The Golden Treasury. Various
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Название: The Golden Treasury

Автор: Various

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

Серия:

isbn: 4057664094254

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       Full fathom five thy father lies:

       Of his bones are coral made;

       Those are pearls that were his eyes:

       Nothing of him that doth fade,

       But doth suffer a sea-change

       Into something rich and strange;

       Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

       Hark! now I hear them—

       Ding, dong, Bell.

       W. SHAKESPEARE.

      47. A LAND DIRGE.

       Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,

       Since o'er shady groves they hover

       And with leaves and flowers do cover

       The friendless bodies of unburied men.

       Call unto his funeral dole

       The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole

       To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm

       And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;

       But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,

       For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

       J. WEBSTER.

      48. POST MORTEM.

       If Thou survive my well-contented day

       When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,

       And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

       These poor rude lines of thy deceaséd lover:

       Compare them with the bettering of the time,

       And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,

       Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme

       Exceeded by the height of happier men.

       O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought—

       "Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age,

       A dearer birth than this his love had brought,

       To march in ranks of better equipage:

       But since he died, and poets better prove,

       Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love."

       W. SHAKESPEARE.

      49. THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH.

       No longer mourn for me when I am dead

       Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

       Give warning to the world, that I am fled

       From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell;

       Nay, if you read this line, remember not

       The hand that writ it; for I love you so,

       That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot

       If thinking on me then should make you woe.

       O if, I say, you look upon this verse

       When I perhaps compounded am with clay

       Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,

       But let your love even with my life decay;

       Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

       And mock you with me after I am gone.

       W. SHAKESPEARE.

      50. MADRIGAL.

       Tell me where is Fancy bred,

       Or in the heart or in the head?

       How begot, how nourishéd?

       Reply, reply.

       It is engender'd in the eyes,

       With gazing fed; and Fancy dies

       In the cradle where it lies:

       Let us all ring fancy's knell;

       I'll begin it—Ding, dong, bell.

      —Ding, dong, bell.

       W. SHAKESPEARE.

      51. CUPID AND CAMPASPE.

       Cupid and my Campaspe play'd

       At cards for kisses; Cupid paid:

       He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,

       His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;

       Loses them too; then down he throws

       The coral of his lip, the rose

       Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);

       With these, the crystal of his brow,

       And then the dimple on his chin;

       All these did my Campaspe win:

       At last he set her both his eyes—

       She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

       O Love! has she done this to thee?

       What shall, alas! become of me?

       J. LYLYE.

      52.

       Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day,

       With night we banish sorrow;

       Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft

       To give my Love good-morrow!

       Wings from the wind to please her mind,

       Notes from the lark I'll borrow;

       Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale sing,

       To give my Love good-morrow;

       To give my Love good-morrow

       Notes from them both I'll borrow.

       Wake from thy nest, Robin-redbreast!

       Sing, birds, in every furrow;

       And from each hill, let music shrill

       СКАЧАТЬ