I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies: Some have too much, yet still do crave; They are but poor, though much they have, They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; I laugh not at another's loss; I grudge not at another's gain; I fear no foe, I fawn no friend; Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, A cloaked craft their store of skill: My wealth is health and perfect ease; TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON When Love with unconfinèd wings The Gods that wanton in the air When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses bound, Know no such liberty. When (like committed linnets) I With shriller throat shall sing When I shall voice aloud how good Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love - Richard Lovelace TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, True, a new mistress now I chase, Yet this inconstancy is such As thou too shalt adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, - Richard Lovelace THE NOBLE NATURE It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be. - Ben Jonson TO CELIA 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. The thirst that from the soul doth rise But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, But thou thereon didst only breathe Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee! A SEA DIRGE FROM The Tempest Full fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made; Ben Jonson Those are pearls that were his eyes: Ding, dong, bell. William Shakespeare SONGS OF THE GREENWOOD FROM As You Like It I Under the greenwood tree, Unto the sweet bird's throat Come hither, come hither, come hither! No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And pleased with what he gets - Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. |