TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING
WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? Alas! you have not known that shower That mars a flower,
Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years, Or warped as we,
Who think it strange to see
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why
Ye droop and weep;
Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet?
Or brought a kiss
From that sweet heart to this? No, no; this sorrow shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read
"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.'
DELIGHT IN DISORDER
A SWEET disorder in the dress [A happy kind of carelessness ;] A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribands that flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility;
Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.
CHERRY ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones-come and buy ; If so be you ask me where
They do grow?-I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile- There's the land, or cherry-isle ; Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
SWEET day! so cool, so calm, so bright The bridal of the earth and sky; The dews shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.
Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;
Thy root is ever in its grave;
And thou must die.
Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses; A box where sweets compacted lie; Thy music shows ye have your closes; And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
THE SPANISH ARMADO
SOME years of late, in eighty-eight, As I do well remember,
It was, some say, the middle of May, And some say in September,
And some say in September.
The Spanish train launch'd forth amain, With many a fine bravado,
Their (as they thought, but it prov'd not) Invincible Armado,
Invincible Armado.
There was a man that dwelt in Spain Who shot well with a gun a, Don Pedro hight, as black a wight As the Knight of the Sun a, As the Knight of the Sun a.
King Philip made him Admiral, And bid him not to stay a, But to destroy both man and boy And so to come away a,
And so to come away a.
Their navy was well victualled
With bisket, pease, and bacon,
They brought two ships, well fraught with whips, But I think they were mistaken,
But I think they were mistaken.
Their men were young, munition strong, And to do us more harm a,
They thought it meet to joyn their fleet All with the Prince of Parma,
All with the Prince of Parma.
They coasted round about our land, And so came in by Dover : But we had men set on 'em then, And threw the rascals over, And threw the rascals over.
The Queen was then at Tilbury, What could we more desire a? Sir Francis Drake for her sweet sake Did set them all on fire a,
Did set them all on fire a.
Then straight they fled by sea and land, That one man kill'd threescore a, And had not they all run away, In truth he had kill'd more a, In truth he had kill'd more a.
Then let them neither bray nor boast, But if they come again a,
Let them take heed they do not speed As they did you know when a,
As they did you know when a.
I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been ; Where I the rarest things have seen; Oh, things without compare! Such sights again can not be found In any place on English ground, Be it at wake or faer.
At Charing Cross, hard by the way Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, There is a house with stairs;
And there did I see coming down Such folks as are not in our town; Vorty at least, in pairs.
Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine (His beard no bigger tho' than thine) Walk'd on before the rest;
Our landlord looks like nothing to him; The King (God bless him), 'twould undo him, Should he go still so drest.
At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i' the town: Though lusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the crown.
But wot you what? The youth was going To make an end of all his wooing: The parson for him staid :
Yet by his leave, for all his haste, He did not so much wish all past, Perchance as did the maid.
The maid (and thereby hangs a tale) For such a maid no Whitson-ale Could ever yet produce;
No grape that's kindly ripe could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juyce.
Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring;
It was too wide a peck:
And, to say truth (for out it must), It look'd like the great collar (just) About our young colt's neck.
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