Green Bays. Verses and Parodies

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....