User: Can you write me a poem about ambergris?
Assistant: Sure, here's a poem about ambergris:
  Epigrams, which successive editors have joined in deploring, in a
"We see Him come, and know Him ours,
Who with His sunshine and His showers
Turns all the patient ground to flowers".
The quarterly stipend was paid through various booksellers, but
"I've more to bear my charge than way to go";
"But unto me be only hoarse, since now
(Heaven and my soul bear record of my vow)
I my desires screw from thee and direct
Them and my thoughts to that sublime respect
And conscience unto priesthood. 'Tis not need
(The scarecrow unto mankind) that doth breed
Wiser conclusions in me, since I know
I've more to bear my charge than way to go;
Or had I not, I'd stop the spreading itch
Of craving more: so in conceit be rich;
But 'tis the God of nature who intends
And shapes my function for more glorious ends."
parishioners, and jotting down sermon-notes in verse.
unquestioning loyalty, but in others he is less certain of kingly
illustrations of Herrick's reading added in the notes, which have
_Effugient avidos Carmina nostra Rogos._
and are to be sold by _Tho: Hunt_, Book-seller
Well may my book come forth like public day
When such a light as you are leads the way,
Who are my work's creator, and alone
The flame of it, and the expansion.
And look how all those heavenly lamps acquire
Light from the sun, that inexhausted fire,
So all my morn and evening stars from you
Have their existence, and their influence too.
Full is my book of glories; but all these
By you become immortal substances.
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers,
Of April, May, of June and July-flowers;
I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides and of their bridal cakes;
I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness;
I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece
Of balm, of oil, of spice and ambergris;
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red and lilies white;
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall)
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.
_Hock-cart_, the last cart from the harvest-field.
Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam?
Far safer 'twere to stay at home,
Where thou mayst sit and piping please
The poor and private cottages,
Since cotes and hamlets best agree
With this thy meaner minstrelsy.
There with the reed thou mayst express
The shepherd's fleecy happiness,
And with thy eclogues intermix
Some smooth and harmless bucolics.
There on a hillock thou mayst sing
Unto a handsome shepherdling,
Or to a girl, that keeps the neat,
With breath more sweet than violet.
There, there, perhaps, such lines as these
May take the simple villages;
But for the court, the country wit
Is despicable unto it.
Stay, then, at home, and do not go
Or fly abroad to seek for woe.
Contempts in courts and cities dwell,
No critic haunts the poor man's cell,
Where thou mayst hear thine own lines read
By no one tongue there censured.
That man's unwise will search for ill,
And may prevent it, sitting still.
While thou didst keep thy candour undefil'd,
Dearly I lov'd thee as my first-born child,
But when I saw thee wantonly to roam
From house to house, and never stay at home,
I brake my bonds of love, and bade thee go,
Regardless whether well thou sped'st or no.
On with thy fortunes then, whate'er they be:
If good, I'll smile; if bad, I'll sigh for thee.
To read my book the virgin shy
May blush while Brutus standeth by,
But when he's gone, read through what's writ,
And never stain a cheek for it.
Come thou not near those men who are like bread
O'er-leaven'd, or like cheese o'er-renneted.
In sober mornings, do not thou rehearse
The holy incantation of a verse;
But when that men have both well drunk and fed,
Let my enchantments then be sung or read.
When laurel spirts i'th' fire, and when the hearth
Smiles to itself, and gilds the roof with mirth;
When up the thyrse[C] is rais'd, and when the sound
Of sacred orgies[D] flies, a round, a round.
When the rose reigns, and locks with ointments shine,
Let rigid Cato read these lines of mine.
_Round_, a rustic dance.
_Cato_, see Martial, x. 17, quoted in Note.
Droop, droop no more, or hang the head,
Ye roses almost withered;
Now strength and newer purple get,
Each here declining violet.
O primroses! let this day be
A resurrection unto ye;
And to all flowers ally'd in blood,
Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood:
For health on Julia's cheek hath shed
Claret and cream commingled;
And those her lips do now appear
As beams of coral, but more clear.
_Beams_, perhaps here = branches: but cp. 440.
Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed,
And loving lie in one devoted bed.
Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly post-haste;
No sound calls back the year that once is past.
Then, sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay;
_True love, we know, precipitates delay._
Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove;
_No man at one time can be wise and love._
I dreamt the roses one time went
To meet and sit in parliament;
The place for these, and for the rest
Of flowers, was thy spotless breast,
Over the which a state was drawn
Of tiffanie or cobweb lawn.
Then in that parly all those powers
Voted the rose the queen of flowers;
But so as that herself should be
The maid of honour unto thee.
_State_, a canopy.
_Tiffanie_, gauze.
_Parly_, a parliament.
To get thine ends, lay bashfulness aside;
_Who fears to ask doth teach to be deny'd._
I freeze, I freeze, and nothing dwells
In me but snow and icicles.
For pity's sake, give your advice,
To melt this snow and thaw this ice.
I'll drink down flames; but if so be
Nothing but love can supple me,
I'll rather keep this frost and snow
Than to be thaw'd or heated so.
Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve to see
Me, day by day, to steal away from thee?
Age calls me hence, and my grey hairs bid come,
And haste away to mine eternal home;
'Twill not be long, Perilla, after this,
That I must give thee the supremest kiss.
Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring
Part of the cream from that religious spring;
With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet;
That done, then wind me in that very sheet
Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore
The gods' protection but the night before.
Follow me weeping to my turf, and there
Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear:
Then, lastly, let some weekly-strewings be
Devoted to the memory of me:
Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep
Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep.
_Weekly strewings_, _i.e._, of flowers on his grave.
Come down and dance ye in the toil
Of pleasures to a heat;
But if to moisture, let the oil
Of roses be your sweat.
Not only to yourselves assume
These sweets, but let them fly
From this to that, and so perfume
E'en all the standers by;
As goddess Isis, when she went
Or glided through the street,
Made all that touched her, with her scent,
And whom she touched, turn sweet.
When I thy parts run o'er, I can't espy
In any one the least indecency;
But every line and limb diffused thence
A fair and unfamiliar excellence:
So that the more I look the more I prove
There's still more cause why I the more should love.
_Indecency_, uncomeliness.
The seeds of treason choke up as they spring:
_He acts the crime that gives it cherishing_.
Two of a thousand things are disallow'd:
A lying rich man, and a poor man proud.
Help me! help me! now I call
To my pretty witchcrafts all;
Old I am, and cannot do
That I was accustomed to.
Bring your magics, spells, and charms,
To enflesh my thighs and arms.
Is there no way to beget
In my limbs their former heat?
Æson had, as poets feign,
Baths that made him young again:
Find that medicine, if you can,
For your dry decrepit man
Who would fain his strength renew,
Were it but to pleasure you.
_Æson_, rejuvenated by Medea; see Ovid, Met. vii.
Come bring your sampler, and with art
Draw in't a wounded heart
And dropping here and there:
Not that I think that any dart
Can make yours bleed a tear,
Or pierce it anywhere;
Yet do it to this end: that I
May by
This secret see,
Though you can make
That heart to bleed, yours ne'er will ache
For me.
What I fancy I approve,
_No dislike there is in love_.
Be my mistress short or tall,
And distorted therewithal:
Be she likewise one of those
That an acre hath of nose:
Be her forehead and her eyes
Full of incongruities:
Be her cheeks so shallow too
As to show her tongue wag through;
Be her lips ill hung or set,
And her grinders black as jet:
Has she thin hair, hath she none,
She's to me a paragon.
