THE TRIUMPH And whilst our souls negotiate there, JOHN DONNE The Triumph EE the Chariot at hand here of Love, SEE 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 enamour'd do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother Than words that soothe her; And from her arch'd brows such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. THE VINE Have you seen but a bright lily grow 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! BEN JONSON The Vine HE wine of Love is music, THE And the feast of Love is song: And when Love sits down to the banquet, Love sits long: Sits long and arises drunken, But not with the feast and the wine; He reeleth with his own heart, That great, rich Vine. JAMES THOMSON A FRIEND and companion never meet amiss but above both is wife with her husband. Ecclesiasticus Οὐ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ γε κρεῖσσον καὶ ἄρειον ἢ ὅθ ̓ ὁμοφρονέοντε νοήμασιν οἶκον ἔκητον ἀνὴρ ἠδὲ γυνή. HOMER MARRIAGE has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures. JOHNSON, Rasselas THIS ring, so worn as you behold, So thin, so pale, is yet of gold : Worn with life's care, love yet was love. GEORGE CRABBE CHILDREN Sweeten labours; but they make Misfortunes more bitter. They increase the Cares of Life; but they mitigate the Remembrance of Death. GLAD sight wherever new with old Is join'd through some dear homeborn tie! Depends upon that mystery. BACON WORDSWORTH Praise of Women No thyng ys to man so dere As wommanys love in good manère. A gode womman is mannys blys, Than a chaste womman with lovely worde. ROBERT MANNYNG OF BRUNNE Epithalamion E learnèd sisters, which have oftentimes YE Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, That even the greatest did not greatly scorne To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes, But joyèd in theyr praise; And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne, Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse, |