Excerpt
IN A COLLEGE GARDEN.
Senex. Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake, What ayles thee soe to pyne? Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake When dayes be fyne And greene thynges twyne: Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne?
Turtur. Naye, gossyp, loyterynge soe late, What ayles thee thus to chyde? My love is fled by garden-gate; Since Lammas-tyde I wayte my bryde. Saye, gossyp, whom dost thou abyde?
Senex. Loe! I am he, the 'Lonelie Manne,' Of Time forgotten quite, That no remembered face may scanne— Sadde eremyte, I wayte tonyghte Pale Death, nor any other wyghte.
O cushat, cushat, callynge lowe, Goe waken Time from sleepe: Goe whysper in his ear, that soe His besom sweepe Me to that heape Where all my recollections keepe.
Hath he forgott? Or did I viewe A ghostlye companye This even, by the dismalle yewe, Of faces three That beckoned mee To land where no repynynges bee?
O Harrye, Harrye, Tom and Dicke, Each lost companion! Why loyter I among the quicke, When ye are gonne? Shalle I alone Delayinge crye 'Anon, Anon'?
Naye, let the spyder have my gowne, To brayde therein her veste. My cappe shal serve, now I 'goe downe,' For mouse's neste. Loe! this is best. I care not, soe I gayne my reste.
THE SPLENDID SPUR.Not on the neck of prince or hound, Nor on a woman's finger twin'd, May gold from the deriding ground Keep sacred that we sacred bind: Only the heel Of splendid steel Shall stand secure on sliding fate, When golden navies weep their freight.
The scarlet hat, the laurell'd stave Are measures, not the springs, of worth; In a wife's lap, as in a grave, Man's airy notions mix with earth....