If, dear Anthea, my hard fate it be
To live some few sad hours after thee,
Thy sacred corse with odours I will burn,
And with my laurel crown thy golden urn.
Then holding up there such religious things
As were, time past, thy holy filletings,
Near to thy reverend pitcher I will fall
Down dead for grief, and end my woes withal:
So three in one small plat of ground shall lie--
Anthea, Herrick, and his poetry.
I saw a cherry weep, and why?
Why wept it? but for shame
Because my Julia's lip was by,
And did out-red the same.
But, pretty fondling, let not fall
A tear at all for that:
Which rubies, corals, scarlets, all
For tincture wonder at.
The mellow touch of music most doth wound
The soul when it doth rather sigh than sound.
'Twixt kings and subjects there's this mighty odds:
Subjects are taught by men; kings by the gods.
Some would know
Why I so
Long still do tarry,
And ask why
Here that I
Live and not marry.
Thus I those
Do oppose:
What man would be here
Slave to thrall,
If at all
He could live free here?
Julia was careless, and withal
She rather took than got a fall,
The wanton ambler chanc'd to see
Part of her legs' sincerity:
And ravish'd thus, it came to pass,
The nag (like to the prophet's ass)
Began to speak, and would have been
A-telling what rare sights he'd seen:
And had told all; but did refrain
Because his tongue was tied again.
Live with a thrifty, not a needy fate;
_Small shots paid often waste a vast estate_.
Love is a circle that doth restless move
In the same sweet eternity of love.
When what is lov'd is present, love doth spring;
But being absent, love lies languishing.
A bachelor I will
Live as I have liv'd still,
And never take a wife
To crucify my life;
But this I'll tell ye too,
What now I mean to do:
A sister (in the stead
Of wife) about I'll lead;
Which I will keep embrac'd,
And kiss, but yet be chaste.
To me my Julia lately sent
A bracelet richly redolent:
The beads I kissed, but most lov'd her
That did perfume the pomander.
_Pomander_, a ball of scent.
Anthea bade me tie her shoe;
I did; and kissed the instep too:
And would have kissed unto her knee,
Had not her blush rebuked me.
Instead of orient pearls of jet
I sent my love a carcanet;
About her spotless neck she knit
The lace, to honour me or it:
Then think how rapt was I to see
My jet t'enthral such ivory.
_Carcanet_, necklace.
_Lace_, any kind of girdle; used here for the necklace.
When that day comes, whose evening says I'm gone
Unto that watery desolation,
Devoutly to thy closet-gods then pray
That my wing'd ship may meet no remora.
Those deities which circum-walk the seas,
And look upon our dreadful passages,
Will from all dangers re-deliver me
For one drink-offering poured out by thee.
Mercy and truth live with thee! and forbear
(In my short absence) to unsluice a tear;
But yet for love's sake let thy lips do this,
Give my dead picture one engendering kiss:
Work that to life, and let me ever dwell
In thy remembrance, Julia. So farewell.
_Closet-gods_, the Roman Lares.
Why this flower is now call'd so,
List, sweet maids, and you shall know.
Understand, this firstling was
Once a brisk and bonnie lass,
Kept as close as Danaë was:
Who a sprightly springall lov'd,
And to have it fully prov'd,
Up she got upon a wall,
Tempting down to slide withal:
But the silken twist untied,
So she fell, and, bruis'd, she died.
Love, in pity of the deed,
And her loving-luckless speed,
Turn'd her to this plant we call
Now _the flower of the wall_.
_Tempting_, trying.
These fresh beauties (we can prove)
Once were virgins sick of love.
Turn'd to flowers,--still in some
Colours go and colours come.
You say I love not, 'cause I do not play
Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.
You blame me too, because I can't devise
Some sport to please those babies in your eyes:
By love's religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love when I the least express it.
_Small griefs find tongues_: full casks are ever found
To give (if any, yet) but little sound.
_Deep waters noiseless are_; and this we know,
_That chiding streams betray small depth below_.
So, when love speechless is, she doth express
A depth in love and that depth bottomless.
Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such
Who speak but little 'cause I love so much.
_Babies in your eyes_, see Note.
I have lost, and lately, these
Many dainty mistresses:
Stately Julia, prime of all:
Sappho next, a principal:
Smooth Anthea for a skin
White, and heaven-like crystalline:
Sweet Electra, and the choice
Myrrha for the lute and voice:
Next Corinna, for her wit,
And the graceful use of it:
With Perilla: all are gone;
Only Herrick's left alone
For to number sorrow by
Their departures hence, and die.
Methought last night Love in an anger came
And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same;
Myrtle the twigs were, merely to imply
Love strikes, but 'tis with gentle cruelty.
Patient I was: Love pitiful grew then
And strok'd the stripes, and I was whole again.
Thus, like a bee, Love gentle still doth bring
Honey to salve where he before did sting.
I'm free from thee; and thou no more shalt hear
My puling pipe to beat against thine ear.
Farewell my shackles, though of pearl they be;
Such precious thraldom ne'er shall fetter me.
He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke,
Submits his neck unto a second yoke.
Young I was, but now am old,
But I am not yet grown cold;
I can play, and I can twine
'Bout a virgin like a vine:
In her lap too I can lie
Melting, and in fancy die;
And return to life if she
Claps my cheek, or kisseth me:
Thus, and thus it now appears
That our love outlasts our years.
Love and myself, believe me, on a day
At childish push-pin, for our sport, did play;
I put, he pushed, and, heedless of my skin,
Love pricked my finger with a golden pin;
Since which it festers so that I can prove
'Twas but a trick to poison me with love:
Little the wound was, greater was the smart,
The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart.
One ask'd me where the roses grew:
I bade him not go seek,
But forthwith bade my Julia show
A bud in either cheek.
Old wives have often told how they
Saw Cupid bitten by a flea;
And thereupon, in tears half drown'd,
He cried aloud: Help, help the wound!
He wept, he sobb'd, he call'd to some
To bring him lint and balsamum,
To make a tent, and put it in
Where the stiletto pierced the skin;
Which, being done, the fretful pain
Assuaged, and he was well again.
_Tent_, a roll of lint for probing wounds.
Three lovely sisters working were,
As they were closely set,
Of soft and dainty maidenhair
A curious armillet.
I, smiling, asked them what they did,
Fair Destinies all three,
Who told me they had drawn a thread
Of life, and 'twas for me.
They show'd me then how fine 'twas spun,
And I reply'd thereto,--
"I care not now how soon 'tis done,
Or cut, if cut by you".
When one is past, another care we have:
_Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave_.
Julia and I did lately sit
Playing for sport at cherry-pit:
She threw; I cast; and, having thrown,
I got the pit, and she the stone.
Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me:
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,
Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:
_Here, here the tomb of Robin Herrick is_.
More discontents I never had
Since I was born than here,
Where I have been, and still am sad,
In this dull Devonshire;
Yet, justly too, I must confess
I ne'er invented such
Ennobled numbers for the press,
Than where I loathed so much.
O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be
Loving and gentle for to cover me:
Banish'd from thee I live, ne'er to return,
Unless thou giv'st my small remains an urn.
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come and buy.
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer: There,
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land, or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.
