English

When two complaining spirits mingle,
Saintly and calm their woes become:
Alas the grief that bideth single,
Whose heart is drear, whose lips are dumb!

My drooping lily, when the tears
Of morning bow thy tender head,
Oh scatter them, and have no fears:
They kill sometimes if cherished.

Dear Girl, the precious gift you gave
Was of yourself entire and free.
Why front alone Life's gloomy wave,

At this glad Triumph, when most Poits use
Their Quill, I did not bridle up my Muse
For sloath or lesse devotion. I am one
That can well keep my Holy-dayes at home;
That can the blessings of my King and State
Better in Pray'r then Poims gratulate;
And in their fortunes beare a Loyall part,
Though I no bon-fires light, but in my heart.
Truth is, when I receav'd the first report
Of a New Starr Risen and seene at Court,
Though I felt joy enough to give a tongue
Unto a Mute, yet duty strook mee dumbe:

Ware, ware, snares for hares,
Peg 'em down, tack, tack:
Fair, fair, the warriors
My Lord's
Bucklers and Bastions!

Ware, ware, snares for hares,
Spread 'em in the tracks:
Fair, fair, the warriors
My Lord's
Dearest companions!

Ware, ware, snares for hares,
Spread 'em in the woods:
Fair, fair, the warriors
My Lord's
Soul and opinions!

Like the slender peach
With her flowers red-hot,
So speeds the bride
To chaste room and cot.

Like the slender peach
With her fruit in bloom,
So speeds the bride
To chaste cot and room.

Like the slender peach
With exuberant leaves,
So speeds the bride
With her virgin slaves.

South, droops a tree,
Creeper surround her:
Our lady's joy
Fortune hath found her!

South-droops a tree,
Creepers entrance her:
Our lady's joy
Fortune enhance her!

South, droops a tree,
Creepers beset her:
Our lady's joy
Fortune beget her!

(Les Regrets de la belle bealmiere)

Methought I heard the mournful sigh
Of she who was the town's mistress,
Lamenting that her youth should die
And speaking thus in sore distress:
" Ah foul age, in your bitterness
And hate, why have you used me so?
What hinders me in my duress
Ending this life so useless now?

" Broken hast thou the spell so fair
That beauty once gave unto me;
Merchants and clerks and priests once were
My slaves, and all men born to see
Were mine, and paid gold royally

But is it true, the Court mislik't the Play,
That Christchurch and the Arts have lost the day?
That Ignoramus should so farr excell
Their Hobby-horse from ours hath borne the bell?
Troth you are justly serv'd, that would present
Ought unto them, but shallow merriment;
Or to your Marriage-table did admitt
Guests, that are stronger farr in smell, then Witt.
Had some quaint bawdry larded ev'ry Scaene,
Some fawning Sychophant, or courted Queane;
Had there appear'd some sharp, crosse-garter'd man,

(Ballade des seigneurs du temps jadis)

The Saints, Apostles, where are they,
Vestured in albs and each one stoled
In amict; who by neck did lay;
All sinners by the fiend controlled?
And even as these are gone, behold,
So all must go their fate to find,
Servants and sons, and young and old:
So much carries away the wind.
And Constantine's successor—say,
Where is he with his hands of gold?
And the French king who stands for ay
Above all kings whose tales are told;
Who, praising God and saintly souled,

In imitation of the Virgin's Answer to the Angel.

[Luk. 1.38.]

Great GOD: Thy Chosen People shall
Each one to Thee be Called home:
And to a Choice of thee they All
On thy Heart-conq'ring Call shall come.

God, Father, Son , and Spirit , make
Tenders that overcome us quite:
I'll be your GOD; He sayes: I'll take
In you, as in dear Sons delight.

The Lord-Redeemer does propose
To Pay for us a wondrous Price ;
To guide our Wayes ; to quell our Foes ;

(Ballade des seigneurs du temps jadis)

And more—that Pope the third Calixte
Last of his name, where is he gone,
Who four years held the Papalist?
Where's Alphonse, King of Aragon.
The gracious lord Duke of Bourbon,
And Artus, Duke of broad Bretagne,
And Charles the seventh named “Le Bon”?
But where is now brave Charlemagne!

Also that Scottish king of mist
And rain, with half his face, saith one,
Vermillion like an amethyst,
Painted from chin right up to crown.
The Cyprian king of old renown,