Green Bays. Verses and Parodies

Senex. Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake, What ayles thee soe to pyne? Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake When dayes be fyne And greene thynges twyne: Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne?
Turtur. Naye, gossyp, loyterynge soe late, What ayles thee thus to chyde? My love is fled by garden-gate; Since Lammas-tyde I wayte my bryde. Saye, gossyp, whom dost thou abyde?
Senex. Loe! I am he, the 'Lonelie Manne,' Of Time forgotten quite, That no remembered face may scanne— Sadde eremyte, I wayte tonyghte Pale Death, nor any other wyghte.
O cushat, cushat, callynge lowe, Goe waken Time from sleepe: Goe whysper in his ear, that soe His besom sweepe Me to that heape Where all my recollections keepe.
Hath he forgott? Or did I viewe A ghostlye companye This even, by the dismalle yewe, Of faces three That beckoned mee To land where no repynynges bee?
O Harrye, Harrye, Tom and Dicke, Each lost companion! Why loyter I among the quicke, When ye are gonne? Shalle I alone Delayinge crye 'Anon, Anon'?
Naye, let the spyder have my gowne, To brayde therein her veste. My cappe shal serve, now I 'goe downe,' For mouse's neste. Loe! this is best. I care not, soe I gayne my reste.
Not on the neck of prince or hound, Nor on a woman's finger twin'd, May gold from the deriding ground Keep sacred that we sacred bind: Only the heel Of splendid steel Shall stand secure on sliding fate, When golden navies weep their freight.
The scarlet hat, the laurell'd stave Are measures, not the springs, of worth; In a wife's lap, as in a grave, Man's airy notions mix with earth. Seek other spur Bravely to stir The dust in this loud world, and tread Alp-high among the whisp'ring dead.
Trust in thyself ,—then spur amain: So shall Charybdis wear a grace, Grim Aetna laugh, the Libyan plain Take roses to her shrivell'd face. This orb—this round Of sight and sound— Count it the lists that God hath built For haughty hearts to ride a-tilt.
If a leaf rustled, she would start: And yet she died, a year ago. How had so frail a thing the heart To journey where she trembled so? And do they turn and turn in fright, Those little feet, in so much night?