Chapter 278
Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled.
_Lines on his Promised Pension_.
I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
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_Hymn in Honor of Beauty_. Line 132. For of the soul the body form doth take, For soul is form, and doth the Body make.
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MOTHER HUBBERD'S TALE.
Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What hell it is in suing long to bide; To loose good dayes, that might be better spent To wast long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow;
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To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.
SIR HENRY WOTTON. 1568-1639.
_The Character of a Happy Life_.
How happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!
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Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all.
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_To his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia_.
You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light!
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DR. JOHN DONNE. 1573-1631.
FUNERAL ELEGIES, ON THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL.
_The Second Anniversary_. Line 245.
We understood Her by her sight; her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say her body thought.
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_Elegy_ 8. _The Comparison_.
She and comparisons are odious.
BEN JONSON. 1571-1637.
_To Celia_.
(From "The Forest.") Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine.
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_The Sweet Neglect_. (From the "Silent Woman." Act i. Sc. 5.)
Still to be neat, still to be drest As you were going to a feast.
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Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace.
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_Good Life_, _Long Life_.
In small proportion we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be.
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_Epitaph on Elizabeth_.
Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbor give To more virtue than doth live.
_Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke_.
Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death! ere thou hast slain another, Learned and fair and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
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_To the Memory of Shakespeare_.
Soul of the age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare rise. Small Latin, and less Greek. He was not of an age, but for all time.
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Sweet swan of Avon!
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_Every Man in his Humor_. Act. ii. Sc. 3.
Get money; still get money, boy; No matter by what means.
FRANCIS BEAUMONT. 1585-1616.
_Letter to Ben Jonson_.
What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtile flame, As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life.
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GEORGE WITHER. 1588-1667.
_The Shepherd's Resolution_.
Shall I, wasting in despair, Dye because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosie are? If she be not so to me, What care I how faire she be?
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FRANCIS QUARLES. 1592-1644.
_Emblems_. Book ii. 2.
Be wisely worldly, be not worldly wise.