IV.

EPITAPH

ON HUSBAND AND WIFE.

CRASHAW.

To these, whom death again did wed,
The grave's a second marriage-bed.

For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,

It could not man and wife divide,

They lived one life, one death they died.

Peace, good reader, do not weep;

Peace, the lovers are asleep :
They (sweet turtles) folded lie,

In the last knot love could tie.
And though they lie as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheets of lead;

(Pillow hard, and sheets not warm)

Love made the bed, they'll take no harm.

Let them sleep, let them sleep on,

Till this stormy night be gone,

And th' eternal morrow dawn;

Then the curtain will be drawn,
And they awake into that light
Whose day shall never die in night.

V.

ON SHAKESPEARE.

DAVENANT.

BEWARE (delighted poets!) when you sing,

To welcome nature in the early spring,

Your num'rous feet not tread

The banks of Avon; for each flower

(As it ne'er knew a sun or shower)

Hangs there, the pensive head.

Each tree, whose thick and spreading growth hath made Rather a night beneath the boughs, than shade,

(Unwilling now to grow,)

Looks like the plume a captain wears,

Whose rifled falls are steept in tears

VOL. I.

Which from his last rage flow.

B

The piteous river wept itself away

Long since (alas!) to such a swift decay,

That reach the map, and look

If you a river there can spy;

And for a river your mock'd eye

Will find a shallow brook.

THE lark now leaves his watʼry nest,

And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings; He takes this window for the east;

And to implore your light, he sings, Awake, awake, the morn will never rise, Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
The ploughman from the sun his season takes;
But still the lover wonders what they are,

Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn! Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.