Readers, we entreat ye pray For the soul of Lucia; That in little time she be From her purgatory free: In the interim she desires That your tears may cool her fires.
No wrath of men, or rage of seas, Can shake a just man's purposes; No threats of tyrants, or the grim Visage of them can alter him; But what he doth at first intend, That he holds firmly to the end.
God could have made all rich, or all men poor; But why He did not, let me tell wherefore: Had all been rich, where then had patience been? Had all been poor, who had His bounty seen?
Dull to myself, and almost dead to these My many fresh and fragrant mistresses; Lost to all music now, since everything Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing. Sick is the land to th' heart, and doth endure...
Welcome! but yet no entrance, till we bless First you, then you, and both for white success. Profane no porch, young man and maid, for fear Ye wrong the Threshold-god that keeps peace here:...
Holy-Rood, come forth and shield Us i' th' city and the field; Safely guard us, now and aye, From the blast that burns by day; And those sounds that us affright In the dead of dampish night;...
To a love-feast we both invited are: The figur'd damask, or pure diaper, Over the golden altar now is spread, With bread, and wine, and vessels furnished; The sacred towel and the holy ewer...
Three lovely sisters working were, As they were closely set, Of soft and dainty maiden-hair, A curious Armilet. I, smiling, ask'd them what they did, Fair Destinies all three?...
I dreamt the Roses one time went To meet and sit in Parliament; The place for these, and for the rest Of flowers, was thy spotless breast. Over the which a state was drawn Of tiffany, or cob-web lawn;...
Go hence, and with this parting kiss, Which joins two souls, remember this: Though thou be'st young, kind, soft, and fair And may'st draw thousands with a hair; Yet let these glib temptations be...
Loth to depart, but yet at last each one Back must now go to's habitation; Not knowing thus much when we once do sever, Whether or no that we shall meet here ever. As for myself, since time a thousand cares...
To-morrow, Julia, I betimes must rise, For some small fault to offer sacrifice: The altar's ready: fire to consume The fat; breathe thou, and there's the rich perfume.