William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.
The Phnix and the TurtleWilliam Shakespeare (15641616)
L
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near!
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feathered king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
That thy sable gender makest
With the breath thou giv’st and takest,
’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Love and constancy is dead;
Phœnix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.
Distance, and no space was seen
’Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phœnix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was called.
Saw division grow together,
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded,
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.’
To the phœnix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest.
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.