Tuesday, April 12, 2011
On Keeping a Stiff Upper Lip
Henry King (1592–1669), Silence
Peace my hearts blab, be ever dumb,
Sorrowes speak loud without a tongue:
And my perplexed thoughts forbear
To breath your selves in any ear:
Tis scarce a true or manly grief
Which gaddes abroad to find relief.
Was ever stomack that lackt meat
Nourisht by what another eat?
Can I bestow it, or will woe
Forsake me when I bid it goe?
Then Ile believe a wounded breast
May heal by shrift, and purchase rest.
But if imparting it I do
Not ease my self, but trouble two,
'Tis better I alone possess
My treasure of unhappiness:
Engrossing that which is my own
No longer then it is unknown.
If silence be a kind of death,
He kindles grief who gives it breath;
But let it rak't in embers lye,
On thine own hearth 'twill quickly dye;
And spight of fate, that very wombe
Which carries it, shall prove its tombe.
Related posts: Grosse Seelen Dulden Still
; Hiding Troubles
; Nietzsche on Emotional Incontinence
; Buckled Lips
; Emotional Incontinence
; Hostile Laughter
; Hostile Laughter in Euripides' Medea
; Icy Laughter
; Notes to Myself
; On Concealing One's Misfortunes
; Quotations about Complaints