So have I seen some tender slip, Gentle lady, may thy grave Devoted to thy virtuous name; Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sit'st in glory, That fair Syrian shepherdess, 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 IX. SONG on MAY MORNING. NOW the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long. ON SHAKSPEARE. 1630. WHAT needs my Shakspeare for his honour'd bones The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument. For whilst, to th' shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow; and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took; Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much conceiving; And, so sepúlcher'd, in such pomp dost lie, That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die. 5 10 15 XI. ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER, Who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reason of the plague. 5 HERE lies old Hobson; Death hath broke his girt, And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt; Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one, He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. 'Twas such a shifter, that, if truth were known, Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he had, any time this ten years full, Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and The Bull. And surely Death could never have prevail'd, Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd; 10 But lately finding him so long at home, And thinking now his journey's end was come, And that he had ta'en up his latest inn, In the kind office of a chamberlin Show'd him his room where he must lodge that night, Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light: If any ask for him, it shall be said, "Hobson has supt, and's newly gone to bed." 16 XII. ANOTHER ON THE SAME. HERE lieth one, who did most truly prove Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime Vol. II. K 5 10 15 Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death, And too much breathing put him out of breath; Nor were it contradiction to affirm, Too long vacation hasten'd on his term. Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd, Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd; "Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd, "If I may'nt carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd, But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers, For one carrier put down to make six bearers." 20 Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right, He dy'd for heaviness that his cart went light: His leisure told him that his time was come, And lack of load made his life burdensome, 'That ev'n to his last breath, (there be that say't.) 25 As he were press'd to death, he cry'd, More weight; But, had his doings lasted as they were, He had been an immortal carrier. Obedient to the moon he spent his date In course reciprocal, and had his fate Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas, Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase: His letters are deliver'd all and gone, Only remains this superscription. 30 XIII. L'ALLEGRO. HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, 5 Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 10 But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 15 Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 20 There on beds of violets blue, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 25 Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Come, and trip it, as you go, On the light fantastic toe; Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 30 35 40 45 |