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When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth naught but
shows

Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase, 5
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, 10
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

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And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow; 10
But, out, alack! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me

now.

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

LV

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime; But you shall shine more bright in these contents

Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.

5

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall
burn

The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find

room

Even in the eyes of all posterity

10

That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.

LX

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,

So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

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Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
(Press'd by) these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

10

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on

men,

And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

FROM THE DRAMAS

THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE

HENRY VI.'S SOLILOQUY AT THE BATTLE OF

TOWTON

(From III Henry VI., Act II. v., 1590-92) This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night.

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10

15

Now, one the better, then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered:
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead! if God's good will were so:
For what is in this world but grief and woe? 20
O God! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain:
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

25

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete;
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times: 30
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; 36
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece;
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and
years,

Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 40
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorne bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? 45
O, yes it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
And to conclude, the shepherd's homely
curds,

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

Is far beyond a prince's delicates,

His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,

50

When, care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

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4

(From II Henry IV., Act III., i., 1597-98) How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 6 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,

Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?

10

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Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 5
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

10

Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm
it,

As fearfully as does a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit

16

To his full height! On, on, you nobless Eng

lish,

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ISABELLA'S PLEA FOR MERCY

(From the same, Act II., ii.)

He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.

Too late? why, no, I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again: Well believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,

Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 60
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does.

If he had been as you, and you as he,
You would have slipp'd like him; but he, like

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150

(From The Tempest, Act IV., i., 1610) Our revels now are ended: these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 155 Leave not a wrack behind: We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Thomas Nash

c. 1567-1601

DEATH'S SUMMONS

(From Summer's Last Will and Testament, 1600)

Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss,
This world uncertain is:
Fondare life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.

None from his darts can fly:
I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade;
All things to end are made;
The plague 2 full swift goes by:
I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower,
Which wrinkles will devour:
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye:
I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!

Strength stoops unto the grave;
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate;
Earth still holds ope her gate;
Come, come, the bells do cry.
I am sick, I must die!

Lord, have mercy on us!

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Alas! Alas! 72 Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy; How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should

Hath no cars for to hear

1 Foolish.

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London was suffering from the plague in 1598, wher the play from which this song is taken was produced.

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The want of term is town and city's harm;1 Close chambers we do want to keep us warm. Long banished must we live from our friends: This low-built house will bring us to our ends. From winter, plague and pestilence, good Lord, deliver us!

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Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down.
Hey derry derry down-a-down.
Ho! well done, to me let come,

Ring compass, gentle joy!2
Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,
And here kind mate to thee!

Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,
Saint Hugh! be our good speed;
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.

John Donne

1573-1631

10

15

AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY MARKHAM

(First published 1633)

5

Man is the world, and death the ocean
To which God gives the lower parts of man.
This sea environs all, and though as yet
God hath set marks and bounds 'twixt us and it,
Yet doth it roar and gnaw, and still pretend
To break our bank, whene'er it takes a friend:
Then our land-waters (tears of passion) vent;
Our waters then above our firmament-
Tears, which our soul doth for her sin let fall,-
Take all a brackish taste, and funeral.
And even those tears, which should wash sin,
are sin.

10

We, after God, new drown our world again.
Nothing but man of all envenom'd things,
Doth work upon itself with inborn stings.
Tears are false spectacles; we cannot see
Through passion's mist, what we are, or what

she.

15

20

In her this sea of death hath made no breach;
But as the tide doth wash the shining beach,
And leaves embroider'd works upon the sand,
So is her flesh refin'd by Death's cold hand.
As men of China, after an age's stay,
Do take up porcelain, where they buried clay,
So at this grave, her limbec (which refines
The diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls and

mines,

Of which this flesh was) her soul shall inspire 25 Flesh of such stuff, as God, when His last fire

1 Pass round the wine, or drink.

Let the bowl, (the gentle joy) come to me; let it circle or ring the compass, or circle, formed by those about the table. To ring compass, was therefore equivalent to let the bowl go round, or circulate freely.

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