A Book of old English love songs . an flDDe to ^imjself. HERE dost thou careless lie Buried in ease and sloth ?Knowledge^ that sleep, doth die;And this security, It is the common moth,That eats on wits and arts, and (so)destroy them both. Are all the Aonian springs Dried up ? lies Thespia waste ?Doth Clarius* harp want strings,That not a nymph now sings ?Or droop they as disgraced,To see their seats and bowers by chattering piesdefaced ? If hence thy silence be, As tis too just a cause,Let this thought quicken thee:[65] 2ln ®&e to tyimself Minds that are great and freeShould not on fortune pau
A Book of old English love songs . an flDDe to ^imjself. HERE dost thou careless lie Buried in ease and sloth ?Knowledge^ that sleep, doth die;And this security, It is the common moth,That eats on wits and arts, and (so)destroy them both. Are all the Aonian springs Dried up ? lies Thespia waste ?Doth Clarius* harp want strings,That not a nymph now sings ?Or droop they as disgraced,To see their seats and bowers by chattering piesdefaced ? If hence thy silence be, As tis too just a cause,Let this thought quicken thee:[65] 2ln ®&e to tyimself Minds that are great and freeShould not on fortune pause;Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause. What though the greedy fry-Be taken with false baits Of worded balladry, And think it poesy ? That die with their conceits,And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits. Then take in hand thy lyre,Strike in thy proper strain,With Japhets line aspireSols chariot for new fire,To give the world again:Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Joves brain. And since our dainty age, Cannot endure repro
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1897
