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The First Booke XIX. by Thomas Campion. The ioyes recall that thence are fled ; Yeeld thy brest some liuing light ; The man that nothing doth is dead. Tune thy temper to these sounds, And quicken so thy ioylesse minde ; Sloth the worst and best confounds : It is the ruine of mankinde. From her caue rise all distasts, Which vnresolu'd Despaire pursues ; 10 Whom soone after, Violence hasts, Her selfe vngratefull to abuse. Skies are clear'd with stirring windes, Th' vnmoued water moorish growes ; Eu'ry eye much pleasure findes To view a streame that brightly flowes. Text source: Campion, Thomas. Campion's Works. Percival Vivian, Ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1909. 126. |