IN TIME OF PLAGUE

249

CCLXXVII

BRIGHT SOUL OF THE SAD YEAR

FAIR summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore,
So fair a summer look for never more:

All good things vanish less than in a day,
Peace, plenty, pleasure suddenly decay.

Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.

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,
Streams, turn to tears your tributary course.

Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.
T. Nashe.

CCLXXVIII

IN TIME OF PLAGUE

ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss,
This world uncertain is:
Fond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly :

I am sick, I must die

Lord have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade;
All things to end are made;
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die-

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,
Worms feed on Hector brave:
Swords may not fight with fate:
Earth still holds ope her gate.
Come, come! the bells do cry:
I am sick, I must die—

Lord have mercy on us!

Wit with his wantonness

Tasteth death's bitterness:

Hell's executioner

Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply;
I am sick, I must die-

Lord have mercy on us!

THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,—
Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take 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,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.

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;
O time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd,
But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading

seen;

Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,

And feed on prayers, which are age his alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

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
TINY BOY

WHEN that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain;
A foolish thing was but a toy,

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,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain ;
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.
Shakespeare.