There's not a grove that wond'reth not my woe, Refound my grief through every hill and dale; The birds and beasts yet in their fimple kind 71 Lament for me, no pity else that find. None else there is gives comfort to my grief, When on an old tree, under which ere now His well tun'd bag-pipe carelessly he hung: And by the fame his fheep-hook, once of price, That had been carv'd with many a rare device. 80 He call'd his dog, (that fome time had the praife) Whitefoot, well known to all that keep the plain, That many a wolf had worried in his days, 86 A better cur there never followed fwain; Which, though as he his master's forrows knew, Wag'd his cut tail, his wretched plight to rue. 90 Poor cur, quoth he, and him therewith did stroke With folded arms thus hanging down his head, Before his breath was fully him bereft : 100 SONNE T. BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. WHEN fortie winters shall befeige thy brow, And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field, Thy youthes proud liuery, fo gaz'd on now, Will be a totter'd weed of fmal worth held : Then, being afkt, where all thy beautie lies, Where all the treasure of thy lufty daies; To say within thine owne deepe-funken eyes, 5 • Were' an all-eating shame, and thriftlesse praise. How much more praise deseru'd thy beauties vfe, If thou couldst answere, this faire child of mine Shall fum my count, and make my old excuse! Proouing his beautie by fucceffion thine. This were to be new made when thou art ould, And fee thy blood warme when thou feel'st it could. * Born 1564; dyed 1616. V. 8. where. ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA. BY SIR HENRY WOTTON, KT.* You meaner beauties of the night, What are you when the Sun fhall rife? You curious chanters of the wood, By your weak accents, what's your praise You violets, that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known, 6 II * Born 1568; dyed 1639. So, when my Miftrifs fhall be feen Th' eclipse and glory of her kind? 20 UPON THE DEATH OF SIR ALBERT MORTON'S WIFE. BY THE SAME. He firft deceas'd; she for a little tri'd To live without him: lik'd it not, and di'd. |