Put on your silks, and piece by piece
Give them the scent of ambergris;
And for your breaths, too, let them smell
Ambrosia-like, or nectarel;
While other gums their sweets perspire,
Now is the time, when all the lights wax dim;
And thou, Anthea, must withdraw from him
Who was thy servant. Dearest, bury me
Under that Holy-oak or Gospel-tree,
Where, though thou see'st not, thou may'st think upon
Me, when thou yearly go'st procession;
Or, for mine honour, lay me in that tomb
In which thy sacred relics shall have room.
For my embalming, sweetest, there will be
No spices wanting when I'm laid by thee.
I dreamed we both were in a bed
Of roses, almost smothered:
The warmth and sweetness had me there
Made lovingly familiar,
But that I heard thy sweet breath say,
Faults done by night will blush by day.
I kissed thee, panting, and, I call
Night to the record! that was all.
But, ah! if empty dreams so please,
Love give me more such nights as these.
Here we are all by day; by night we're hurl'd
By dreams, each one into a sev'ral world.
In man ambition is the common'st thing;
Each one by nature loves to be a king.
Julia, if I chance to die
Ere I print my poetry,
I most humbly thee desire
To commit it to the fire:
Better 'twere my book were dead
Than to live not perfected.
Fight thou with shafts of silver and o'ercome,
When no force else can get the masterdom.
Water, water I desire,
Here's a house of flesh on fire;
Ope the fountains and the springs,
And come all to bucketings:
What ye cannot quench pull down;
Spoil a house to save a town:
Better 'tis that one should fall,
Than by one to hazard all.
_Scare-fire_, fire-alarm.
When some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was,
Thou wilt complain, False now's thy looking-glass,
Which renders that quite tarnished which was green,
And priceless now what peerless once had been.
Upon thy form more wrinkles yet will fall,
And, coming down, shall make no noise at all.
_Priceless_, valueless.
'Tis not a thousand bullocks' thighs
Can please those heav'nly deities,
If the vower don't express
In his offering cheerfulness.
'Tis not greatness they require
To be offer'd up by fire;
But 'tis sweetness that doth please
If meat the gods give, I the steam
High-towering will devote to them,
Whose easy natures like it well,
If we the roast have, they the smell.
So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice,
As, could they hear, the damn'd would make no noise,
But listen to thee, walking in thy chamber,
Melting melodious words to lutes of amber.
When I thy singing next shall hear,
I'll wish I might turn all to ear
To drink in notes and numbers such
As blessed souls can't hear too much;
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranc'd and lost confusedly,
And, by thy music stricken mute,
Die and be turn'd into a lute.
_All things decay with time_: the forest sees
The growth and downfall of her aged trees;
That timber tall, which threescore lusters stood
The proud dictator of the state-like wood,--
I mean (the sovereign of all plants) the oak--
Droops, dies, and falls without the cleaver's stroke.
_Lusters_, the Roman reckoning of five years.
First, April, she with mellow showers
Opens the way for early flowers;
Then after her comes smiling May,
In a more rich and sweet array;
Next enters June, and brings us more
Gems than those two that went before:
Then (lastly) July comes, and she
More wealth brings in than all those three.
Thou sail'st with others in this Argus here;
Nor wreck or bulging thou hast cause to fear;
But trust to this, my noble passenger;
Who swims with virtue, he shall still be sure
(Ulysses-like) all tempests to endure,
And 'midst a thousand gulfs to be secure.
_Bulging_, leaking.
First, for effusions due unto the dead,
My solemn vows have here accomplished:
Next, how I love thee, that my grief must tell,
Wherein thou liv'st for ever. Dear, farewell.
_Effusions_, drink-offerings.
How love came in I do not know,
Whether by the eye, or ear, or no;
Or whether with the soul it came
(At first) infused with the same;
Whether in part 'tis here or there,
Or, like the soul, whole everywhere,
This troubles me: but I as well
As any other this can tell:
That when from hence she does depart
The outlet then is from the heart.
Ah, my Anthea! Must my heart still break?
(_Love makes me write, what shame forbids to speak_.)
Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score;
Then to that twenty add a hundred more:
A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on,
To make that thousand up a million.
Treble that million, and when that is done
Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.
But yet, though love likes well such scenes as these,
There is an act that will more fully please:
Kissing and glancing, soothing, all make way
But to the acting of this private play:
Name it I would; but, being blushing red,
The rest I'll speak when we meet both in bed.
Some ask'd me where the rubies grew,
And nothing I did say:
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.
Some ask'd how pearls did grow, and where;
Then spoke I to my girl,
To part her lips, and show'd them there
The quarrelets of Pearl.
_Quarrelets_, little squares.
Conformity was ever known
A foe to dissolution:
Nor can we that a ruin call,
Whose crack gives crushing unto all.
Welcome, most welcome to our vows and us,
Most great and universal genius!
The drooping West, which hitherto has stood
As one in long-lamented widowhood,
Looks like a bride now, or a bed of flowers
Newly refresh'd both by the sun and showers.
War, which before was horrid, now appears
Lovely in you, brave prince of cavaliers!
A deal of courage in each bosom springs
By your access, O you the best of kings!
Ride on with all white omens; so that where
Your standard's up, we fix a conquest there.
Under a lawn, than skies more clear,
Some ruffled roses nestling were:
And, snugging there, they seem'd to lie
As in a flowery nunnery:
They blush'd, and look'd more fresh than flowers
Quicken'd of late by pearly showers,
And all because they were possess'd
But of the heat of Julia's breast:
Which, as a warm and moisten'd spring,
Gave them their ever-flourishing.
Woe, woe to them, who, by a ball of strife,
Do, and have parted here a man and wife:
CHARLES the best husband, while MARIA strives
To be, and is, the very best of wives,
Like streams, you are divorc'd; but 'twill come when
These eyes of mine shall see you mix again.
Thus speaks the oak here; C. and M. shall meet,
Treading on amber, with their silver-feet,
Nor will't be long ere this accomplish'd be:
The words found true, C. M., remember me.
_Oak_, the prophetic tree.
As oft as night is banish'd by the morn,
So oft we'll think we see a king new born.
One silent night of late,
When every creature rested,
Came one unto my gate
And, knocking, me molested.
Who's that, said I, beats there,
And troubles thus the sleepy?
Cast off, said he, all fear,
And let not locks thus keep ye.
For I a boy am, who
By moonless nights have swerved;
And all with show'rs wet through,
And e'en with cold half starved.
I pitiful arose,
And soon a taper lighted;
And did myself disclose
Unto the lad benighted.
I saw he had a bow
And wings, too, which did shiver;
And, looking down below,
I spied he had a quiver.
I to my chimney's shine
Brought him, as Love professes,
And chafed his hands with mine,
And dried his drooping tresses.
But when he felt him warm'd:
Let's try this bow of ours,
And string, if they be harm'd,
Said he, with these late showers.
Forthwith his bow he bent,
And wedded string and arrow,
And struck me, that it went
Quite through my heart and marrow.
Then, laughing loud, he flew
Away, and thus said, flying:
Adieu, mine host, adieu,
I'll leave thy heart a-dying.
That for seven lusters I did never come
To do the rites to thy religious tomb;
That neither hair was cut, or true tears shed
By me, o'er thee, as justments to the dead,
Forgive, forgive me; since I did not know
Whether thy bones had here their rest or no,
But now 'tis known, behold! behold, I bring
Unto thy ghost th' effused offering:
And look what smallage, night-shade, cypress, yew,
Unto the shades have been, or now are due,
Here I devote; and something more than so;
I come to pay a debt of birth I owe.
Thou gav'st me life, but mortal; for that one
Favour I'll make full satisfaction;
For my life mortal rise from out thy hearse.
