. Whims and oddities : in prose and verse. he is much more a happye man,saying unto his lusty yonge Dame, We twaine be onefleshe.—But the Poet sayth to his mate, Thou art skin ofmy skin, and bone of my bone ; soe that this saying is nota paradoxe,—That the Boke Man is a Dunce in beingWise,—and the Clowne is Wise, in being a Dunce. A VALENTINE. Oh ! cruel heart! ere these posthumous papersHave met thine eyes, I shall be out of breath ; Those cruel eyes, like two funereal tapers,Have only lighted me the way to death. Perchance, thou wilt extinguish them in vapours,When I am gone, and green grass
. Whims and oddities : in prose and verse. he is much more a happye man,saying unto his lusty yonge Dame, We twaine be onefleshe.—But the Poet sayth to his mate, Thou art skin ofmy skin, and bone of my bone ; soe that this saying is nota paradoxe,—That the Boke Man is a Dunce in beingWise,—and the Clowne is Wise, in being a Dunce. A VALENTINE. Oh ! cruel heart! ere these posthumous papersHave met thine eyes, I shall be out of breath ; Those cruel eyes, like two funereal tapers,Have only lighted me the way to death. Perchance, thou wilt extinguish them in vapours,When I am gone, and green grass covereth Thy lover, lost; but it will be in vain— It will not bring the vital spark again. Ah! when those eyes, like tapers, burnd so blue,It seemed an omen that we must expect The sprites of lovers; and it boded true,For I am half a sprite—a ghost elect; Wherefore I write to thee this last adieu,With my last pen—before that I effect My exit from the stage ; just stopped before The tombstone steps that lead us to deaths MISS TREE. A VALENTINE. 11 Full soon these living eyes, now liquid bright,Will turn dead dull, and wear no radiance, save They shed a dreary and inhuman light, Illumd within by glow-worms of the grave ; These ruddy cheeks, so pleasant to the sight,These lusty legs, and all the limbs I have, Will keep Deaths carnival, and, foul or fresh, Must bid farewell, a long farewell, to flesh! Yea, and this very heart, that dies for thee,As broken victuals to the worms will go ; And all the world will dine again but me—For I shall have no stomach;—and I know, When I am ghostly, thou wilt sprightly beAs now thou art: but will not tears of woe Water thy spirits, with remorse adjunct, When thou dost pause, and think of the defunct ? And when thy soul is buried in a sleep,In midnight solitude, and little dreaming Of such a spectre—what, if I should creepWithin thy presence in such dismal seeming ? Thine eyes will stare themselves awake, and weep,And th
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