ALL the flowers of the spring Meet to perfume our burying; These have but their growing prime, And man does flourish but his time: Survey our progress from our birth-- We are set, we grow, we turn to earth. Courts adieu, and all delights, All bewitching appetites! Sweetest breath and clearest eye Like perfumes go out and die; And consequently this is done As shadows wait upon the sun. Vain the ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind. William Alexander, Earl of Stirling. 1580?-1640 221. Aurora O HAPPY Tithon! if thou know'st thy hap, And valuest thy wealth, as I my want, Then need'st thou not--which ah! I grieve to grant-- Repine at Jove, lull'd in his leman's lap: That golden shower in which he did repose-- One dewy drop it stains Which thy Aurora rains Upon the rural plains, When from thy bed she passionately goes. Then, waken'd with the music of the merles, She not remembers Memnon when she mourns: That faithful flame which in her bosom burns From crystal conduits throws those liquid pearls: Sad from thy sight so soon to be removed, She so her grief delates. --O favour'd by the fates Above the happiest states, Who art of one so worthy well-beloved! Phineas Fletcher. 1580-1650 222. A Litany DROP, drop, slow tears, And bathe those beauteous feet Which brought from Heaven The news and Prince of Peace: Cease not, wet eyes, His mercy to entreat; To cry for vengeance Sin doth never cease. In your deep floods Drown all my faults and fears; Nor let His eye See sin, but through my tears. Sir John Beaumont. 1583-1627 223. Of his Dear Son, Gervase DEAR Lord, receive my son, whose winning love To me was like a friendship, far above The course of nature or his tender age; Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage: Let his pure soul, ordain'd seven years to be In that frail body which was part of me, Remain my pledge in Heaven, as sent to show How to this port at every step I go. William Drummond, of Hawthornden. 1585-1649 224. Invocation