Which, though sweet unto your smell,
Yet the fretful briar will tell,
He who plucks the sweets shall prove
Many thorns to be in love.
218. LYRIC FOR LEGACIES.
Gold I've none, for use or show,
Neither silver to bestow
At my death; but this much know;
That each lyric here shall be
Of my love a legacy,
Left to all posterity.
Gentle friends, then do but please
To accept such coins as these
As my last remembrances.
219. A DIRGE UPON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT VALIANT LORD, BERNARD STUART.
Hence, hence, profane! soft silence let us have
While we this trental sing about thy grave.
Had wolves or tigers seen but thee,
They would have showed civility;
And, in compassion of thy years,
Washed those thy purple wounds with tears.
But since thou'rt slain, and in thy fall
The drooping kingdom suffers all;
