Blood must be my body's balmer; No other balm will there be given; Whilst my soul, like a quiet palmer, Traveleth towards the land of heaven, Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains. The bowl of bliss; And drink mine everlasting fill My soul will be a-dry before; Then by that happy blissful day More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, That have cast off their rags of clay, And walk appareled fresh like me. I'll take them first, To quench their thirst And taste of nectar suckets, At those clear wells Where sweetness dwells, Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. And when our bottles and all we Are filled with immortality, Then the blessed paths we 'll travel, Strowed with rubies thick as gravel; Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors, High walls of coral, and pearly bowers. From thence to heaven's bribeless hall, Where no corruptèd voices brawl; No conscience molten into gold; No forged accuser bought or sold; No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, For there Christ is the King's attorney, Who pleads for all, without degrees, And he hath angels but no fees. 10 15 24 30 41 And when the grand twelve million jury Of our sins, with direful fury, Against our souls black verdicts give, Christ pleads his death; and then we live. PARIS. CEN. The fairest shepherd on our green, A love for any lady. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, 5 Thy love is fair for thee alone, My love is fair, my love is gay, As fresh as bin the flowers in PHILOMELA'S ODE FROM PHILOMELA Sitting by a river's side, Who esteem your virgin blisses No such quiet to the mind As true love with kisses kind; Then is true love quite disgraced. SONG FROM MENAPHON 10 20 30 10 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. A mind content both crown and kingdom is. Thou canst not die, whilst any zeal abound In feeling hearts, that can conceive these lines: Though thou, a Laura, hast no Petrarch found; In base attire, yet, clearly, Beauty shines. And I, though born within a colder clime, Do feel mine inward heat as great, I know it. He never had more faith, although more rime: I love as well, though he could better show it. But I may add one feather to thy fame, 10 |