The Phoenix and the Turtle · William Shakespeare
THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE
That it cried, How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain. Whereupon it made this threne To the phoenix and the dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene. Beauty, truth, and rarity. Grace in all simplicity, Here enclos’d in cinders lie. Death is now the phoenix’ nest; And the turtle’s loyal breast To eternity doth rest. Leaving no posterity:— ’Twas not their infirmity, It was married chastity. Truth may seem, but cannot be; Beauty brag, but ’tis not she; Truth and beauty buried be. To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.