IN TIME OF PLAGUE 249 CCLXXVII BRIGHT SOUL OF THE SAD YEAR FAIR summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore, All good things vanish less than in a day, Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year, What, shall those flowers, that deck'd thy garland erst, Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed? O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source, Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year, CCLXXVIII IN TIME OF PLAGUE ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss, I am sick, I must die Lord have mercy on us! Rich men, trust not in wealth, Lord have mercy on us! Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour: Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's I am sick, I must die eye: Lord have mercy on us! Strength stoops unto the grave, Lord have mercy on us! Wit with his wantonness Tasteth death's bitterness: Hell's executioner Hath no ears for to hear Lord have mercy on us! THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold In me thou see'st the twilight of such day Which by and by black night doth take away, In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. Shakespeare. CCLXXX A FAREWELL TO ARMS (TO QUEEN ELIZABETH) His golden locks time hath to silver turn'd; seen; Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And feed on prayers, which are age his alms: And when he saddest sits in homely cell, He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,— 'Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.' Goddess, allow this aged man his right To be your beadsman now that was your knight. Geo. Peele. WHEN THAT I WAS AND A TINY BOY 253 CCLXXXI WHEN THAT I WAS AND A LITTLE WHEN that I was and a little tiny boy, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came to man's estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain; 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came, alas! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain ; By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain; With toss-pots still had drunken heads, For the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun, |