CXLVI

FROM TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
(Amidst) these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying

then.

Is she kind as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair

To help him of his blindness, And, being help’d, inhabits there.

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Then to Silvia let us sing,

That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring.

SONGS FROM THE PLAYS

Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player's stage;
Mount we unto the sky:
I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us i

Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand

Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till “Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.

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THOMAS CAMPION (d. 1619)

CHANCE AND CHANGE

IO

SIR HENRY WOTTON (1568-1639)

AN ELEGY OF A WOMAN'S HEART 0, faithless World! and thy more faithless part,

A woman's heart!
The true shop of variety! where sits

Nothing but fits
And fevers of desire, and pangs of love; 5

Which toys remove !
Why was she born to please! or I, to trust

Words writ in dust!
Suff'ring her eyes to govern my despair;

My pain, for air!
And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,

The food of youth!
Untrue She was: yet I believed her eyes,

(Instructed spies !) Till I was taught, that love was but a school 15

To breed a fool!
Or sought She more, by triumphs of denial,

To make a trial,
How far her smiles commanded my weakness!

Yield, and confess!
Excuse no more thy folly! But, for cure,

Blush, and endure
As well thy shame, as passions that were vain !

And think, 'tis gain To know, that love, lodged in a woman's breast, 25

Is but a guest !

What if a day, or a month, or a year, Crown thy delights, with a thousand sweet con

tentings! Cannot a chance of a night, or an hour, Cross thy desires, with as many sad tormentings? Fortune, honour, beauty, youth,

Are but blossoms dying ! Wanton pleasure, doting love,

Are but shadows flying ! All our joys are but toys;

Idle thoughts deceiving ! None have power, of an hour,

In their life's bereaving.

Earth's but a point to the world; and a man Is but a point to the world's compared centre !

Shall then, a point of a point be so vain
As to triumph in a silly point's adventure!
All is hazard that we have!

There is nothing biding!
Days of pleasure are like streams,

Through fair meadows gliding!
Weal and woe, Time doth go!

Time is never turning ! Secret fates guide our states;

Both in mirth and mourning!

IO

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THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE