Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/190

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ROBERT SOUTHWELL
With this He vanish’d out of sight And swiftly shrunk away,And straight I callèd unto mindThat it was Christmas Day.

Henry Constable

1562?–1613?

120
On the Death of Sir Philip Sidney
Give pardon blessèd soul, to my bold cries, If they, importune, interrupt thy song, Which now with joyful notes thou sing’st among The angel-quiristers of th’ heavenly skies. Give pardon eke, sweet soul, to my slow eyes, That since I saw thee now it is so long, And yet the tears that unto thee belong To thee as yet they did not sacrifice. I did not know that thou wert dead before, I did not feel the grief I did sustain, The greater stroke astonisheth the more, Astonishment takes from us sense of pain, I stood amazed when others’ tears begun, And now begin to weep when they have done.

Samuel Daniel

1562–1619

121
Love is a Sickness
Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing, A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so?
158
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