The following Rhomboidal Dirge, is inserted on account of its singularity. 'Ah me! Am I the swain, That late, from sorrow free, Did all the cares on earth disdain? And still untouch'd, as at some safer games, Play'd with the burning coals of love and beauty's flames? Was't I, could dive, and sound each passion's secret depth at will, And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise by help of reason still? And am I now, O heavens! for trying this in vain, So sunk, that I shall never rise again? Then, let despair set sorrow's string For strains that doleful'st be, And I will sing Ah me! But why, O fatal time, Dost thou constrain, that I Should perish in my youth's sweet prime? I, but a while ago, you cruel powers! In spite of fortune cropt contentment's sweetest flowers; And yet, unscorned, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress, And,which much more augments my care, Unmoaned I must die, And no man e'er Know why! Thy leave, My dying song, Yet take, ere grief bereave The breath which I enjoy too long. Tell thou that fair one this; my soul prefers Her love above my life: and that I died hers. And let him be for evermore to her remembrance dear, Since me my wonted joys forsake, And all my trust deceive, Of all I take My leave. Farewell, Sweet groves, to you! You hills that highest dwell, And all you humble vales adieu! You wanton brooks, and solitary rocks; My dear companions all, and you my tender flocks! Farewel, my pipe! and all those pleasing songs, whose moving strains Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains. You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart Have, without pity, broke the truest heart, Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy, That erst did with me dwell, And others joy, Farewell! Adieu, Fair shepherdesses! Let garlands of sad yew Adorn your dainty golden tresses! I, that lov'd you, and often with my quill Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill, I, whom you loved so, and with a sweet and chaste embrace, And therefore bid I you, And every one, Adieu ! I die! For, oh! I feel Death's horrors drawing nigh, And all this frame of nature reel. My hopeless heart, despairing of relief, Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief, Which hath so ruthless torn, so rack'd, so tortur'd every vein; All comfort comes too late to have it ever cur'd again. My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round, A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound, Benumb'd is my cold-sweating brow, A dimness shuts my eye, And now, oh now, I die! RICHARD BRATHWAYT, Author of the" English Gentleman and Gentlewoman," was born in Westmoreland, 1588, entered at Oriel College, Oxford, 1604, and afterwards became a trained-band captain, a deputy lieutenant, a justice of peace, and a noted wit and poet. He died in 1673, leaving behind him (says Wood) the character of a well-bred gentleman, and a good neighbour. His publications were numerous. Vide Ath. Vol. II. p. 516. SONG. [From the Shepherd's Tales, contained in "Nature's "Embassie," 1621, 8vo.] If marriage life yield such content, What heavy hap have I! Whose life with grief and sorrow spent, Wish death, yet cannot die. She's bent to smile when I do storm, When I am cheerful too She seems to low'r. Then, who can cure Or counterpoise my woe? My marriage-day chac'd joy away, That bed which did all joys display Became a bed of rue. Where asps do browze on fancy's flow'r, And beauty's blossom too; Then where's that power on earth, may cure Or counterpoise my woe? I thought love was the lamp of life, No love like to a faithful wife; Which when I sought to prove, I found her birth was not of earth, * My board no dishes can afford Where self-will domineers as lord |