Lyra Heroica | Page 9

plains, to the woods,
To the rocks, to the floods,
They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow!?Hark how the soldiers hollow!
Hey, hey!
Brave Diocles is dead,
And all his soldiers fled;
The battle's won, and lost,
That many a life hath cost.

_Fletcher._
VI
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
Mortality, behold and fear!?What a change of flesh is here!?Think how many royal bones?Sleep beneath this heap of stones!?Here they lie had realms and lands,?Who now want strength to stir their hands.?Here from their pulpits sealed with dust?They preach, 'In greatness is no trust.'?Here is an acre sown indeed?With the richest, royall'st seed?That the earth did e'er suck in,?Since the first man died for sin.?Here the bones of birth have cried,?'Though gods they were, as men they died.'?Here are sands, ignoble things,?Dropt from the ruined sides of kings.?Here's a world of pomp and state,?Buried in dust, once dead by fate.
_Beaumont._
VII
GOING A-MAYING
Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn?Upon her wings presents the god unshorn:
See how Aurora throws her fair?Fresh-quilted colours through the air:?Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see?The dew-bespangled herb and tree!?Each flower has wept and bowed toward the east,?Above an hour since, yet you not drest,
Nay, not so much as out of bed??When all the birds have matins said,?And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,?Nay, profanation, to keep in,?Whenas a thousand virgins on this day?Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in May.
Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen?To come forth like the spring-time fresh and green,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care?For jewels for your gown or hair:?Fear not; the leaves will strew?Gems in abundance upon you:?Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,?Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
Come, and receive them while the light?Hangs on the dew-locks of the night,?And Titan on the eastern hill?Retires himself, or else stands still?Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:?Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark?How each field turns a street, each street a park,
Made green and trimmed with trees! see how?Devotion gives each house a bough?Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this,?An ark, a tabernacle is,?Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,?As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street?And open fields, and we not see 't??Come, we'll abroad: and let's obey?The proclamation made for May,?And sin no more, as we have done, by staying,?But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
There's not a budding boy or girl this day,?But is got up and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth ere this is come?Back and with white-thorn laden home.?Some have despatched their cakes and cream,?Before that we have left to dream:?And some have wept and wooed, and plighted troth,?And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
Many a green-gown has been given,?Many a kiss, both odd and even:?Many a glance too has been sent?From out the eye, love's firmament:?Many a jest told of the keys betraying?This night, and locks picked: yet we're not a-Maying.
Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,?And take the harmless folly of the time!
We shall grow old apace, and die?Before we know our liberty.?Our life is short, and our days run?As fast away as does the sun.?And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,?Once lost can ne'er be found again,
So when or you or I are made?A fable, song, or fleeting shade,?All love, all liking, all delight,?Lies drowned with us in endless night.?Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,?Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
_Herrick._
VIII
TO ANTHEA
WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING
Bid me to live, and I will live?Thy Protestant to be;?Or bid me love and I will give?A loving heart to thee.
A heart as soft, a heart as kind,?A heart as sound and free,?As in the whole world thou canst find,?That heart I'll give to thee.
Bid that heart stay, and it will stay?To honour thy decree;?Or bid it languish quite away,?And 't shall do so for thee.
Bid me to weep, and I will weep?While I have eyes to see;?And, having none, yet I will keep?A heart to weep for thee.
Bid me despair, and I'll despair?Under that cypress-tree;?Or bid me die, and I will dare?E'en death to die for thee.
Thou art my life, my love, my heart,?The