Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 34

191. The n.o.ble Balm

HIGH-SPIRITED friend, I send nor balms nor cor'sives to your wound: Your fate hath found A gentler and more agile hand to tend The cure of that which is but corporal; And doubtful days, which were named critical, Have made their fairest flight And now are out of sight.

Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind Wrapp'd in this paper lie, Which in the taking if you misapply, You are unkind.

Your covetous hand, Happy in that fair honour it hath gain'd, Must now be rein'd.

True valour doth her own renown command In one full action; nor have you now more To do, than be a husband of that store.

Think but how dear you bought This fame which you have caught: Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth.

'Tis wisdom, and that high, For men to use their fortune reverently, Even in youth.

Ben Jonson. 1573-1637

192. On Elizabeth L. H.

Epitaphs: i

WOULDST thou hear what Man can say In a little? Reader, stay.

Underneath this stone doth lie As much Beauty as could die: Which in life did harbour give To more Virtue than doth live.

If at all she had a fault, Leave it buried in this vault.

One name was Elizabeth, The other, let it sleep with death: Fitter, where it died, to tell Than that it lived at all. Farewell.

Ben Jonson. 1573-1637

193. On Salathiel Pavy A child of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel Epitaphs: ii

WEEP with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry.

'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive Which own'd the creature.

Years he number'd scarce thirteen When Fates turn'd cruel, Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been The stage's jewel; And did act (what now we moan) Old men so duly, As sooth the Parcae thought him one, He play'd so truly.

So, by error, to his fate They all consented; But, viewing him since, alas, too late!

They have repented; And have sought, to give new birth, In baths to steep him; But, being so much too good for earth, Heaven vows to keep him.

Ben Jonson. 1573-1637

194. A Part of an Ode to the Immortal Memory and Friendship of that n.o.ble pair, Sir Lucius Cary and Sir H. Morison

IT is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light.

In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures, life may perfect be.

Call, n.o.ble Lucius, then for wine, And let thy looks with gladness shine: Accept this garland, plant it on thy head, And think--nay, know--thy Morison 's not dead.

He leap'd the present age, Possest with holy rage To see that bright eternal Day Of which we Priests and Poets say Such truths as we expect for happy men; And there he lives with memory--and Ben

Jonson: who sung this of him, ere he went Himself to rest, Or tast a part of that full joy he meant To have exprest In this bright Asterism Where it were friendship's schism-- Were not his Lucius long with us to tarry-- To separate these twy Lights, the Dioscuri, And keep the one half from his Harry.

But fate doth so alternate the design, Whilst that in Heav'n, this light on earth must shine.

And shine as you exalted are!

Two names of friendship, but one star: Of hearts the union: and those not by chance Made, or indenture, or leased out to advance The profits for a time.

No pleasures vain did chime Of rimes or riots at your feasts, Orgies of drink or feign'd protests; But simple love of greatness and of good, That knits brave minds and manners more than blood.

This made you first to know the Why You liked, then after, to apply That liking, and approach so one the t'other Till either grew a portion of the other: Each styled by his end The copy of his friend.

You lived to be the great surnames And t.i.tles by which all made claims Unto the Virtue--nothing perfect done But as a CARY or a MORISON.

And such the force the fair example had As they that saw The good, and durst not practise it, were glad That such a law Was left yet to mankind, Where they might read and find FRIENDSHIP indeed was written, not in words, And with the heart, not pen, Of two so early men, Whose lines her rules were and records: Who, ere the first down bloomed on the chin, Had sow'd these fruits, and got the harvest in.

John Donne. 1573-1631

195. Daybreak

STAY, O sweet and do not rise!

The light that shines comes from thine eyes; The day breaks not: it is my heart, Because that you and I must part.

Stay! or else my joys will die And perish in their infancy.

John Donne. 1573-1631

196. Song

GO and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the Devil's foot; Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights Till Age snow white hairs on thee; Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear No where Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know; Such a pilgrimage were sweet.

Yet do not; I would not go, Though at next door we might meet.

Though she were true when you met her, And last till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two or three.

John Donne. 1573-1631

197. That Time and Absence proves Rather helps than hurts to loves

ABSENCE, hear thou my protestation Against thy strength, Distance and length: Do what thou canst for alteration, For hearts of truest mettle Absence doth join and Time doth settle.

Who loves a mistress of such quality, His mind hath found Affection's ground Beyond time, place, and all mortality.

To hearts that cannot vary Absence is present, Time doth tarry.

My senses want their outward motion Which now within Reason doth win, Redoubled by her secret notion: Like rich men that take pleasure In hiding more than handling treasure.

By Absence this good means I gain, That I can catch her Where none can watch her, In some close corner of my brain: There I embrace and kiss her, And so enjoy her and none miss her.

John Donne. 1573-1631

198. The Ecstasy

WHERE, like a pillow on a bed, A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest The violet's reclining head, Sat we two, one another's best.

Our hands were firmly cemented By a fast balm which thence did spring; Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread Our eyes upon one double string.