And take a life immortal from my verse.
_Seven lusters_, five and thirty years.
_Hair was cut_, according to the Greek custom.
_Justments_, dues.
_Smallage_, water parsley.
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction:
An erring lace which here and there
Enthralls the crimson stomacher:
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly:
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
Were I to give thee baptism, I would choose
To christen thee, the bride, the bashful Muse,
Or Muse of roses: since that name does fit
Best with those virgin-verses thou hast writ:
Which are so clean, so chaste, as none may fear
Cato the censor, should he scan each here.
Love scorch'd my finger, but did spare
The burning of my heart;
To signify in love my share
Should be a little part.
Little I love; but if that he
Would but that heat recall;
That joint to ashes burnt should be,[E]
Ere I would love at all.
Dean Bourn, farewell; I never look to see
Dean, or thy watery[F] incivility.
Thy rocky bottom, that doth tear thy streams
And makes them frantic even to all extremes,
To my content I never should behold,
Were thy streams silver, or thy rocks all gold.
Rocky thou art, and rocky we discover
Thy men, and rocky are thy ways all over.
O men, O manners, now and ever known
To be a rocky generation!
A people currish, churlish as the seas,
And rude almost as rudest savages,
With whom I did, and may re-sojourn when
Rocks turn to rivers, rivers turn to men.
Me pay the debt
I owe thee for a kiss
Thou lend'st to me,
And I to thee
Will render ten for this.
If thou wilt say
Ten will not pay
For that so rich a one;
I'll clear the sum,
If it will come
Unto a million.
By this, I guess,
Of happiness
Who has a little measure,
He must of right
To th' utmost mite
Make payment for his pleasure.
How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art
In each thy dainty and peculiar part!
First, for thy queenship, on thy head is set
Of flowers a sweet commingled coronet:
About thy neck a carcanet is bound,
Made of the ruby, pearl and diamond:
A golden ring that shines upon thy thumb:
About thy wrist, the rich dardanium.[G]
Between thy breasts (than down of swans more white)
There plays the sapphire with the chrysolite.
No part besides must of thyself be known,
But by the topaz, opal, chalcedon.
_Carcanet_, necklace.
A funeral stone
Or verse I covet none,
But only crave
Of you that I may have
A sacred laurel springing from my grave:
Which being seen,
Blest with perpetual green,
May grow to be
Not so much call'd a tree
As the eternal monument of me.
Give me that man that dares bestride
The active sea-horse, and with pride
Through that huge field of waters ride.
Who with his looks, too, can appease
The ruffling winds and raging seas,
In midst of all their outrages.
This, this a virtuous man can do,
Sail against rocks, and split them too;
Ay, and a world of pikes pass through.
I'll do my best to win whene'er I woo:
_That man loves not who is not zealous too_.
About the sweet bag of a bee
Two cupids fell at odds,
And whose the pretty prize should be
They vow'd to ask the gods.
Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stripp'd them,
And, taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipp'd them.
Which done, to still their wanton cries,
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kiss'd, and wip'd their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.
Let me be warm, let me be fully fed,
_Luxurious love by wealth is nourished_.
Let me be lean, and cold, and once grown poor,
I shall dislike what once I lov'd before.
Choose me your valentine,
Next let us marry--
Love to the death will pine
If we long tarry.
Promise, and keep your vows,
Or vow ye never--
Love's doctrine disallows
Troth-breakers ever.
You have broke promise twice,
Dear, to undo me,
If you prove faithless thrice
None then will woo ye.
See and not see, and if thou chance t'espy
Some aberrations in my poetry,
Wink at small faults; the greater, ne'ertheless,
Hide, and with them their father's nakedness.
Let's do our best, our watch and ward to keep;
Homer himself, in a long work, may sleep.
I'll write, because I'll give
You critics means to live;
For should I not supply
The cause, th' effect would die.
Good princes must be pray'd for; for the bad
They must be borne with, and in rev'rence had.
Do they first pill thee, next pluck off thy skin?
_Good children kiss the rods that punish sin_.
Touch not the tyrant; let the gods alone
To strike him dead that but usurps a throne.
When age or chance has made me blind,
So that the path I cannot find,
And when my falls and stumblings are
More than the stones i' th' street by far,
Go thou afore, and I shall well
Follow thy perfumes by the smell;
Or be my guide, and I shall be
Led by some light that flows from thee.
Thus held or led by thee, I shall
In ways confus'd nor slip or fall.
To bread and water none is poor;
And having these, what need of more?
Though much from out the cess be spent,
_Nature with little is content_.
_Cess_, the parish assessment for church purposes.
We two are last in hell; what may we fear
To be tormented or kept pris'ners here?
Alas! if kissing be of plagues the worst,
We'll wish in hell we had been last and first.
Beauty no other thing is than a beam
Flashed out between the middle and extreme.
Dear, though to part it be a hell,
Yet, Dianeme, now farewell:
Thy frown last night did bid me go,
But whither only grief does know.
I do beseech thee ere we part,
If merciful as fair thou art,
Or else desir'st that maids should tell
Thy pity by love's chronicle,
O Dianeme, rather kill
Me, than to make me languish still!
'Tis cruelty in thee to th' height
Thus, thus to wound, not kill outright;
Yet there's a way found, if you please,
By sudden death to give me ease;
And thus devis'd, do thou but this--
Bequeath to me one parting kiss,
So sup'rabundant joy shall be
The executioner of me.
So looks Anthea, when in bed she lies
O'ercome or half betray'd by tiffanies,
Like to a twilight, or that simpering dawn
That roses show when misted o'er with lawn.
Twilight is yet, till that her lawns give way;
Which done, that dawn turns then to perfect day.
_Tiffanies_, gauzes.
_Lawn_, fine linen.
More white than whitest lilies far,
Or snow, or whitest swans you are:
More white than are the whitest creams,
Or moonlight tinselling the streams:
More white than pearls, or Juno's thigh,
Or Pelops' arm of ivory.
True, I confess, such whites as these
May me delight, not fully please;
Till like Ixion's cloud you be
White, warm, and soft to lie with me.
Thrice, and above, bless'd, my soul's half, art thou
In thy both last and better vow:
Could'st leave the city, for exchange, to see
The country's sweet simplicity:
And it to know and practise, with intent
To grow the sooner innocent
By studying to know virtue, and to aim
More at her nature than her name.
The last is but the least; the first doth tell
Ways less to live than to live well:
And both are known to thee, who now can'st live
Led by thy conscience; to give
Justice to soon-pleased nature; and to show
Wisdom and she together go
And keep one centre: this with that conspires
To teach man to confine desires
And know that riches have their proper stint
In the contented mind, not mint:
And can'st instruct that those who have the itch
Of craving more are never rich.
These things thou know'st to th' height, and dost prevent
That plague; because thou art content
With that heav'n gave thee with a wary hand,
More blessed in thy brass than land,
To keep cheap nature even and upright;
To cool, not cocker appetite.
Thus thou canst tersely live to satisfy
The belly chiefly, not the eye;
Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet,
Less with a neat than needful diet.
But that which most makes sweet thy country life
Is the fruition of a wife:
Whom, stars consenting with thy fate, thou hast
Got not so beautiful as chaste:
By whose warm side thou dost securely sleep,
While love the sentinel doth keep,
With those deeds done by day, which ne'er affright
Thy silken slumbers in the night.
Nor has the darkness power to usher in
Fear to those sheets that know no sin;
But still thy wife, by chaste intentions led,
Gives thee each night a maidenhead.
