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To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:
MICHAEL DRAYTON (1663–1631) My verse your virtues rare shall eternize, And in the heavens write your glorious SINCE THERE'S NO HELP
name. Where, whenas death shall all the world
Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and subdue,
part! Our love shall live, and later life Nay, I have done, you get no more of renew."
And I am glad, yea, glad, with all my
heart, Men call you fair, and you do credit it, For that yourself ye daily such do see;
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our But the true fair, that is the gentle wit And virtuous mind, is much more praised
5 And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows, For all the rest, however fair it be,
5 Shall turn to nought and lose that glorious That we one jot of former love retain. hue;
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest But only that is permanent and free
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless From frail corruption that doth flesh ensue.
lies; That is true beauty; that doth argue you To be divine, and born of heavenly seed; 10
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of
death, Derived from that fair Spirit from whom
And Innocence is closing up his eyes, all true
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have And perfect beauty did at first proceed: He only fair, and what he fair hath
given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him made; All other fair, like flowers, untimely
yet recover! fade.
SAMUEL DANIEL (1662–1619)
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616)
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Night,
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: May, Relieve my languish, and restore the light; And summer's lease hath all too short a With dark forgetting of my care, return!
date; And let the day be time enough to mourn Sometime too hot the eye of heaven The shipwreck of my ill-adventured shines,
6 And often is his gold complexion dimmed; Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, And every fairl from fair sometime deWithout the torment of the night's un- clines, truth.
By chance or nature's changing course unCease, dreams, the images of day-desires, trimmed; To model forth the passions of the morrow; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Never let rising sun approve you liars, Nor lose possession of that fair thou To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. ow'st;2 Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in vain;
his shade, And never wake to feel the day's dis- When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st: dain.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can
Full many a glorious morning have I seen a So long lives this and this gives life to
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign thee.
Kissing with golden face the meadows XXIX
green, When, in disgrace with fortune and men's Gilding pale streams with heavenly al
chemy, !eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state,
Anon permit the basesť clouds to ride
5 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless With ugly rack? on his celestial face, cries,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide, And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Wishing me like to one more rich in Even so my sun one early morn did shine hope,
With all-triumphant splendor on my Featured like him, like him with friends
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine; Desiring this man's art and that man's The region cloud hath masked him from
scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet him for this my love no whit disYet in these thoughts myself almost de
Suns of the world may stain, when Haply I think on thee, and then my
heaven's sun staineth. state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's When I have seen by Time's fell hand degate;
faced For thy sweet love remembered such The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; wealth brings
When sometime lofty towers I see downThat then I scorn to change my state razed, with kings.
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 5 XXX
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, When to the sessions of sweet silent Increasing store with loss and loss with
And the firm soil win of the watery main, thought I summon up remembrance of things past, When I have seen such interchange of
store; I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's
Or state itself confounded to decay; waste: Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 5
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, For precious friends hid in death's date. That Time will come and take my love less night,
away. And weep afresh love's long-since can
This thought is as a death, which can
not choose And moan the expensel of many a vanished
But weep to have that which it fears to
lose. sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,
boundless sea, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, But if the while I think on thee, dear How with this rage shall beauty hold a friend,
plea, All losses are restored and sorrows end. Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 1 loss.
2 broken masses of flying cloud. 3 of the upper air.
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold
out Against the wrackful siege of batt'ring
days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time de
cays? O fearful meditation! where, alack, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest
lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift
foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine
That time of year thou mayst in me be
hold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do
hang Upon those boughs which shake against
the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet
Tired with all these, for restful death I
cry: As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, 5 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 10 And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 5
away, Death's second self, that seals up all in
rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such
fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 10 As the death-bed whereon it must ex
pire, Consumed with that which it was nour
ished by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy
love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long
XCVIII From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied? April dressed in all his
trim Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped
with him. Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
5 Of different flowers in odor and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where
they grew; Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of de
light, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and, you
away, As with your shadow, I with these did play.
? gorgeously variegated.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to
dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not 5 The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be
forgot If thinking on me then should make you
0, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with
clay, Do not so much as my poor name re
hearse, But let your love even with my life decay,
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's When in the chronicle of wasted time
loss, I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;10 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights;
Within be fed, without be rich no more: Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds best,
5 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
And Death once dead, there's no more I see their antique pen would have ex
dying then. pressed Even such a beauty as you master now. ELIZABETHAN SONG WRITERS. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
ANONYMOUS And, for they looked but with divining eyes,
BACK AND SIDE GO BARE, GO They had not skill enough your worth to
BARE sing: For we, which now behold these present
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both hand and foot go cold; days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues
But, belly, God send thee good ale to praise.
Whether it be new or old.
I cannot eat but little meat,
5 Admit impediments. Love is not love
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
5 That looks on tempests and is never
I am nothing a-cold; shaken;
I stuff my skin so full within It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Of jolly good ale and old. Whose worth's unknown, although his
Back and side, etc. height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips
I love no roast but a nutbrown toast, and cheeks
And a crab? laid in the fire;
15 Within his bending sickle's compass come;
A little bread shall do me stead,
Much bread I not desire. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow,
Can hurt me if it would,
I am so wrapt and throughly lapt
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side, etc.
And Tib my wife, that as her life
The tears run down her cheek; Why dost thou pine within and suffer Then doth she trowl? to me the bowl dearth,
Even as a maltwormshould, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? And saith, “Sweetheart, I have take my Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
part Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Of this jolly good ale and old." Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Back and side, etc. Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? I apple.
Now let them drink till they nod and I laugh not at another's loss; wink,
I grudge not at another's pain; Even as good fellows should do;
No worldly waves my mind can toss; They shall not miss to have the bliss
My state at one doth still remain: Good ale doth bring men to.
35 I fear no foe, I fawn no friend; And all poor souls that have scoured bowls, I loathe not life, nor dread my end.
Or have them lustily trowled, God save the lives of them and their wives, Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, Whether they be young or old.
Their wisdom by their rage of will;
Their treasure is their only trust;
A cloaked craft their store of skill: But, belly, God send thee good ale But all the pleasure that I find enough,
Is to maintain a quiet mind.
My wealth is health and perfect ease;
My conscience clear my chief defence; SIR EDWARD DYER (15507-1607)
I neither seek by bribes to please, 45
Nor by deceit to breed offence:
Would all did so as well as I!
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1564-1586)
LOVE IS DEAD Though much I want which most would have,
5 Ring out your bells, let mourning shows Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
For Love is dead:
All Love is dead, infected
With plague of deep disdain: No shape to feed a loving eye;
Worth, as nought worth, rejected, 5
And Faith fair scorn doth gain. To none of these I yield as thrall:
From so ungrateful fancy, For why? My mind doth serve for all.
From such a female franzie,? I see how plenty (surfeits) oft,
From them that use men thus, And hasty climbers soon do fall;
Good Lord, deliver us! I see that those which are aloft
Mishap doth threaten most of all; Weep, neighbors, weep; do you not hear it They get with toil, they keep with fear:
said Such cares my mind could never bear.
That Love is dead? Content to live, this is my stay;
His death-bed, peacock's folly;
His winding-sheet is shame;
His will, false-seeming holy; 15 Look, what I lack my mind supplies:
His sole exec'tor, blame. Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
From so ungrateful fancy, Content with that my mind doth bring.
From such a female franzie,
From them that use men thus, Some have too much, yet still do crave;25 Good Lord, deliver us!
I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read, have,
For Love is dead;
Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth
Which epitaph containeth,
25 1 emptied.