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ET up, get up for shame; the blooming
See how Aurora throws her fair
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Nay not so much as out of bed ;
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day
Take no care
Gems in abundance upon you;
Come, and receive them while the light
Retires himself, or else stands still
praying; Few beads are best when once we go a-maying.
Serenity with rapture join'd;
LYCIDAS. Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year : Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due, For Lycidas is dead; dead ere his primeYoung Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew
Himself to sing and build the lofty rhyme.
For we were nurs'd upon the self-same hill,
wheel. But, О the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes, mourn ; The willows and the hazel-copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, Or tain-worm to the weanling-herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay
wardrobe wear When first the white-thorn blows, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.
But weep not, woful shepherds, weep no more For Lycidas, your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
locks he laves,
SLEEP. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how bave I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh mine eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulld with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav’st the kingly couch