You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light,
You common people of the skies;
What are you when the moon shall rise?
You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature's lays,
Thinking your passions understood
By your weak accents; what 's your praise...
Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares,
Anxious sighs, untimely tears,
Fly, fly to courts,
Fly to fond worldlings’ sports,
Where strained sardonic smiles are glozing still,
And grief is forced to laugh against her will,
Where mirth ’s but mummery,
And sorrows only real be.
Fly from our country pastimes, fly...
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another’s will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Not tied unto the world with care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,...
Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia
YOU meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light,—
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the moon shall rise?
You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature’s lays,
Thinking your passions understood
By your...
