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.
