102
The Rape of Lucrece.
The little birds that tune their mornings joy,
Make her mones mad with their sweet melody,
For mirth doth search the bottome of annoy,
Sad Souls are slaine in merry company,
Grief best is pleased with griefs society:
True sorrow then is feelingly suffiz'd
When with like semblance it is simpathiz'd.
Make her mones mad with their sweet melody,
For mirth doth search the bottome of annoy,
Sad Souls are slaine in merry company,
Grief best is pleased with griefs society:
True sorrow then is feelingly suffiz'd
When with like semblance it is simpathiz'd.
'Tis double death to drowne in ken of shore,
He ten times pines, that pines beholding food,
To see the salve doth make the wound ake more,
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roul forward like a gentle floud,
Who being stopt, the bounding banks oreflows,
Grief dallied with, nor law nor limit knows.
He ten times pines, that pines beholding food,
To see the salve doth make the wound ake more,
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roul forward like a gentle floud,
Who being stopt, the bounding banks oreflows,
Grief dallied with, nor law nor limit knows.
You mocking birds (quoth she) your tunes intomb
Within your hollow swelling feathered breasts,
And in my hearing be you ever dumb,
My restlesse discord loves no stops nor rests;
A woful hostesse brooks not merry guests:
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears,
Distresse likes dumps when time is kept with tears.
Within your hollow swelling feathered breasts,
And in my hearing be you ever dumb,
My restlesse discord loves no stops nor rests;
A woful hostesse brooks not merry guests:
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears,
Distresse likes dumps when time is kept with tears.
Come Philomele, that singst of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my disheveld hair:
As the danke earth weeps at thy languishment;
So I at each sad strain will straine a tear,
And with deep grones the Diapason bear:
Make thy sad grove in my disheveld hair:
As the danke earth weeps at thy languishment;
So I at each sad strain will straine a tear,
And with deep grones the Diapason bear:
For
