Page:Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics.djvu/45

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Reserve them for my love, not for their rhymeExceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought—‘Had my friend’s muse grown with this growing age,A dearer birth than this his love had brought,To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died, and poets better prove,Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love.’W. Shakespeare


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THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world, that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell;
Nay, if you read this line, remember notThe hand that writ it; for I love you so,That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgotIf thinking on me then should make you woe.
O if, I say, you look upon this verseWhen I perhaps compounded am with clay,Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,But let your love even with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan.And mock you with me after I am gone.W. Shakespeare


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MADRIGAL

Tell me where is Fancy bred,Or in the heart, or in the head?How begot, how nourishéd?Reply, reply.
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