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Though was I lost abroad, Thou west to me * Strongest support which vouchsafed victory: Thou gav'st me wealth and reign and goodly gifts, * And slungest con quering sword of valiancy: Thou mad'st me blest beneath Thy kingly shade, * Engraced with generous boons dealt fain and free: Thou savedst *from every fear I feared, by aid * Of my Wazir, the Age's noblest he!
The homely words, how often read! How seldom fully known! "Which father of you, asked for bread, Would give his son a stone?" How oft has bitter tear been shed, And heaved how many a groan, Because Thou wouldst not give for bread The thing that was a stone! How oft the child Thou wouldst have fed, Thy gift away has thrown! He prayed, Thou heardst, and gav'st the bread: He cried, it is a stone!
They tell me that the lock of hair I gave thee on that night, Thou drewest from thy bosom, in all the people's sight, And gav'st it to a base-born Moor, who took the tresses curled, And tied them in thy turban, before the laughing world.
Thou canst not every day give me my heart: If thou canst give it then thou never gav'st it: Love's riddles are that though thy heart depart It stays at home, and thou with losing sav'st it. Donne's verse is usually as uncouth as his thought.
Swamp it deep the waves restore thee What thou gav'st them, brimmed with wrath." SHAGBAG'S Soliloquy on the Boomerang.
Yet thou lovest, loving ghost, And thy fierce parent flame thyself snuffed out Scarce later than the dark'ning of the fire Thou gav'st to be eternal vestal of Thine Antony's spirit. Thou didst love and die Of love; let, therefore, no light tongue, brazen In censure, say that nothing in thy life Became thee like the leaving it.
Yet not for all thy breathing charm remote, Nor breach tremendous in the forts of Hell, Not for these things we praise thee, though these things Are much; but more, because thou didst discern In temporal policy the eternal will; Thou gav'st to party strife the epic note, And to debate the thunder of the Lord; To meanest issues fire of the Most High.
Johnson shook his head at these common-place funereal lines, and said to Garrick, 'I think, Davy, I can make a better. Then, stirring about his tea for a little while, in a state of meditation, he almost extempore produced the following verses: 'Philips, whose touch harmonious could remove The pangs of guilty power or hapless love; Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more, Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before; Sleep, undisturb'd, within this peaceful shrine, Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!
'That is because you are so carried away by enthusiasm at the present moment as to ignore the ordinary rules of life. There are not, perhaps, many fathers who have Regans and Gonerils for their daughters; but there are very many who may take a lesson from the folly of the old king. "Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown," the fool said to him, "when thou gav'st thy golden one away."
Then, wound about and fettered with thy chains, To him, who for my death in evil hour Was born, thou gav'st me, bounden, full of pains And bitter tears; and syne within his power He hath me and his rule's so harsh and dour No sighs can move the swain Nor all my wasting plaints to set me free.
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