CLII The Dying Lover
Dear Love, let me this evening die,
Oh smile not to prevent it;
Dead with my rivals let me lie,
Or we shall both repent it.
Frown quickly then, and break my heart, 5
That so my way of dying
May, though my life was full of smart,
Be worth the world’s envying.
Some, striving knowledge to refine,
Consume themselves with thinking; 10
And some, who friendship seal in wine,
Are kindly killed with drinking.
And some are wrecked on the Indian coast,
Thither by gain invited;
Some are in smoke of battle lost, 15
Whom drums, not lutes, delighted.
Alas! how poorly these depart,
Their graves still unattended!
Who dies not of a broken heart
Is not of Death commended. 20
His memory is only sweet,
All praise and pity moving,
Who kindly at his mistress’ feet
Does die with over-loving.
And now thou frown’st, and now I die, 25
My corpse by lovers followed;
Which straight shall by dead lovers lie;
That ground is only hallowed.
If priests are grieved I have a grave,
My death not well approving, 30
The poets my estate shall have,
To teach them the Art of Loving.
And now let lovers ring their bells
For me, poor youth departed,
Who kindly in his love excels, 35
By dying broken-hearted.
My grave with flowers let lovers strow,
Which, if thy tears fall near them,
May so transcend in scent and show,
As thou wilt shortly wear them. 40
Such flowers how much will florists prize,
On lover’s grave that growing,
Are watered by his mistress’ eyes,
With pity ever-flowing.
A grave so deckt will, though thou art 45
Yet fearful to come nigh me,
Provoke thee straight to break thy heart,
And lie down boldly by me.
Then everywhere all bells shall ring,
All light to darkness turning; 50
While every quire shall sadly sing,
And nature’s self wear mourning.
Yet we hereafter may be found,
By destiny’s right placing,
Making, like flowers, love underground, 55
Whose roots are still embracing.
Sir William Davenant.