For 'tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that which, unto heav'n being gone, And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution. For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall Can tie those parts, and make me one of all; Can better do't: except she meant that I By this should know my pain, As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemn'd to die. Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me, Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry T'afford to it all that a soul can do, That, since you would have none of me, I bury some of you. 201. A Hymn to God the Father WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun 202. DE Death EATH, be not proud, though some have called thee For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die! As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Which a grove of myrtles made, Save the Nightingale alone: 1574-1627 Senseless trees they cannot hear thee, King Pandion he is dead, All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; All thy fellow birds do sing 204. ART THOMAS DEKKER Sweet Content 1575-1641 RT thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd? Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content ! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Then hey nonny nonny-hey nonny nonny! Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring? Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? Then he that patiently want's burden bears, No burden bears, but is a king, king! O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet 'content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face Then hey nonny nonny-hey nonny nonny! 205. THOMAS HEYWOOD Matin Song 157?-1650 PACK, clouds, away! and welcome, day! With night we banish sorrow. Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft 206. Wings from the wind to please her mind, To give my Love good-morrow Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast! YE To give my Love good-morrow! The Message E little birds that sit and sing And see how Phillis sweetly walks Go, pretty birds, about her bower; Go tell her through your chirping bills, To her is only known my love, Which from the world is hidden. 205. stare] starling. |