Love's couch's coverled, Haste, haste to make her bed. Dear offspring of pleased Venus Haste, haste to deck the hair See! rosy is her bower, Her floor is all this flower, By a bed of roses pressed! JAMES SHIRLEY. (1596-1666.) The resonant verses on Death's Final Conquest occur in the Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, 1659. The second song is from The Imposture, a Tragi-Comedy, 1652 (licensed 1640). It was first printed in the 1646 edition of Shirley's Poems. Shirley's Dramatic Works and Poems have been edited by Gifford and Dyce (6 vols., London, 1833). A DIRGE. THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now, See, where the victor-victim bleeds: To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. PEACE RESTORED. You virgins, that did late despair To keep your wealth from cruel men, Tie up in silk your careless hair, Now lovers' eyes may gently shoot The drum was angry, but the lute Shall whisper what you will. Sing Iö, Iö! for his sake That hath restored your drooping heads: With choice of sweetest flowers make A garden where he treads; Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring, RICHARD BROME. (?-1652?.) THE MERRY BEGGARS. From A Jovial Crew, or the Merry Beggars, 1652 (acted 1641?). COME, come away! the spring, By every bird that can but sing Who in her sweetness strives to outdo The loudness of the hoarse cuckoo. "Cuckoo," cries he; "Jug, jug, jug," sings she; From bush to bush, from tree to tree; Why in one place then tarry we? Come away! why do we stay? 1 hinder. CHARLES COTTON. (1630-1687.) ODE: LAURA SLEEPING. From his Poems on Several Occasions, 1689, reprinted in Chalmers' Poets, vol. vi. WINDS, whisper gently whilst she sleeps, And fan her with your cooling wings; Whilst she her drops of beauty weeps, From pure, and yet-unrivalled springs. Glide over beauty's field, her face, To kiss her lip and cheek be bold, Play in her beams, and crisp her hair, As breathes from the Arabian grove. A breath as hushed as lover's sigh, Murmur soft music to her dreams, That pure and unpolluted run, But when she waking shall display And all mankind her creatures are. WILLIAM STRODE. (1600?-1644.) SONG: IN COMMENDATION OF MUSIC. From a seventeenth-century miscellany entitled Wit Restored, 1658. WHEN whispering strains do softly steal With creeping passion through the heart, And when at every touch we feel Our pulses beat, and bear a part; A heart-string quake;— Can scarce deny The soul consists of harmony. Oh, lull me, lull me, charming air, My senses rocked with wonder sweet! That hath an ear? Down let him lie, And slumbering die, And change his soul for harmony. |