The damask'd meadows and the pebbly streams
Sweeten and make soft your dreams:
The purling springs, groves, birds, and well-weav'd bowers,
With fields enamelled with flowers,
Present their shapes; while fantasy discloses
Millions of lilies mix'd with roses.
Then dream ye hear the lamb by many a bleat
Woo'd to come suck the milky teat:
While Faunus in the vision comes to keep
From rav'ning wolves the fleecy sheep.
With thousand such enchanting dreams, that meet
To make sleep not so sound as sweet:
Nor can these figures so thy rest endear
As not to rise when Chanticlere
Warns the last watch; but with the dawn dost rise
To work, but first to sacrifice;
Making thy peace with heav'n, for some late fault,
With holy-meal and spirting-salt.
Which done, thy painful thumb this sentence tells us,
_Jove for our labour all things sells us_.
Nor are thy daily and devout affairs
Attended with those desp'rate cares
Th' industrious merchant has; who, for to find
Gold, runneth to the Western Inde,
And back again, tortured with fears, doth fly,
Untaught to suffer poverty.
But thou at home, bless'd with securest ease,
Sitt'st, and believ'st that there be seas
And watery dangers; while thy whiter hap
But sees these things within thy map.
And viewing them with a more safe survey
Mak'st easy fear unto thee say,--
_"A heart thrice wall'd with oak and brass that man
Had, first durst plough the ocean"_.
But thou at home, without or tide or gale,
Can'st in thy map securely sail:
Seeing those painted countries, and so guess
By those fine shades their substances:
And, from thy compass taking small advice,
Buy'st travel at the lowest price.
Nor are thine ears so deaf but thou canst hear,
Far more with wonder than with fear,
Fame tell of states, of countries, courts, and kings,
And believe there be such things:
When of these truths thy happier knowledge lies
More in thine ears than in thine eyes.
And when thou hear'st by that too true report
Vice rules the most or all at court,
Thy pious wishes are, though thou not there,
Virtue had, and mov'd her sphere.
But thou liv'st fearless; and thy face ne'er shows
Fortune when she comes or goes,
But with thy equal thoughts prepared dost stand,
To take her by the either hand;
Nor car'st which comes the first, the foul or fair:
_A wise man ev'ry way lies square_,
And, like a surly oak with storms perplex'd,
Grows still the stronger, strongly vex'd.
Be so, bold spirit; stand centre-like, unmov'd;
And be not only thought, but prov'd
To be what I report thee; and inure
Thyself, if want comes to endure:
And so thou dost, for thy desires are
Confin'd to live with private lar:
Not curious whether appetite be fed
Or with the first or second bread,
Who keep'st no proud mouth for delicious cates:
Hunger makes coarse meats delicates.
Canst, and unurg'd, forsake that larded fare,
Which art, not nature, makes so rare,
To taste boil'd nettles, colworts, beets, and eat
These and sour herbs as dainty meat,
While soft opinion makes thy Genius say,
_Content makes all ambrosia_.
Nor is it that thou keep'st this stricter size
So much for want as exercise:
To numb the sense of dearth, which should sin haste it,
Thou might'st but only see't, not taste it.
Yet can thy humble roof maintain a choir
Of singing crickets by the fire:
And the brisk mouse may feast herself with crumbs
Till that the green-eyed kitling comes,
Then to her cabin blest she can escape
The sudden danger of a rape:
And thus thy little well-kept stock doth prove
_Wealth cannot make a life, but love_.
Nor art thou so close-handed but canst spend,
Counsel concurring with the end,
As well as spare, still conning o'er this theme,
To shun the first and last extreme.
Ordaining that thy small stock find no breach,
Or to exceed thy tether's reach:
But to live round, and close, and wisely true
To thine own self, and known to few.
Thus let thy rural sanctuary be
Elysium to thy wife and thee;
There to disport yourselves with golden measure:
_For seldom use commends the pleasure_.
Live, and live blest, thrice happy pair; let breath,
But lost to one, be the other's death.
And as there is one love, one faith, one troth,
Be so one death, one grave to both.
Till when, in such assurance live ye may,
Nor fear or wish your dying day.
_Cocker_, pamper.
_Spirting-salt_, the "saliente mica" of Horace, See Note.
_Lar_, the "closet-gods," or gods of the house.
_Colworts_, cabbages.
_Size_ or _assize_, a fixed allowance of food, a ration.
When a daffodil I see,
Hanging down his head towards me,
Guess I may what I must be:
First, I shall decline my head;
Secondly, I shall be dead;
Lastly, safely buried.
Come, skilful Lupo, now, and take
Thy bice, thy umber, pink, and lake;
And let it be thy pencil's strife,
To paint a Bridgeman to the life:
Draw him as like too, as you can,
An old, poor, lying, flattering man:
His cheeks bepimpled, red and blue;
His nose and lips of mulberry hue.
Then, for an easy fancy, place
A burling iron for his face:
Next, make his cheeks with breath to swell,
And for to speak, if possible:
But do not so, for fear lest he
Should by his breathing, poison thee.
_Burling iron_, pincers for extracting knots.
While the milder fates consent,
Let's enjoy our merriment:
Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play;
Kiss our dollies night and day:
Crowned with clusters of the vine,
Let us sit, and quaff our wine.
Call on Bacchus, chant his praise;
Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays:
Rouse Anacreon from the dead,
And return him drunk to bed:
Sing o'er Horace, for ere long
Death will come and mar the song:
Then shall Wilson and Gotiere
Never sing or play more here.
When my date's done, and my grey age must die,
Nurse up, great lord, this my posterity:
Weak though it be, long may it grow and stand,
Shored up by you, brave Earl of Westmoreland.
Whene'er my heart love's warmth but entertains,
Oh frost! oh snow! oh hail! forbid the banes.
One drop now deads a spark, but if the same
Once gets a force, floods cannot quench the flame.
Rather than love, let me be ever lost,
Or let me 'gender with eternal frost.
As shows the air when with a rainbow grac'd,
So smiles that riband 'bout my Julia's waist:
Or like--nay 'tis that zonulet of love,
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.
Whither? say, whither shall I fly,
To slack these flames wherein I fry?
To the treasures, shall I go,
Of the rain, frost, hail, and snow?
Shall I search the underground,
Where all damps and mists are found?
Shall I seek (for speedy ease)
All the floods and frozen seas?
Or descend into the deep,
Where eternal cold does keep?
These may cool; but there's a zone
Colder yet than anyone:
That's my Julia's breast, where dwells
Such destructive icicles,
As that the congelation will
Me sooner starve than those can kill.
With blameless carriage, I lived here
To the almost seven and fortieth year.
Stout sons I had, and those twice three
One only daughter lent to me:
The which was made a happy bride
But thrice three moons before she died.
My modest wedlock, that was known
Contented with the bed of one.
Let there be patrons, patrons like to thee,
Brave Porter! poets ne'er will wanting be:
Fabius and Cotta, Lentulus, all live
In thee, thou man of men! who here do'st give
Not only subject-matter for our wit,
But likewise oil of maintenance to it:
For which, before thy threshold, we'll lay down
Our thyrse for sceptre, and our bays for crown.
For, to say truth, all garlands are thy due:
The laurel, myrtle, oak, and ivy too.
Lilies will languish; violets look ill;
Sickly the primrose; pale the daffodil;
That gallant tulip will hang down his head,
Like to a virgin newly ravished;
Pansies will weep, and marigolds will wither,
And keep a fast and funeral together;
Sappho droop, daisies will open never,
But bid good-night, and close their lids for ever.
