They now to fight are gone, That with the cries they make, Well it thine age became, When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Struck the French horses. With Spanish yew so strong, None from his fellow starts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together. When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew, Arms were from shoulders sent; This while our noble king, And many a deep wound lent, Gloucester, that duke so good, With his brave brother; Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Upon Saint Crispin's day BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Beaumont born 1586; died 1616. Fletcher born 1579; died 1625. WE A SAD SONG. EEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe. Fletcher. FROM AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE.' MAN AN is his own star, and the soul that can Fletcher. LINES ON THE TOMBS OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY. MORTALITY, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Think how many royal bones Here they lie had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands; Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest royall'st seed Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried, 'Though gods they were, as men they died.' Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state, Buried in dust, once dead by fate. Beaumont. JOSHUA SYLVESTER. Born 1563. Died 1610. I A CONTENTED MIND. WEIGH not fortune's frown or smile; I joy not much in earthly joys; I quake not at the thunder's crack; I see ambition never pleased; I see some Tantals starved in store; I see gold's dropsy seldom eased; I see e'en Midas gape for more: I neither want, nor yet abound— Enough's a feast, content is crowned. I feign not friendship where I hate ; |