IV. EPITAPH ON HUSBAND AND WIFE. CRASHAW. To these, whom death again did wed, For though the hand of Fate could force It could not man and wife divide, They lived one life, one death they died. Peace, good reader, do not weep; Peace, the lovers are asleep : In the last knot love could tie. (Pillow hard, and sheets not warm) Love made the bed, they'll take no harm. Let them sleep, let them sleep on, Till this stormy night be gone, And th' eternal morrow dawn; Then the curtain will be drawn, V. ON SHAKESPEARE. DAVENANT. BEWARE (delighted poets!) when you sing, To welcome nature in the early spring, Your num'rous feet not tread The banks of Avon; for each flower (As it ne'er knew a sun or shower) Hangs there, the pensive head. Each tree, whose thick and spreading growth hath made Rather a night beneath the boughs, than shade, (Unwilling now to grow,) Looks like the plume a captain wears, Whose rifled falls are steept in tears VOL. I. Which from his last rage flow. B The piteous river wept itself away Long since (alas!) to such a swift decay, That reach the map, and look If you a river there can spy; And for a river your mock'd eye Will find a shallow brook. THE lark now leaves his watʼry nest, And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings; He takes this window for the east; And to implore your light, he sings, Awake, awake, the morn will never rise, Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn! Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn. |