The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
By that time Night had newly spred her robe
Ouer our halfe-part of this massie Globe,
She won that famous Ile which Ioue did please
To honour with the holy Druydes.
And as the Westerne side she stript along,
Heard (and so staid to heare) this heauy Song:
The end of this gaue life vnto a grone,
As if her life and it had beene but one;
Yet she as carelesse of reseruing either,
If possible would leaue them both together.
It was the faire Marina, almost spent
With griefe and feare of future famishment.
For (haplesse chance) but the last rosie morne
The willing Redbrest flying through a Thorne,
Against a prickle gor'd his tender side,
And in an instant so, poore creature, dyde.
Ouer our halfe-part of this massie Globe,
She won that famous Ile which Ioue did please
To honour with the holy Druydes.
And as the Westerne side she stript along,
Heard (and so staid to heare) this heauy Song:
O Heaven! what may I hope for in this Caue?
A Graue.
But who to me this last of helpes shall retch?
A Wretch.
Shall none be by pittying so sad a wight?
Yes: Night.
Small comfort can befall in heauy plight
To me poore Maid, in whose distresses be
Nor hope, nor helpe, nor one to pittie me,
But a cold Graue, a Wretch, and darksome Night.
A Graue.
But who to me this last of helpes shall retch?
A Wretch.
Shall none be by pittying so sad a wight?
Yes: Night.
118
To me poore Maid, in whose distresses be
Nor hope, nor helpe, nor one to pittie me,
But a cold Graue, a Wretch, and darksome Night.
To digge that Graue what fatall thing appeares?
Thy Teares.
What Bell shall ring me to that bed of ease?
Rough Seas.
And who for Mourners hath my Fate assign'd?
Each Winde.
Can any be debarr'd from such I finde?
When to my last Rites Gods no other send
To make my Graue, for Knell, or mourning friend,
Then mine own Teares, rough Seas, & gusts of Wind.
Thy Teares.
What Bell shall ring me to that bed of ease?
Rough Seas.
And who for Mourners hath my Fate assign'd?
Each Winde.
Can any be debarr'd from such I finde?
When to my last Rites Gods no other send
To make my Graue, for Knell, or mourning friend,
Then mine own Teares, rough Seas, & gusts of Wind.
Teares must my graue dig: but who bringeth those?
Thy Woes.
What Monument will Heauen my body spare?
The Ayre.
And what the Epitaph when I am gone?
Obliuion.
Most miserable I, and like me none
Both dying, and in death, to whom is lent
Nor Spade, nor Epitaph, nor Monument,
Excepting Woes, Ayre and Obliuion.
Thy Woes.
What Monument will Heauen my body spare?
The Ayre.
And what the Epitaph when I am gone?
Obliuion.
Most miserable I, and like me none
Both dying, and in death, to whom is lent
Nor Spade, nor Epitaph, nor Monument,
Excepting Woes, Ayre and Obliuion.
As if her life and it had beene but one;
Yet she as carelesse of reseruing either,
If possible would leaue them both together.
It was the faire Marina, almost spent
With griefe and feare of future famishment.
For (haplesse chance) but the last rosie morne
The willing Redbrest flying through a Thorne,
Against a prickle gor'd his tender side,
And in an instant so, poore creature, dyde.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |