Sir William Davenant.
THE lark now leaves his watry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window
for the East,
And to implore your light he sings
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
Till she can dress
her beauty at your eyes.
The merchant bows unto the seamans star,
The ploughman from the sun his
But still the lover wonders what they are
Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
awake! break thro your veils of lawn!
Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn!
Lover. YOUR beauty, ripe and calm and fresh
As eastern summers are,
Must now, forsaking
time and flesh,
Add light to some small star.
Philosopher. Whilst she yet lives, were stars decayd,
Their light by hers relief might find;
Death will lead her to a shade
Where Love is cold and Beauty blind.
Lover. Lovers, whose priests all poets are,
Think every mistress, when she dies,
Is changed at
least into a star:
And who dares doubt the poets wise?
Philosopher. But ask not bodies doomd to die
To what abode they go;
Since Knowledge is but
It is not safe to know.
PRAISE is devotion fit for mighty minds,
The diffring worlds agreeing sacrifice;
divided faiths united finds:
But Prayer in various discord upward flies.
For Prayer the ocean is where diversely
Men steer their course, each to a sevral coast;
all our interests so discordant be
That half beg winds by which the rest are lost.
By Penitence when we ourselves forsake,
Tis but in wise design on piteous Heaven;
we nobly give what God may take,
And are, without a beggars blush, forgiven.
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd,
and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission.
See our FAQ for more details.