COME away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid ;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it;
My part of death, no one so true
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there.
while my revenge shall be
To speak the very truth of thee.
ΜΟΛΕ δὴ μόλε μοι, Θάνατ', εὐχομένῳ,
πλευρὰν δ' ἐχέτω κυπάρισσος ἐμήν·
ἀπὸ δῆτ ̓ ἀπό μοι πνεῦμα ποτᾶσθω,
κτείνει γὰρ ἁβρὰ κτείνει με κόρη.
νῦν δὴ λευκὴν ἐσθῆτα νεκρῶν,
μελανόστικτον σμίλακι πᾶσαν,
σπεύσατ' ἐμὴν χάριν, ᾧ ξυναρέσθαι
τῶν πιστοτάτων οὐδ ̓ εἰς ἄρ ̓ ἔτλη
μοῖραν θανάτου.
μηδ' ἐπὶ πλεκτὴν χάριν ἀνθήρη
βαλέτω τις ἐμῇ λάρνακι λυγρᾷ·
μηδέ τις ὀστᾶ πρόβλητα φίλων
καὶ σῶμ ̓ ἐπίδῃ δείλαιον ἐμόν.
μῆχος δ' ἀχέων μυριοπληθῶν,
ἀποκρύψαθ ̓ ὅπου μή τις ἑταίρων
πλαγχθεὶς δυσέρως
τύμβον παρ' ἐμὸν γόον ἥσει.
IMPUNE tot nobis ut ingeras
Tam falsa tu convicia!
Plectere, pœnam dans gravissimam :
De te quod est verum audies.
DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But, might I of Jove's nectar sip,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It might not withered be:
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.
LUMINIBUS prior ipsa tuis, mea vita, propines,
Sic referent gratas mox mea rite vices;
Sive libet roseis pateræ dare basia labris,
Imprime, et iste mero dulcior haustus erit.
Nam mihi quæ dudum fervet sitis ægra sub imo
Pectore, sola deûm vult sibi vina dari.
Verum ego, et ipsius biberem si nectar Olympi,
Jurarem hoc labris postposuisse tuis.
Purpuream nuper misi tibi, cara, corollam
(Parvula, et haud meritis munera digna tuis);
Et dixi arridens: "Dominæ si forte placebis,
Iste tuus nunquam, crede, peribit odor."
Quæ, simul afflaras divino ex ore, trementes
Protinus in nostras jussa redire manus,
Jam proprium subito nescit mutata decorem,
Et tuus ex illo tempore mansit honos.
In spring-time, when the Sun with Taurus rides,
Pour forth their populous youth about the hive
In clusters: they among fresh dews and flowers
Fly to and fro, or on the smoothëd plank,
The suburb of their straw-built citadel,
New-rubbed with balm, expatiate and confer
Their state affairs. So thick the aery crowd
Swarmed and were straightened; till, the signal given,
Behold a wonder! They, but now who seemed
In bigness to surpass Earth's giant sons,
Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room
Throng numberless, like that Pygmean race
Beyond the Indian mount; or faery elves,
Whose midnight revels, by a forest side
Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,
Or dreams he sees, while overhead the Moon
Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth
Wheels her pale course; they, on their mirth and dance
Intent, with jocund music charm his ear;
At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
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