When as Leander young was drown'd
No heart by Love receiv'd a wound,
But on a rock himself sat by,
There weeping sup'rabundantly.
Sighs numberless he cast about,
And, all his tapers thus put out,
His head upon his hand he laid,
And sobbing deeply, thus he said:
"Ah, cruel sea," and, looking on't,
Wept as he'd drown the Hellespont.
And sure his tongue had more express'd
But that his tears forbade the rest.
None goes to warfare but with this intent--
The gains must dead the fears of detriment.
Health is the first good lent to men;
A gentle disposition then:
Next, to be rich by no by-ways;
Lastly, with friends t'enjoy our days.
When I did go from thee I felt that smart
Which bodies do when souls from them depart.
Thou did'st not mind it; though thou then might'st see
Me turn'd to tears; yet did'st not weep for me.
'Tis true, I kiss'd thee; but I could not hear
Thee spend a sigh t'accompany my tear.
Methought 'twas strange that thou so hard should'st prove,
Whose heart, whose hand, whose every part spake love.
Prithee, lest maids should censure thee, but say
Thou shed'st one tear, whenas I went away;
And that will please me somewhat: though I know,
And Love will swear't, my dearest did not so.
Glide, gentle streams, and bear
Along with you my tear
To that coy girl
Who smiles, yet slays
Me with delays,
And strings my tears as pearl.
See! see, she's yonder set,
Making a carcanet
Of maiden-flowers!
There, there present
This orient
And pendant pearl of ours.
Then say I've sent one more
Gem to enrich her store;
And that is all
Which I can send,
Or vainly spend,
For tears no more will fall.
Nor will I seek supply
Of them, the spring's once dry;
But I'll devise,
Among the rest,
A way that's best
How I may save mine eyes.
Yet say--should she condemn
Me to surrender them
Then say my part
Must be to weep
Out them, to keep
A poor, yet loving heart.
Say too, she would have this;
She shall: then my hope is,
That when I'm poor
And nothing have
To send or save,
I'm sure she'll ask no more.
_Carcanet_, necklace.
What times of sweetness this fair day foreshows,
Whenas the Lily marries with the Rose!
What next is look'd for? but we all should see
To spring from thee a sweet posterity.
Virgins promis'd when I died
That they would each primrose-tide
Duly, morn and evening, come,
And with flowers dress my tomb.
Having promis'd, pay your debts,
Maids, and here strew violets.
That hour-glass which there you see
With water fill'd, sirs, credit me,
The humour was, as I have read,
But lovers' tears incrystalled.
Which, as they drop by drop do pass
From th' upper to the under-glass,
Do in a trickling manner tell,
By many a watery syllable,
That lovers' tears in lifetime shed
Do restless run when they are dead.
_Humour_, moisture.
Farewell thou thing, time past so known, so dear
To me as blood to life and spirit; near,
Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife,
Male to the female, soul to body; life
To quick action, or the warm soft side
Of the resigning, yet resisting bride.
The kiss of virgins, first fruits of the bed,
Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maidenhead:
These and a thousand sweets could never be
So near or dear as thou wast once to me.
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! wine
That scatter'st spirit and lust, whose purest shine
More radiant than the summer's sunbeams shows;
Each way illustrious, brave, and like to those
Comets we see by night, whose shagg'd portents
Foretell the coming of some dire events,
Or some full flame which with a pride aspires,
Throwing about his wild and active fires;
'Tis thou, above nectar, O divinest soul!
Eternal in thyself, that can'st control
That which subverts whole nature, grief and care,
Vexation of the mind, and damn'd despair.
'Tis thou alone who, with thy mystic fan,
Work'st more than wisdom, art, or nature can
To rouse the sacred madness and awake
The frost-bound blood and spirits, and to make
Them frantic with thy raptures flashing through
The soul like lightning, and as active too.
'Tis not Apollo can, or those thrice three
Castalian sisters, sing, if wanting thee.
Horace, Anacreon, both had lost their fame,
Had'st thou not fill'd them with thy fire and flame.
Phœbean splendour! and thou, Thespian spring!
Of which sweet swans must drink before they sing
Their true-pac'd numbers and their holy lays,
Which makes them worthy cedar and the bays.
But why, why longer do I gaze upon
Thee with the eye of admiration?
Since I must leave thee, and enforc'd must say
To all thy witching beauties, Go, away.
But if thy whimpering looks do ask me why,
Then know that nature bids thee go, not I.
'Tis her erroneous self has made a brain
Uncapable of such a sovereign
As is thy powerful self. Prithee not smile,
Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile
My vows denounc'd in zeal, which thus much show thee
That I have sworn but by thy looks to know thee.
Let others drink thee freely, and desire
Thee and their lips espous'd, while I admire
And love thee, but not taste thee. Let my muse
Fail of thy former helps, and only use
Her inadult'rate strength: what's done by me
Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee.
_Mystic fan_, the "mystica vannus Iacchi" of Georgic, i. 166.
Sweet Amarillis by a spring's
Soft and soul-melting murmurings
Slept, and thus sleeping, thither flew
A robin-redbreast, who, at view,
Not seeing her at all to stir,
Brought leaves and moss to cover her;
But while he perking there did pry
About the arch of either eye,
The lid began to let out day,
At which poor robin flew away,
And seeing her not dead, but all disleav'd,
He chirp'd for joy to see himself deceiv'd.
Fold now thine arms and hang the head,
Like to a lily withered;
Next look thou like a sickly moon,
Or like Jocasta in a swoon;
Then weep and sigh and softly go,
Like to a widow drown'd in woe,
Or like a virgin full of ruth
For the lost sweetheart of her youth;
And all because, fair maid, thou art
Insensible of all my smart,
And of those evil days that be
Now posting on to punish thee.
The gods are easy, and condemn
All such as are not soft like them.
Make me a heaven, and make me there
Many a less and greater sphere:
Make me the straight and oblique lines,
The motions, lations and the signs.
Make me a chariot and a sun,
And let them through a zodiac run;
Next place me zones and tropics there,
With all the seasons of the year.
Make me a sunset and a night,
And then present the morning's light
Cloth'd in her chamlets of delight.
To these make clouds to pour down rain,
With weather foul, then fair again.
And when, wise artist, that thou hast
With all that can be this heaven grac't,
Ah! what is then this curious sky
But only my Corinna's eye?
_Lations_, astral attractions.
_Chamlets_, _i.e._, camlets, stuffs made from camels' hair.
What wisdom, learning, wit or worth
Youth or sweet nature could bring forth
Rests here with him who was the fame,
The volume of himself and name.
If, reader, then, thou wilt draw near
And do an honour to thy tear,
Weep then for him for whom laments
Not one, but many monuments.
And must we part, because some say
Loud is our love, and loose our play,
And more than well becomes the day?
Alas for pity! and for us
Most innocent, and injured thus!
Had we kept close, or played within,
Suspicion now had been the sin,
And shame had followed long ere this,
T' have plagued what now unpunished is.
But we, as fearless of the sun,
As faultless, will not wish undone
What now is done, since _where no sin
Unbolts the door, no shame comes in_.
Then, comely and most fragrant maid,
Be you more wary than afraid
Of these reports, because you see
The fairest most suspected be.
The common forms have no one eye
Or ear of burning jealousy
To follow them: but chiefly where
Love makes the cheek and chin a sphere
To dance and play in, trust me, there
Suspicion questions every hair.
