That eats on wits and arts, and [so] destroys them both. Are all the Aonian springs Dried up? lies Thespia waste? Doth Clarius' harp want strings, That not a nymph now sings! Or droop they as disgraced, ΙΟ To see their seats and bowers by chattering pies defaced? If hence thy silence be, As 'tis too just a cause, Let this thought quicken thee: Should not on Fortune pause; 15 'Tis crown enough to Virtue still, her own applause. What though the greedy fry Be taken with false baits Of worded balladry, And think it poesy? They die with their conceits, And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits. Then take in hand thy lyre, Strike in thy proper strain, With Japhet's line, aspire Sol's chariot for new fire, To give the world again : 25 Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove's brain. And since our dainty age Cannot endure reproof, Make not thyself a page But sing high and aloof, Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull ass's 31 35 hoof, XLIII MELANCHOLY. Ben Jonson. Hence, all you vain delights, But only melancholy, Oh, sweetest melancholy! A look that's fastened to the ground, Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. Beaumont and Fletcher. 5 ΙΟ 15 XLIV LEWD LOVE IS LOSS. Misdeeming eye! that stoopeth to the lure That do thy erring thoughts from God remove. If picture move, more should the pattern please; Sith reap thou may'st whole harvests of delight; Let not the luring train of fancies trap, Or gracious features, proofs of Nature's skill, Or draw thy wit to bent of wanton will. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25, 30 So long the fly doth dally with the flame, Till love hath left the heart in heavy thrall. Oh! loathe that love whose final aim is lust, Robert Southwell. 35 40. XLV TO THE WORLD. A FAREWELL FOR A GENTLEWOMAN, VIRTUOUS AND NOBLE. False world, good night, since thou hast brought That hour upon my morn of age, Henceforth I quit thee from my thought, My part is ended on thy stage. Do not once hope, that thou canst tempt 5 Upon thy throat, and live exempt From all the nets that thou canst spread. I know thy forms are studied arts, And what thou call'st thy gifts, are baits. I know too, though thou strut and paint, ΙΟ 15 I know thou whole art but a shop And, knowing this, should I yet stay, Or having 'scaped, shall I return, 20 25 30 Where breathe the basest of thy fools; |