SWEET SUFFOLK OWL THOMAS VAUTOR WEET Suffolk owl, so trimly dight Thy note that forth so freely rolls, And sings a dirge for dying souls, SPRING THOMAS NASH PRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pee-we, to-witta-woo! The palm and May make country houses gay, The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, THE NOBLE NATURE BEN JONSON T is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak three hundred year, Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that nightIt was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauty see; And in short measures life may perfect be. A WISH From THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED BEN JONSON HE fairy beam upon you, THE The stars to glisten on you; In the noon of night, Till the fire drake hath o'ergone you! The boy with the bow beside you Run aye in the way, Till the bird of day And the luckier lot betide you! S CHARIS' TRIUMPH From UNDERWOODS BEN JONSON EE the chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my Lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother And from her arched brows, such a grace As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the element's strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touched it? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white, O so soft, -O so sweet is she! |