Come, you are fair, and should be seen
While you are in your sprightful green:
And what though you had been embraced
By me--were you for that unchaste?
No, no! no more than is yond' moon
Which, shining in her perfect noon,
In all that great and glorious light,
Continues cold as is the night.
Then, beauteous maid, you may retire;
And as for me, my chaste desire
Shall move towards you, although I see
Your face no more. So live you free
From fame's black lips, as you from me.
Suspicion, discontent, and strife
Come in for dowry with a wife.
Go, perjured man; and if thou e'er return
To see the small remainders in mine urn,
When thou shalt laugh at my religious dust,
And ask: where's now the colour, form and trust
Of woman's beauty? and with hand more rude
Rifle the flowers which the virgins strewed:
Know I have prayed to Fury that some wind
May blow my ashes up, and strike thee blind.
Cupid, as he lay among
Roses, by a bee was stung;
Whereupon, in anger flying
To his mother, said thus, crying:
Help! oh help! your boy's a-dying.
And why, my pretty lad, said she?
Then, blubbering, replied he:
A winged snake has bitten me,
Which country people call a bee.
At which she smiled; then, with her hairs
And kisses drying up his tears:
Alas! said she, my wag, if this
Such a pernicious torment is,
Come tell me then, how great's the smart
Of those thou woundest with thy dart!
I burn, I burn; and beg of you
To quench or cool me with your dew.
I fry in fire, and so consume,
Although the pile be all perfume.
Alas! the heat and death's the same,
Whether by choice or common flame,
To be in oil of roses drowned,
Or water; where's the comfort found?
Both bring one death; and I die here
Unless you cool me with a tear:
Alas! I call; but ah! I see
Ye cool and comfort all but me.
To conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall
By the hand of him who is the general.
Sitting alone, as one forsook,
Close by a silver-shedding brook,
With hands held up to love, I wept;
And after sorrows spent I slept:
Then in a vision I did see
A glorious form appear to me:
A virgin's face she had; her dress
Was like a sprightly Spartaness.
A silver bow, with green silk strung,
Down from her comely shoulders hung:
And as she stood, the wanton air
Dangled the ringlets of her hair.
Her legs were such Diana shows
When, tucked up, she a-hunting goes;
With buskins shortened to descry
The happy dawning of her thigh:
Which when I saw, I made access
To kiss that tempting nakedness:
But she forbade me with a wand
Of myrtle she had in her hand:
And, chiding me, said: Hence, remove,
Herrick, thou art too coarse to love.
You say, to me-wards your affection's strong;
Pray love me little, so you love me long.
Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire,
Grown violent, does either die or tire.
'Twas but a single rose,
Till you on it did breathe;
But since, methinks, it shows
Not so much rose as wreath.
In this little vault she lies,
Here, with all her jealousies:
Quiet yet; but if ye make
Any noise they both will wake,
And such spirits raise 'twill then
Trouble death to lay again.
Never was day so over-sick with showers
But that it had some intermitting hours;
Never was night so tedious but it knew
The last watch out, and saw the dawning too;
Never was dungeon so obscurely deep
Wherein or light or day did never peep;
Never did moon so ebb, or seas so wane,
But they left hope-seed to fill up again.
So you, my lord, though you have now your stay,
Your night, your prison, and your ebb, you may
Spring up afresh, when all these mists are spent,
And star-like, once more gild our firmament.
Let but that mighty Cæsar speak, and then
All bolts, all bars, all gates shall cleave; as when
That earthquake shook the house, and gave the stout
Apostles way, unshackled, to go out.
This, as I wish for, so I hope to see;
Though you, my lord, have been unkind to me,
To wound my heart, and never to apply,
When you had power, the meanest remedy.
Well, though my grief by you was gall'd the more,
Yet I bring balm and oil to heal your sore.
Cynthius, pluck ye by the ear,
That ye may good doctrine hear;
Play not with the maiden-hair,
For each ringlet there's a snare.
Cheek, and eye, and lip, and chin--
These are traps to take fools in.
Arms, and hands, and all parts else,
Are but toils, or manacles,
Set on purpose to enthral
Men, but slothfuls most of all.
Live employed, and so live free
From these fetters; like to me,
Who have found, and still can prove,
_The lazy man the most doth love_.
Now, now's the time, so oft by truth
Promis'd should come to crown your youth.
Then, fair ones, do not wrong
Your joys by staying long;
Or let love's fire go out,
By lingering thus in doubt;
But learn that time once lost
Is ne'er redeem'd by cost.
Then away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
Is it, sweet maid, your fault these holy
Bridal rites go on so slowly?
Dear, is it this you dread
The loss of maidenhead?
Believe me, you will most
Esteem it when 'tis lost;
Then it no longer keep,
Lest issue lie asleep.
Then, away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
These precious, pearly, purling tears
But spring from ceremonious fears.
And 'tis but native shame
That hides the loving flame,
And may a while control
The soft and am'rous soul;
But yet love's fire will waste
Such bashfulness at last.
Then, away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
Night now hath watch'd herself half blind,
Yet not a maidenhead resign'd!
'Tis strange, ye will not fly
To love's sweet mystery.
Might yon full moon the sweets
Have, promised to your sheets,
She soon would leave her sphere,
To be admitted there.
Then, away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
On, on devoutly, make no stay;
While Domiduca leads the way,
And Genius, who attends
The bed for lucky ends.
With Juno goes the Hours
And Graces strewing flowers.
And the boys with sweet tunes sing:
Hymen, O Hymen, bring
Home the turtles; Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
Behold! how Hymen's taper-light
Shows you how much is spent of night.
See, see the bridegroom's torch
Half wasted in the porch.
And now those tapers five,
That show the womb shall thrive,
Their silv'ry flames advance,
To tell all prosp'rous chance
Still shall crown the happy life
Of the goodman and the wife.
Move forward then your rosy feet,
And make whate'er they touch turn sweet.
May all, like flowery meads,
Smell where your soft foot treads;
And everything assume
To it the like perfume,
As Zephyrus when he 'spires
Through woodbine and sweetbriars.
Then, away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
And now the yellow veil at last
Over her fragrant cheek is cast.
Now seems she to express
A bashful willingness:
Showing a heart consenting,
As with a will repenting.
Then gently lead her on
With wise suspicion;
For that, matrons say, a measure
Of that passion sweetens pleasure.
You, you that be of her nearest kin,
Now o'er the threshold force her in.
But to avert the worst
Let her her fillets first
Knit to the posts, this point
Remembering, to anoint
The sides, for 'tis a charm
Strong against future harm;
And the evil deads, the which
There was hidden by the witch.
O Venus! thou to whom is known
The best way how to loose the zone
Of virgins, tell the maid
She need not be afraid,
And bid the youth apply
Close kisses if she cry,
And charge he not forbears
Her though she woo with tears.
Tell them now they must adventure,
Since that love and night bid enter.
No fatal owl the bedstead keeps,
With direful notes to fright your sleeps;
No furies here about
To put the tapers out,
Watch or did make the bed:
'Tis omen full of dread;
But all fair signs appear
Within the chamber here.
Juno here far off doth stand,
Cooling sleep with charming wand.
Virgins, weep not; 'twill come when,
As she, so you'll be ripe for men.
Then grieve her not with saying
She must no more a-maying,
Or by rosebuds divine
Who'll be her valentine.
