SIR WALTER RALEIGH

THE SILENT LOVER

Passions are likened best to floods and streams;
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb:
So, when affection yields discourse, it seems

The bottom is but shallow whence they come.
They that are rich in words, in words discover
That they are poor in that which makes a lover.

5

No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,

For there Christ is the King's Attorney,

40

Who pleads for all, without degrees,
And He hath angels but no fees.

And when the grand twelve-million jury
Of our sins, with direful fury,

Against our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads His death; and then we live.
Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader!
Unblotted Lawyer! true Proceeder!
Thou giv'st salvation, even for alms,
Not with a bribèd lawyer's palms.
And this is mine eternal plea

To Him That made heaven and earth and

sea:

That, since my flesh must die so soon,

And want a head to dine next noon,

Just at the stroke, when my veins start

and spread,

Set on my soul an everlasting head!

Then am I ready, like a palmer fit,

To tread those blest paths, which before I writ. About 1603.

1651 ?

91

성

25

THE CONCLUSION

Even such is Time, that takes on trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;

Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days:

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But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.

1628.

1618?

JOHN LYLY

SONG BY APELLES

Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too. Then down he throws

The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,

And then the dimple of his chin:

All these did my Campaspe win.

At last he set her both his eyes;

She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love, has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?

1581?

1584.

WHAT BIRD SO SINGS, YET SO DOES WAIL

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?

O'tis the ravished nightingale;

5

ΙΟ

"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,

And still her woes at midnight rise:

Brave prick-song! Who is 't now we hear?

5

None but the lark so shrill and clear;

Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,

The morn not waking till she sings.

UNIVERS

Love in my bosom, like a bee,

Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet;

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;

My kisses are his daily feast;
And yet he robs me of my rest:
Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight,

And makes his pillow of my knee
The livelong night.

5

ΙΟ