EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H. WOULDST thou hear what man can say MARBLE, weep! for thou dost cover Read not in fair heaven's story Than they might in her bright eyes. Rare as wonder was her wit, And, like nectar, overflowing; How near to good is what is fair, But with the lines and outward air We wish to see it still, and prove We court, we praise, we more than love, FAME. HER house is all of echo made, ODE TO HIMSELF. WHERE dost thou careless lie Knowledge that sleeps, doth die; It is the common moth That eats on wits and arts, and so destroys them both. Are all the Aonian springs Dried up? Lies Thespia waste? Or droop they as disgraced, 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; 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause. CHIVALRY. THE house of Chivalry decayed, Or rather ruined seems, her buildings laid Flat with the Earth, that were the pride of Time; When to the structure went more noble names SONG. THE faery beam upon you, In the noon of night, Till the fire-drake hath o'ergone you : The wheel of Fortune guide you, The boy with the bow beside you Run aye in the way, till the bird of day TRANSLATION OF COWLEY'S EPIGRAM ON FRANCIS DRAKE. THE stars above will make thee known, If man were silent here; The sun himself cannot forget His fellow-traveller. NATURE. How young and fresh am I to-night, To see't kept day by so much light, And twelve of my sons stand in their Maker's sight! That each to other Is a brother, And Nature here no stepdame, but a mother. |