The Golden Treasury. Various

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      Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me;

       For while thou view'st me with thy fading light

       Part of my life doth still depart with thee,

       And I still onward haste to my last night:

       Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly—

       So every day we live a day we die.

      But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest,

       How are my days deprived of life in you

       When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest,

       By feignéd death life sweetly to renew!

       Part of my life, in that, you life deny:

       So every day we live, a day we die.

      T. Campion

LXXVII

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      This Life, which seems so fair,

       Is like a bubble blown up in the air

       By sporting children's breath,

       Who chase it everywhere

       And strive who can most motion it bequeath.

       And though it sometimes seem of its own might

       Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there,

       And firm to hover in that empty height,

       That only is because it is so light.

       —But in that pomp it doth not long appear;

       For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,

       Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.

      W. Drummond

LXXVIII

      SOUL AND BODY

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      Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth,

       [Foil'd by] those rebel powers that thee array,

       Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,

       Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?

      Why so large cost, having so short a lease,

       Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?

       Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,

       Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?

      Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,

       And let that pine to aggravate thy store;

       Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;

       Within be fed, without be rich no more:—

      So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,

       And death once dead, there's no more dying then.

      W. Shakespeare

LXXIX

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