Blown in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon. What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee? Thou’rt wondrous frolic, being to die so soon, And passing proud a little colour makes thee. If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives, Know then the thing that swells thee is thy bane; For the same beauty doth, in bloody leaves, The sentence of thy early death contain. Some clown’s coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower, If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn; And many Herods lie in wait each hour To murder thee as soon as thou art born-- Nay, force thy bud to blow--their tyrant breath Anticipating life, to hasten death! WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT 1611-1643 _330._ _To Chloe_ _Who for his sake wished herself younger_ There are two births; the one when light First strikes the new awaken’d sense; The other when two souls unite, And we must count our life from thence: When you loved me and I loved you Then both of us were born anew. Love then to us new souls did give And in those souls did plant new powers; Since when another life we live, The breath we breathe is his, not ours: Love makes those young whom age doth chill, And whom he finds young keeps young still. _331._ _Falsehood_ Still do the stars impart their light To those that travel in the night; Still time runs on, nor doth the hand Or shadow on the dial stand; The streams still glide and constant are: Only thy mind Untrue I find, Which carelessly Neglects to be Like stream or shadow, hand or star. Fool that I am! I do recall My words, and swear thou’rt like them all, Thou seem’st like stars to nourish fire, But O how cold is thy desire! And like the hand upon the brass Thou point’st at me In mockery; If I come nigh Shade-like thou’lt fly, And as the stream with murmur pass. _332._ _On the Queen’s Return from the Low Countries_ Hallow the threshold, crown the posts anew! The day shall have its due. Twist all our victories into one bright wreath, On which let honour breathe; Then throw it round the temples of our Queen! ’Tis she that must preserve those glories green. When greater tempests than on sea before Received her on the shore; When she was shot at ‘for the King’s own good’ By legions hired to blood; How bravely did she do, how bravely bear! And show’d, though they durst rage, she durst not fear. Courage was cast about her like a dress Of solemn comeliness: A gathered mind and an untroubled face Did give her dangers grace: Thus, arm’d with innocence, secure they move Whose highest ‘treason’ is but highest love. _333._ _On a Virtuous Young Gentlewoman that died suddenly_