96.-ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A
PARROT

THE Parrot, from East India to me sent,
Is dead all fowls, her exequies frequent!
Go, godly birds, striking your breasts, bewail;
And with rough claws your tender cheeks assail !
For woful hairs let piece-torn plumes abound;
For long-shrill'd trumpets let your notes resound!
Why, Philomel, dost Tereus' lewdness mourn ?
All-wasting years have that complaint now worn :
Thy tunes let this rare bird's sad funeral borrow
(Itys a great, but ancient cause of sorrow).
All you whose pinions in the clear air soar
But most, thou friendly Turtle-dove, deplore!
Full concord all your lives was you betwixt
And to the end your constant faith stood fixt :
What Pylades did to Orestes prove

Such to the Parrot was the Turtle-dove.

But what availed this faith? her rarest hue?
Or voice that how to change the wild notes knew?
What helps it thou wert given to please my wench?
Birds' hapless glory, death thy life doth quench!

Thou with thy quills mightst make greenemeralds dark,

And pass our scarlet of red saffron's 1 mark;
No such voice-feigning bird was on the ground,
Thou spok'st thy words so well with stammering
sound.

Envy hath rapt thee: no fierce wars thou mov'dst;

1 The safflower, or bastard saffron, cultivated in India and other countries for its red dye.

Vain-babbling speech and pleasant peace thou lov'd'st.

Behold, how Quails among their battles live!
Which do perchance old age unto them give.
A little filled thee, and, for love of talk
Thy mouth to taste of many meats did balk,
Nuts were thy food, and poppy caused thee sleep;
Pure water's moisture thirst away did keep.
The ravenous Vulture lives; the Puttock hovers
Around the air; the Cadess1 rain discovers;
And Crow survives arms-bearing Pallas' hate,
Whose life nine ages scarce bring out of date: 2
Dead is that speaking image of man's voice,
The Parrot given me, the far world's best choice.
The greedy Spirits take the best things first,
Supplying their void places with the worst:
Thersites did Protesilaus survive ;

And Hector died, his brothers yet alive.

My wench's vows for thee what should I show, Which stormy south winds into sea did blow? The seventh day came; none following mightst

thou see;

And the Fate's distaff empty stood to thee.
Yet words in thy benumbèd palate rung ;
"Farewell, Corinna !" cried thy dying tongue.
Elysium hath a wood of holm-trees black,
Whose earth doth not perpetual green grass lack.
There good birds rest (if we believe things hidden),

1 Jackdaw.

2 See Aristophanes (Birds)—

"Old proverbs affirm

That the final term

Of a raven's life exceeds the space

Of five generations of human race."

Whence unclean fowls are said to be forbidden.
There harmless Swans feed all abroad the river;
There lives the Phoenix, one alone bird ever.
There Juno's bird1 displays his gorgeous feather,
And loving Doves kiss eagerly together.

The Parrot, into wood received with these
Turns all the godly birds to what she please.

A grave her bones hides: on her corpse' great grave

The little stones these little verses have:

"This tomb approves I pleased my mistress well; My mouth in speaking did all birds excel."

C. MARLOWE

97.-EMPLOYMENT

HE that is weary, let him sit;
My soul would stir

And trade in courtesies and wit,
Quitting the fur

To cold complexions needing it.

Man is no star, but a quick coal
Of mortal fire;

Who blows it not, nor doth control
A faint desire,

Lets his own ashes choke his soul.

When the elements did for place contest
With Him whose will

Ordained the highest to be best,
The earth sat still,

And by the others is opprest.

1 The peacock.

Life is a business, not good cheer;
Ever in wars.

The sun still shineth there or here;
Whereas the stars

Watch an advantage to appear.

O that I were an orange-tree,
That busy plant !

Then should I ever laden be,
And never want

Some fruit for Him that dressed me.

But we are still too young or old;
The man is gone

Before we do our wares unfold;

So we freeze on,

Until the grave increase our cold.

G. HERBERT

98.-LOVE'S DEATHBED

SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part!
Nay, I have done: you get no more of me :
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.

Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou mightst him yet recover!
M. DRAYTON

99. THE WARBLING OF BLACKBIRDS

WHEN I hear the waters fretting,

When I see the chestnut letting

All her lovely blossom falter down I think, "Alas the day!"

Once with magical sweet singing

Blackbirds set the woodland ringing,

That awakes no more while April hours wear themselves away.

In our hearts fair hope lay smiling,
Sweet as air, and all beguiling;

And there hung a mist of bluebells on the slope and down the dell ;

And we talked of joy and splendour

That the years unborn would render,

And the blackbirds helped us with the story, for they knew it well.

Piping, fluting, "Bees are humming,

April's here, and Summer's coming;

Don't forget us when you walk, a man with men, in pride and joy;

Think on us in alleys shady,

When you step a graceful lady;

For no fairer day have we to hope for, little girl and boy.