That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den, Back'd, bridled by a monk, with sev'n heads yoked stands. And that black vulture,* which with deathful wing And life itself's as flit as is the air we breathe. HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE. From the same. Canto xii. THRICE, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns: Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread Draw out their silken lives: nor silken pride: The Turk. His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, Instead of music and base flattering tongues, His certain life, that never can deceive him, Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease: Pleas'd, and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; His little son into his bosom creeps, The lively picture of his father's face: Never his humble house nor state torment him; Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb content him. ELIZA; OR AN ELEGY UPON THE UNRIPE DECEASE OF SIR ANTONY IRBY. Composed at the request (and for a monument) of his surviving lady. By Phineas Fletcher. Look as a stag, pierc'd with a fatal bow, (As by a wood he walks securely feeding) In coverts thick conceals his deadly blow, And feeling death swim in his endless bleeding, (His heavy head his fainting strength exceeding) Bids woods adieu, so sinks into his grave; Green brakes and primrose sweet his seemly hearse embrave: So lay a gentle knight now full of death, And all her beauteous fairs with grief infecting: Her cheek as pale as his, 'twere hard to scan, If death or sorrow's face did look more pale or wan. Close by, her sister, fair Alicia, sits; And thither now was come to comfort death and sorrow. At length loud grief thus with a cheerful shriek (His trumpet) sounds a battle, joy defying; Spreading his colours in Eliza's cheek, And from her eyes (his watch-tower) far, espying, "Thou traitour joy, that in prosperity With that her fainting spouse lifts up his head, "My dear, (once all my joy, now all my care) Give me thy hand; these my last greetings are: Show me thy face, I never more shall eye thee. Ah, would our boys, our lesser selves, were by thee! Those my live pictures to the world I give : So single only die, in them twice-two I live. "I touch the shore, and see my rest preparing. Is in this thought, that thro' this troubled faring, "Life, life! how many Scyllas dost thou hide threaten! Gold, honour, greatness, and their daughter, pride! More quiet lives, and less with tempests beaten ! Whose middle state content doth richly sweeten! He knows not strife, or brabling lawyers' brawls; His love and wish live pleas'd within his private walls. "Thou God of Peace, with what a gentle tide Through this world's raging tempest hast thou brought me? Thou, thou my open soul didst safely hide, To fall, than being fall'n, to cease from falling ever. That in thy joys we find no mean or measure! How dost thou witch! I know thou dost deceive [thee. I know I should, I must, and yet I would not leave me: |