Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/278

 JOHN FLETCHER

If men were wise to see 't,

But only melancholy

O sweetest melancholy' Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, A sight that piercing mortifies, A look that 's fasten'd to the ground, A tongue chain J d up without a sound!

Fountain-heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed, save bats and owls' A midnight bell, a parting groan These are the sounds we feed upon* Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, Nothing 's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy

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��224 Weep no more

rEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that 's gone: Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again. Trim thy locks, look cheerfully; Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see. Joys as winged dreams fly fast, Why should sadness longer last? Grief is but a wound to woe ; Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.

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