Time's eldest son, Old Age (the Heir of Ease,
Strength's Foe, Love's Woe, and Foster to Devotion)
Bids gallant Youth in martial prowess please!
As for himself, he hath no earthly motion;
But thinks Sighs, Tears, Vows, Prayers, and Sacrifices,
As good as Shows, Masks, Jousts, or Tilt devices.
Then sit thee down! and say thy Nunc dimitis!
With De profundis, Credo, and Te DEUM!
Chant Miserere, for what now so fit is
As that, or this, Paratum est cor meum!
O that thy Saint would take in worth thy heart!
Thou canst not please her with a better part.
When others sing Venite exultemus!
Stand by, and turn to Noli emulari!
For Quare fremuerunt, use Oremus!
Vivat Eliza! for an Ave Mari!
And teach those Swains that live about thy cell;
To sing Amen, when thou dost pray so well!
Praise blindness, Eyes! for seeing is deceit.
Be dumb, vain Tongue! words are but flattering winds.
Break Heart, and bleed! for there is no receipt
To purge inconstancy from most men's minds.
And so I waked amazed, and could not move;
I know my dream was true, and yet I love!
And if thine Ears, false heralds to thy heart,
Convey into thy head, hopes to obtain;
Then tell thy hearing, thou art deaf by Art!
Now, Love is Art; that wonted to be plain.
And so I waked amazed, and could not move;
I know my dream was true, and yet I love!
Now none is bald, except they see his brains!
Affection is not known, till one be dead!
Reward for love, are labours for his pains!
Love's quiver made of gold, his shafts of lead.
And so I waked amazed, and could not move;
I know my dream was true, and yet I love!
To Master Hugh Holland.
From Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired;
In these sad groves, an hermit's life I lead:
And those false pleasures, which I once admired,
With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread.
To birds, to trees, to earth, impart I this;
For she less secret, and as senseless is!
O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
O how much do I love your solitariness!