No More Learning

Sound or unsound, let it be!
'Tis the lot ordain'd for me.
He who to the ground does fall
_Has not whence to sink at all_.


210. TO HIS FRIEND, ON THE UNTUNABLE TIMES.

Play I could once; but, gentle friend, you see
My harp hung up here on the willow tree.
Sing I could once; and bravely, too, inspire
With luscious numbers my melodious lyre.
Draw I could once, although not stocks or stones,
Amphion-like, men made of flesh and bones,
Whither I would; but ah! I know not how,
I feel in me this transmutation now.
Grief, my dear friend, has first my harp unstrung,
Wither'd my hand, and palsy-struck my tongue.


211. HIS POETRY HIS PILLAR.

Only a little more
I have to write,
Then I'll give o'er,
And bid the world good-night.

'Tis but a flying minute
That I must stay,
Or linger in it;
And then I must away.

O time that cut'st down all
And scarce leav'st here
Memorial
Of any men that were.
How many lie forgot
In vaults beneath?
And piecemeal rot
Without a fame in death?

Behold this living stone
I rear for me,
Ne'er to be thrown
Down, envious Time, by thee.

Pillars let some set up
If so they please:
Here is my hope
And my Pyramides.


212. SAFETY ON THE SHORE.

What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore,
Ships have been drown'd where late they danc'd before.


213. A PASTORAL UPON THE BIRTH OF PRINCE CHARLES. PRESENTED TO THE KING,
AND SET BY MR. NIC. LANIERE.

_The Speakers_, Mirtillo, Amintas _and_ Amarillis.

_Amin. _ Good-day, Mirtillo.