The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array,
Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.
Now all things smile.
2. SONG: ASK ME NO MORE.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose
For in your beauties' orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
These powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit and there
Fixéd become, as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.
3. SONG: AMONGST THE MYRTLES.
Amongst the myrtles as I walked,
Love and my sighs thus intertalked :
“Tell me,” said I, in deep distress,
“Where may I find my shepherdess ?"
"Thou fool," said Love, “know'st thou not this,
In every thing that's good she is?
In yonder tulip go and seek;
There thou may'st find her lip, her cheek.
In yon enamoured pansy by;
There thou shalt have her curious eye.
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud;
There wave the streamers of her blood.
In brightest lilies that there stand,
The emblems of her whiter hand.
In yonder rising hill there smell
Such sweets as in her bosom dwell."
"Tis true," said I: and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts a union;
But on a suddon all was gone.
With that I stopt: said Love, "These be,
Fond man, resemblances of thee;
And, as these flowers, thy joys shall die,
E'en in the twinkling of an eye;
And all thy hopes of her shall wither,
Like these short sweets thus knit together."
4. UNFADING BEAUTY.
He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-light eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires,
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
LVI. WILLIAM BROWNE.
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne,
That on the dancing waves in glory shone,
For whose declining on the western shore
The oriental hills black mantles wore,
And thence apace the gentle twilight fled,
That had from hideous caverns usheréd
All-drowsy night; who, in a car of jet,
By steeds of iron-grey (which mainly sweat
Moist drops on all the world) drawn through the sky,
The helps of darkness waited orderly.
First, thick clouds rose from all the liquid plains;
Then mists from marishes, and grounds whose veins
Were conduit-pipes to many a crystal spring;
From standing pools and fens were following
Unhealthy fogs; each river, every rill
Sent up their vapours to attend her will.
These pitchy curtains drew 'twixt earth and heaven,
And, as Night's chariot through the air was driven,
Clamour grew dumb, unheard was shepherd's song,
And silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue
Talked to the echo; satyrs broke their dance,
And all the upper world lay in a trance:
Only the curled streams soft chidings kept;
And little gales, that from the green leaf swept
Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisperings stirred,
As loath to waken any singing bird.
Not all the ointments brought from Delos' isle,
Nor from the confines of seven-headed Nile :
Nor that brought whence Phoenicians have abodes:
Nor Cyprus' wild vine flower; nor that of Rhodes;
Nor rose's oil from Naples, Capua;
Saffron confected in Cilicia;
Nor that of quinces, nor of marjoram,
That ever from the isle of Coos came:
Nor these, nor any else, though ne'er so rare,
Could with this place for sweetest smells compare.
There stood the elm, whose shade, so mildly dim,
Doth nourish all that groweth under him:
Cypresses, that like pyramids run topping,
And hurt the least of any by their dropping:
The alder, whose fat shadow nourisheth ;-
Each plant set near to him long flourisheth :
The heavy-headed plane-tree, by whose shade
The grass grows thickest, men are fresher made:
The oak that best endures the thunder-strokes :
The everlasting ebony, cedar, box:
The olive, that in wainscot never cleaves :
The amorous vine, which in the elm still weaves:
The lotus, juniper, where worms ne'er enter:
The pine, with whom men through the ocean venture;
The warlike yew, by which, more than the lance,
The strong-armed English spirits conquered France.
Amongst the rest the tamarisk there stood,
For housewives' besoms only known most good:
The cold-place-loving birch and service tree;
The walnut loving vales, and mulberry;
The maple, ash, that do delight in fountains
Which have their currents by the sides of mountains;
The laurel, myrtle, ivy, date, which hold
Their leaves all winter, be it ne'er so cold;
The fir, that often-times doth rosin drop;
The beech, that scales the welkin with his top.
All these, and thousand more, within this grove,
By all the industry of nature, strove
To frame an arbour that might keep within it
The best of beauties that the world hath in it.
LVII. FRANCIS QUARLES.
1. THE PRISONER.
Jesus. Bring forth the prisoner, Justice.
Are done, just judge: see here the prisoner stands.
Jes. What has the prisoner done? say; what's the cause
Of his commitment ?
Of his too gracious God; conspir'd the death
Of that great Majesty that gave him breath,
And heaps transgression, Lord, upon transgression.
Jes. How know'st thou this?
Just.
Ev'n by his own confession:
His sins are crying; and they cried aloud:
They cried to heaven, they cried to heaven for blood.
Jes. What say'st thou, sinner? hast thou aught to plead
That sentence should not pass? hold up thy head,
And shew thy brazen, thy rebellious face.
Sinner. Ah me! I dare not: I'm too vile and base
To tread upon the earth, much more, to lift
Mine eyes to heaven; I need no other shrift
Than mine own conscience; Lord, I must confess,
I am no more than dust, and no whit less
Than my indictment stiles me; Ah! if thou
Search too severe, with too severe a brow,
What flesh can stand? I have transgrest thy laws;
My merits plead thy vengeance; not my cause:
Just. Lord, shall I strike the blow?
Jes. Hold, Justice, stay: Sinner, speak on; what hast thou more to say? Sin. Vile as I am, and of myself abhorred, I am thy handy-work, thy creature, Lord, Stampt with thy glorious image, and at first Most like to thee, though now a poor accurst, Convicted caitiff and degenerous creature, Here trembling at the bar.
Lord, shall I strike the blow?
Speak, sinner; hast thou nothing else to say?
Sin. Nothing but mercy, mercy, Lord: my state
Is miserably poor and desperate;
I quite renounce myself, the world, and flee
From Lord to Jesus, from thyself to thee.
Just. Cease thy vain hopes; my angry God has vowed; Abuséd mercy must have blood for blood:
Shall I yet strike the blow?
My bowels yearn, my fainting blood grows cold,
To view the trembling wretch: methinks 1 spy
My father's Image in the prisoner's eye
Jes.
Into my sides: let there the wound be made:
Cheer up, dear soul: redeem thy life with mine:
My soul shall smart, my heart shall bleed for thine,
Sin. O groundless deeps! O love beyond degree!
The offended dies to set the offender free.
Then turn thy thirsty blade
TIME's an hand's-breath, 't is a tale;
'Tis a vessel under sail;
'Tis an eagle in its way
Darting down upon its prey;
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