XLIX. W THE FUNERAL. HOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm; The mystery, the sign you must not touch, Viceroy to that which, then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to control And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution. For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall Can tie those parts, and make me one of all, The hairs, which upward grew, and strength and art Have from a better brain, Can better do't: except she meant that I By this should know my pain, As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemned to die. Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me! For since I am Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry To afford to it all that a soul can do, So 'tis some bravery That, since you would have none of me, I bury some of you. L. BEN JONSON, 1573-1637. Ο HESPERUS' SONG. UEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep; Seated in thy silver chair, Hesperus entreats thy light, Earth, let not thy envious shade Heaven to clear, when day did close; Bless us then with wished sight, Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that makest a day of night, LI. CRISPINUS' AND HERMOGENES' SONG. I' F I freely can discover What would please me in my lover: I would have her fair and witty, She should be allowed her passions, Sometimes froward, and then frowning, Purely jealous I would have her, Then only constant when I crave her. 'Tis a virtue should not save her. Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, LII. CLERIMONT'S SONG. STIL TILL to be neat, still to be drest, Though art's hid causes are not found, Give me a look, give me a face, Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. LIII. AN EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY, A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL. WEEP with me all you that read WEEP This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. |