His helmet now shall make a hive for bees, And lovers songs be turned to holy psalms; A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are old ages alms.
Go, Soul, the bodys guest, Upon a thankless arrant: Fear not to touch the best, The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie.
The Lie.
Note 1. Altissima quæque flumina minimo sono labi (The deepest rivers flow with the least sound).Q. Curtius, vii. 4. 13.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.William Shakespeare: 2 Henry VI. act iii. sc. i. [back]