John Fletcher 1579-1625 SONG OF THE PRIEST OF PAN (From The Faithful Shepherdess, Act II. sc. 1, acted 1610) Shepherds all, and maidens fair Fold your flocks up, for the air See the heavy clouds low falling, 15 Of these pastures, where they come And let your dogs lie loose without, 30 And for ever hold the love Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers, 5 SONG TO PAN (From the same, Act. V. sc. 5.) All ye woods, and trees, and bowers, In the pleasant springs or brakes, To our sound, All this ground With his honour and his name 10 That defends our flocks from blame. Francis Beaumont ON THE LIFE OF MAN (From Poems, 1640) Like to the falling of a star, Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 5 Or like the wind that chafes the flood, Even such is man, whose borrowed light ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY (From Poems, 1653) Mortality, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Sleep within this heap of stones; 5 Here they lie, had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands; 10 With the richest, royall'st seed ። Though gods they were, as men they died!" 15 Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: Sir Henry Wotton 1568-1639 THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE (Written cir. 1614) How happy is he born and taught 5 Whose passions not his masters are; · Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care 10 Of public fame or private breath; Who envies none that chance doth raise, Who hath his life from rumours freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 15 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great; 20 Who God doth late and early pray And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Sir Walter Raleigh (?) 1552-1618 THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD (From England's Helicon, 1600) If all the world and Love were young, 5 But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 10 To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancies spring but sorrows fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, |