Patience

Patience! why, 'tis the soul of peace:
OF all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven:
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e'er wore earth about Him was a sufferer;
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit;
The first true gentleman that ever breathed.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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Fancies Are But Streams

Fancies are but streams
Of vain pleasure:
They who by their dreams
True joys measure
Feasting, starve; laughing, weep;
Playing, smart. Whilst in sleep
Fools with shadows smiling,
Wake and find
Hopes like wind,
Idle hopes beguiling.
Thoughts fly away, Time hath past 'em;
Wake now, awake, see and taste 'em.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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Cradle Song

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise ;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you ;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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Golden Slumbers Kiss Your Eyes

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise ;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you ;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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Here Lies The Blithe Spring

HERE lies the blithe Spring,
Who first taught birds to sing,
Yet in April herself fell a-crying:
Then May growing hot,
A sweating sickness she got,
And the first of June lay a-dying.

Yet no month can say,
But her merry daughter May
Stuck her coffins with flowers great plenty:
The cuckoo sung in verse
An epitaph o'er her hearse,
But assure you the lines were not dainty.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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What Bird So Sings

What bird so sings, yet so does wail,
'Tis Philomel the Nightingale;
Jug, jug, jug, tereu she cries,
And hating earth, to heaven she flies.
Ha, ha, hark, hark, the Cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring.
Brave prick-song; who is't now we hear!
'Tis the Lark's silver lir-a-lir:
Chirrup, the Sparrow flies away;
For he fell to't ere break of day.
Ha, ha, hark hark; the Cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring

poem by Thomas Dekker
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The Invitation

LIVE with me still, and all the measures
Played to by the spheres I'll teach thee;
Let's but thus daily, all the pleasures
The moon beholds, her man shall reach thee.

Dwell in mine arms, aloft we'll hover,
And see fields of armies fighting:
Oh, part not from me! I'll discover
There all but [?] books of fancy's writing.

Be but my darling, age to free thee
From her curse, shall fall a-dying;
Call me thy empress, Time to see thee
Shall forget his art of flying.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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The Noble Spanish Soldier

O, SORROW, SORROW, say where dost thou dwell?
In the lowest room of hell.
Art thou born of human race?
No, no, I have a furier face.
Art thou in city, town, or court?
I to every place resort?
O, why into the world is Sorrow sent?
Men afflicted best repent.
What dost thou feed on?
Broken sleep.
What takest thou pleasure in?
To weep,
To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan,
To wring my hands, to sit alone.
O when, O when shall Sorrow quiet have?
Never, never, never, never,
Never till she finds a grave.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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Beauty Arise

Beauty arise, show forth thy glorious shining,
Thine eyes feed love, for them he standeth pining ;
Honor and youth attend to do their duty
To thee, their only sovereign, Beauty.
Beauty arise, whilst we, thy servants, sing
Io to Hymen, wedlock's jocund king.
Io to Hymen, Io, Io, sing ;
Of wedlock, love, and youth is Hymen king.

Beauty arise, Beauty arise, thy glorious lights display,
Whilst we sing Io, glad to see this day.
Io, Io, to Hymen, Io, Io, sing ;
Of wedlock, love, and youth is Hymen king.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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Fortune Smiles

Fortune smiles, cry holiday,
Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,
Fortune frowns, cry welladay,
Her love is heaven, her hate is hell:
Since heaven and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes do lour,
Since heaven and hell her power obey,
When she smiles, cry holiday.
Holiday with joy we cry
And bend, and bend and merrily,
Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity,
Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity.

Let us sing, merrily, merrily, merrily,
With our song let heaven resound,
Fortune's hands our heads have crown'd,
Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily.

poem by Thomas Dekker
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