,
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley.
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
About 1613?

CARE-CHARMING SLEEP

1647.

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!
About 1616.

THE BEGGARS' HOLIDAY
Cast our caps and cares away:
This is beggars' holiday!
At the crowning of our king,
Thus we ever dance and sing.
In the world look out and see,
Where so happy a prince as he?
Where the nation live so free

ΙΟ

15

5

ΙΟ

1647..

5

And so merry as do we?

Be it peace or be it war,

Here at liberty we are,

And enjoy our ease and rest.

To the field we are not pressed,

ΙΟ

ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

Mortality, behold and fear:

What a change of flesh is here!

Think how many royal bones

Sleep within this heap of stones.

Here they lie had realms and lands,

Who now want strength to stir their hands,
Where from their pulpits, sealed with dust,

They preach, "In greatness is no trust."

Here's an acre sown indeed

With the richest, royallest seed

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ΙΟ

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.

Before 1616.

1640.

JOHN WEBSTER

A DIRGE

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.

151

5

ΙΟ

1612.

HARK! NOW EVERYTHING IS STILL

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.

5

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