THOMAS RANDOLPH
The buck shall fall, The stag, and all.
Our pleasures must from their own warrants be, For to my Muse, if not to me,
I'm sure all game is free. Heaven, earth, are all but parts of her great royalty.
And when we mean To taste of Bacchus' blessings now and then,
And drink by stealth A cup or two to noble Barkley's health, I'll take my pipe and try The Phrygian melody, Which he that hears, Lets through his ears A madness to distemper all the brain Then I another pipe will take
And DOJIC music make, To civilize with graver notes our wits again.
��SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT 5 op Aubade
THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nct>t, And climbing shakes his dewy wings. He takes this window for the East,
And to implore your light he sings Awake, awake' the morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.
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