Dear! why should you command me to my rest,

When now the night doth summon all to sleep?

Methinks this time becometh lovers best!
Night was ordained together friends to keep.
How happy are all other living things,
Which, through the day, disjoined by several
flight,

The quiet evening yet together brings,
And each returns unto his Love at night!
O thou that art so courteous else to all,
Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only
thus?

That every creature to his kind dost call,
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us!

ΙΟ

Well could I wish it would be ever day;
If, when night comes, you bid me go away!

LXI

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part !

Nay, I have done; you get no more of me! And I am glad, yea, glad, with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our vows!

And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows,
That we one jot of former love retain !

Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes,

ΙΟ

Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given

And many a deep wound lent;
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood
With his brave brother.
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight

Scarce such another!

Warwick in blood did wade;
Oxford, the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made,
Still as they ran up.
Suffolk his axe did ply;
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily;
Ferrers, and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's Day
Fought was this noble fray;
Which Fame did not delay
To England to carry.
O when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen? 1
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?

FROM NYMPHIDIA

THE COURT OF FAIRY

Her chariot ready straight is made
Each thing therein is fitting laid,
That she by nothing might be stayed,

For nought must her be letting;
Four nimble gnats the horses were,
Their harnesses of gossamer,
Fly Cranion her charioteer

Upon the coach-box getting.

Her chariot of a snail's fine shell,
Which for the colours did excel,
The fair Queen Mab becoming well,
So lively was the limning;

The seat the soft wool of the bee,
The cover, gallantly to see,
The wing of a pied butterflee;

I trow 'twas simple trimming.

1 give a subject for praise

Hop and Mop and Drop so clear Pip and Trip and Skip that were To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear, Her special maids of honour; Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin, Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin, Tit and Nit and Wap and Win,

The train that wait upon her. Upon a grasshopper they got And, what with amble and with trot, For hedge nor ditch they spared not, But after her they hie them; A cobweb over them they throw, To shield the wind if it should blow; Themselves they wisely could bestow Lest any should espy them.

FRANCIS BACON (1561-1626)

ESSAYS.

I. OF TRUTH

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