Come, all sad and solemn shows, That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes! We convènt naught else but woes. ? or _John Fletcher_. _142._ dole] lamentation. convent] summon. _143._ _Orpheus_ Orpheus with his lute made trees And the mountain tops that freeze Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die. ? or _John Fletcher_. _144._ _The Phœnix and the Turtle_ Let the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fever’s end, To this troop come thou not near. From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing Save the eagle, feather’d king: Keep the obsequy so strict. Let the priest in surplice white That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right. And thou, treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender mak’st With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st, ’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. Here the anthem doth commence:-- Love and constancy is dead; Phœnix and the turtle fled In a mutual flame from hence. So they loved, as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distincts, division none; Number there in love was slain. can] knows. Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance, and no space was seen ’Twixt the turtle and his queen: But in them it were a wonder. So between them love did shine, That the turtle saw his right Flaming in the phœnix’ sight; Either was the other’s mine. Property was thus appall’d, That the self was not the same; Single nature’s double name Neither two nor one was call’d. Reason, in itself confounded, Saw division grow together; To themselves yet either neither; Simple were so well compounded, That it cried, ‘How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, reason none If what parts can so remain.’ Whereupon it made this threne To the phœnix and the dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene. _THRENOS_ Beauty, truth, and rarity, Grace in all simplicity, Here enclosed in cinders lie. Death is now the phœnix’ nest; And the turtle’s loyal breast To eternity doth rest, Leaving no posterity: ’Twas not their infirmity, It was married chastity. Truth may seem, but cannot be; Beauty brag, but ’tis not she; Truth and beauty buried be.