And for because my want should more my woe increase, In watch and sleep both day and night my will doth never cease. That thing to wishe whereof synce I did lose the sight, Was never thing that mought in ought my wofull hart delight. Th' uneasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete, The floods, the seas, the land, the hills, that doth them intermete, Twene me and those shene lights that wonted for to clere, My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as bright as Phebus sphere; It teacheth me also, what was my pleasant state, The more to feele by such record how that my welth doth bate. If such record (alas) provoke the inflamed mynde, Which sprung that day that I dyd leave the best of me behynde, If love forgeat himselfe by length of absence let, Who doth me guid (O wofull wretch) unto this baited net : Where doth encrease my care, much better were for me, As dumm as stone all things forgott, still absent for to be. Alas the clear christall, the bright tran splendant glasse, Doth not bewray the colours hid which underneath it hase. As doth the accumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discover, Of teares delyte of fervent love that in our hartes we cover, Out by these eyes, it sheweth that evermore delight; In plaint and teares to seek redress, and eke both day and night. Those kindes of pleasures most wherein men soe rejoice, To me they do redouble still of stormy sighes the voice. For, I am one of them, whom plaint doth well content, It fits me well my absent wealth me semes for to lament, And with my teares t' assy to charge myne eyes twayne, Like as my hart above the brink is fraughted full of payne. And for because thereto, that these fair eyes do treate, Do me provoke, I will returne, my plaint thus to repeate; For there is nothing els, so toucheth me within, Where they rule all, and I alone, nought but the case or skin. Wherefore I shall returne to them as well or spring, From whom descends my mortall wo, above all other thing. So shall myne eyes in paine accompany my heart, That were the guides, that did it lead of love to feel the smart. The crisped gold that doth surmount Appolloe's pride, The lively streames of pleasant starrs that under it doth glyde, Wherein the beames of love doe still increase theire heate, Which yet so far touch me to near in cold to make me sweat, The wise and pleasant take, so rare or else alone, That gave to me the curties gyft, that earst had never none. Be far from me alas, and every other thing, I might forbear with better will, then this that did me bring. With pleasand woord and cheer, redress of lingred payne, And wonted oft in kindled will, to vertue me to trayne. Thus am I forc'd to hear and hearken As they have been of yore. For reason me denyes The wrinkles in my browe, Say lymping age will lodge hym now, Where youth must geve him place. The harbinger of death, To me I see him ride, The cough, the cold, the gasping breath A pickax and a spade Methinkes I hear the clarke My kepers knit the knot, When she hath read and seen, the griefe As I had not been borne. wherein I serve, Between her brests she shall thee put, there shall she thee reserve. Then tell her, that I come, she shall me shortly see, And if for waight the body fayl, the soul shall to her flee. THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH I LOTHE that I dyd love, My lustes they do me leave, For age with stealing steppes My hand and pen are not in plight, Thus must I youth geve up, Whose badge I long dyd weare, To them I yelde the wanton cup, That better may it beare. Lo, here the bare hed skull, By whose balde signe I know, That stouping age away shall pull Which youthful yeres did sowe. For beauty with her band These croked cares hath wrought, And shipped me into the land, From whence I fyrst was brought. And ye that byde behinde, Have ye none other trust As ye of clay were cast by kynd, So shall ye waste to dust. THE LONGER LIFE THE MORE THE longer life the more offence, The shorter life, less count I finde, Come gentle death, the ebbe of care, BEN JONSON. 1573-1637. [Born 1573; educated at Westminster School and (according to Fuller) at St. John's College, Cambridge. After a brief connection with the trade of his step-father, a master brick-layer, he served as a volunteer in the Low Countries, and settled in London as a playwright not later than 1597. His first important comedy, Every Man in his Humour, was acted 1598; his first tragedy, Sejanus, 1603. His masques chiefly belong to the reign of James I., more especially to its earlier part. He wrote nothing for the stage from 1616 to 1625. After this he produced a few more plays, vithout permanently securing the favor of the public. Of these plays the last but two was The New Inn, the complete failure of which on the stage provoked Jonson's longer Ode to Himself. He enjoyed, however, in his later years, besides a fluctuating court patronage, the general homage of the English world of letters as its veteran chief. He died in London, August 6, 1637. The First Folio edition of his Works, published in 1616, included the Book of Epigrams, and the lyrics and epistles gathered under the heading The Forest in the same Folio; the Second Folio, published posthumously in 1641, contained the larger and (as its name implies) supplementary collection, called Underwoods by its author.] THE SWEET NEGLECT. Give me a looke, give me a face, With which heaven's gates she locketh and displays. A crystal mirror hangeth at her breast, By which men's consciences are searched and drest; On her coach-wheels Hypocrisy lies racked; And squint-eyed Slander with Vainglory backed Her bright eyes burn to dust, in which shines Fate: An angel ushers her triumphant gait, Whilst with her fingers fans of stars she twists, And with them beats back Error, clad in mists. Eternal Unity behind her shines, That fire and water, earth and air com bines. Her voice is like a trumpet loud and shrill, Which bids all sounds in earth and heaven be still. EPODE.1 [From The Forest.] NOT to know vice at all, and keep true state, Is virtue and not Fate; Next to that virtue, is to know vice well, And her black spite expel. Which to effect (since no breast is so sure Or safe, but she'll procure Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard Of thoughts to watch and ward At the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind, That no strange or unkind Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy Give knowledge instantly To wakeful reason, our affections' king: Who, in th' examining, Will quickly taste the treason, and commit Close the close cause of it. 1 The following is only the earlier (general) part of this fine Epode, "sung to deep ears," 'Tis the securest policy we have To make our sense our slave. But this true course is not embraced by many By many? scarce by any. For either our affections do rebel, That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep; Or some great thought doth keep Back the intelligence, and falsely swears They are base and idle fears Whereof the loyal conscience so complains. Thus, by these subtle trains Do several passions invade the mind, TO CELIA. I. DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss within the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink divine: But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, It could not withered be; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, JEALOUSY. WRETCHED and foolish Jealousy, I wish the sun should shine On all men's fruits and flowers, as well as mine. [MICHAEL DRAYTON was born at Hartshull in Warwickshire about the year 1563. He died on the 23d of December, 1631, and lies buried in Westminster Abbey. In 1591 he published The Harmony of the Church, which was for some unknown reason refused a license, and has never been reprinted till recently. It was followed by Idea and The Pastorals, 1593; Mortimeriados (the Barons' Wars), 1596; The Heroical Epistles (one had been separately printed, 1598); The Owl, 1604; Legends of Cromwell and others, 1607-1613; Polyolbion (first eighteen books, 1612, whole, 1622); The Battle of Agincourt, 1626; besides minor works at intervals.] |