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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
of Attic taste with wine, whence we may rise
to hear the lute well touched, or artful voice warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ?
He, who of those delights can judge, and spare to interpose them oft, is not unwise.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE
NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray
warblest at eve, when all the woods are still ; thou with fresh hopes the lover's heart dost fill, while the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
first heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
portend success in love. Oh! if Jove's will have 'linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh as thou from year to year hast sung too late
for my relief, yet hadst no reason why : whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, both them I serve, and of their train am I.
THE POET'S HOUSE WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS
IN TENDED TO THE CITY OF LONDON
whose chance on these defenceless doors may
guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms
that call fame on such gentle acts as these,
whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
the great Emathian conqueror bid spare
the house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
of sad Electra's poet had the pow'r
ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT
VENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose
when all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, forget not: in thy book record their groans
who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
mother with infant down the rocks; their moans the vales redoubled to the hills, and they
to heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
o'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway the triple tyrant; that from these may grow
a hundredfold, who, having learned thy way,
ON THE DEATH OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
IVE pardon, blessed soul, to my bold cries,
which now, with joyful notes, thou sing'st among
that since I saw thee now it is so long,
and yet the tears that unto thee belong,
I did not know that thou wert dead before,
the greater stroke astonisheth the more;
I stood amazed when others' tears begun,
unto a barbarous besieger falls,
her beauty spoiled, her citizens made thralls,
from this so high transcendent rapture springs,
PLEASURES OF RETIREMENT
far from the clamorous world doth live his own,
the world is full of horrors, falehoods, slights: woods' harmless shades have only true delights.
OOK as the flow'r which lingeringly doth fade;
the morning's darling late, the summer's Queen, spoild of that juice which kept it fresh and green, as high as it did raise, bows low the head; (right so the pleasures of my life being dead, or in their contraries but only seen) with swifter speed declines than erst it spread, and, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been: therefore, as doth the pilgrim, whom the night hastes darkly to imprison on his way,
think on thy home, my soul! and think aright,
the sun posts westward, passed is thy morn,
OTH then the world go thus, doth all thus move?
is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Heavens! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time
OOK, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown Rose, Lthe image of thy blush and summer's honour! whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose that full of beauty Time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory in the air, but straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline; she then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair; so fade the roses of those cheeks of thine ! No April can revive thy wither'd flowers, whose springing grace adorns thy glory now; swift speedy time, feather'd with flying hours, dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain; but love now, whilst thou mayst be loved again.
“ARE-charmer sleep, son of the sable Night,
brother to Death, in silent darkness born, relieve my languish, and restore the light, with dark forgetting of my care, return.
And let the day be time enough to mourn
still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain,
Oh, sweet content!
Oh, punishment !
Oh, sweet content!
Oh, sweet content !
DEKKER AND HAUGHTON 125
and thou hast had thy store of tenderest names ;