Nor name those wanton reaks
You've had at barley-breaks,
But now kiss her and thus say,
"Take time, lady, while ye may".
Now bar the doors; the bridegroom puts
The eager boys to gather nuts.
And now both love and time
To their full height do climb:
Oh! give them active heat
And moisture both complete:
Fit organs for increase,
To keep and to release
That which may the honour'd stem
Circle with a diadem.
And now, behold! the bed or couch
That ne'er knew bride's or bridegroom's touch,
Feels in itself a fire;
And, tickled with desire,
Pants with a downy breast,
As with a heart possesst,
Shrugging as it did move
Ev'n with the soul of love.
And, oh! had it but a tongue,
Doves, 'twould say, ye bill too long.
O enter then! but see ye shun
A sleep until the act be done.
Let kisses in their close,
Breathe as the damask rose,
Or sweet as is that gum
Doth from Panchaia come.
Teach nature now to know
Lips can make cherries grow
Sooner than she ever yet
In her wisdom could beget.
On your minutes, hours, days, months, years,
Drop the fat blessing of the spheres.
That good which heav'n can give
To make you bravely live
Fall like a spangling dew
By day and night on you.
May fortune's lily-hand
Open at your command;
With all lucky birds to side
With the bridegroom and the bride.
Let bounteous Fate[s] your spindles full
Fill, and wind up with whitest wool.
Let them not cut the thread
Of life until ye bid.
May death yet come at last,
And not with desp'rate haste,
But when ye both can say
"Come, let us now away,"
Be ye to the barn then borne,
Two, like two ripe shocks of corn.
_Domiduca_, Juno, the goddess of marriage, the "home-bringer".
_Barley-break_, a country game, see 101.
When Julia chid I stood as mute the while
As is the fish or tongueless crocodile.
Air coin'd to words my Julia could not hear,
But she could see each eye to stamp a tear;
By which mine angry mistress might descry
Tears are the noble language of the eye.
And when true love of words is destitute
The eyes by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.
Let all chaste matrons, when they chance to see
My num'rous issue, praise and pity me:
Praise me for having such a fruitful womb,
Pity me, too, who found so soon a tomb.
I'll come to thee in all those shapes
As Jove did when he made his rapes,
Only I'll not appear to thee
As he did once to Semele.
Thunder and lightning I'll lay by,
To talk with thee familiarly.
Which done, then quickly we'll undress
To one and th' other's nakedness,
And, ravish'd, plunge into the bed,
Bodies and souls commingled,
And kissing, so as none may hear,
We'll weary all the fables there.
It is sufficient if we pray
To Jove, who gives and takes away:
Let him the land and living find;
Let me alone to fit the mind.
Noonday and midnight shall at once be seen:
Trees, at one time, shall be both sere and green:
Fire and water shall together lie
In one self-sweet-conspiring sympathy:
Summer and winter shall at one time show
Ripe ears of corn, and up to th' ears in snow:
Seas shall be sandless; fields devoid of grass;
Shapeless the world, as when all chaos was,
Before, my dear Perilla, I will be
False to my vow, or fall away from thee.
If I kiss Anthea's breast,
There I smell the phœnix nest:
If her lip, the most sincere
Altar of incense I smell there--
Hands, and thighs, and legs are all
Richly aromatical.
Goddess Isis can't transfer
Musks and ambers more from her:
Nor can Juno sweeter be,
When she lies with Jove, than she.
Permit me, Julia, now to go away;
Or by thy love decree me here to stay.
If thou wilt say that I shall live with thee,
Here shall my endless tabernacle be:
If not, as banish'd, I will live alone
There where no language ever yet was known.
Love-sick I am, and must endure
A desperate grief, that finds no cure.
Ah me! I try; and trying, prove
_No herbs have power to cure love._
Only one sovereign salve I know,
And that is death, the end of woe.
Though a wise man all pressures can sustain,
His virtue still is sensible of pain:
Large shoulders though he has, and well can bear,
He feels when packs do pinch him, and the where.
And cruel maid, because I see
You scornful of my love and me,
I'll trouble you no more; but go
My way where you shall never know
What is become of me: there I
Will find me out a path to die,
Or learn some way how to forget
You and your name for ever: yet,
Ere I go hence, know this from me,
What will, in time, your fortune be:
This to your coyness I will tell,
And, having spoke it once, farewell.
The lily will not long endure,
Nor the snow continue pure;
The rose, the violet, one day,
See, both these lady-flowers decay:
And you must fade as well as they.
And it may chance that Love may turn,
And, like to mine, make your heart burn
And weep to see't; yet this thing do,
That my last vow commends to you:
When you shall see that I am dead,
For pity let a tear be shed;
And, with your mantle o'er me cast,
Give my cold lips a kiss at last:
If twice you kiss you need not fear
That I shall stir or live more here.
Next, hollow out a tomb to cover
Me--me, the most despisèd lover,
And write thereon: _This, reader, know:
Love kill'd this man_. No more, but so.
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Which, starlike, sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free;
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty's gone.
To find that tree of life whose fruits did feed
And leaves did heal all sick of human seed:
To find Bethesda and an angel there
Stirring the waters, I am come; and here,
At last, I find (after my much to do)
The tree, Bethesda and the angel too:
And all in your blest hand, which has the powers
Of all those suppling-healing herbs and flowers.
To that soft charm, that spell, that magic bough,
That high enchantment, I betake me now,
And to that hand (the branch of heaven's fair tree),
I kneel for help; O! lay that hand on me,
Adored Cæsar! and my faith is such
I shall be heal'd if that my king but touch.
The evil is not yours: my sorrow sings,
"Mine is the evil, but the cure the king's".
Water, water I espy;
Come and cool ye, all who fry
In your loves; but none as I.
Though a thousand showers be
Still a-falling, yet I see
Not one drop to light on me.
Happy you who can have seas
For to quench ye, or some ease
From your kinder mistresses.
I have one, and she alone,
Of a thousand thousand known,
Dead to all compassion.
Such an one as will repeat
Both the cause and make the heat
More by provocation great.
Gentle friends, though I despair
Of my cure, do you beware
Of those girls which cruel are.
Am I despised because you say,
And I dare swear, that I am gray?
Know, lady, you have but your day:
And time will come when you shall wear
Such frost and snow upon your hair;
And when (though long, it comes to pass)
You question with your looking-glass;
And in that sincere crystal seek,
But find no rose-bud in your cheek:
Nor any bed to give the show
Where such a rare carnation grew.
Ah! then too late, close in your chamber keeping,
It will be told
That you are old,
By those true tears y'are weeping.
If 'mongst my many poems I can see
One only worthy to be wash'd by thee,
I live for ever, let the rest all lie
In dens of darkness or condemn'd to die.
Love like a gipsy lately came,
And did me much importune
To see my hand, that by the same
He might foretell my fortune.
He saw my palm, and then, said he,
I tell thee by this score here,
That thou within few months shalt be
The youthful Prince d'Amour here.
I smil'd, and bade him once more prove,
And by some cross-line show it,
That I could ne'er be prince of love,
Though here the princely poet.
Virgins, time-past, known were these,
Troubled with green-sicknesses:
Turn'd to flowers, still the hue,
Sickly girls, they bear of you.
Whom should I fear to write to if I can
Stand before you, my learn'd diocesan?
And never show blood-guiltiness or fear
To see my lines excathedrated here.
Since none so good are but you may condemn,
Or here so bad but you may pardon them.
If then, my lord, to sanctify my muse
One only poem out of all you'll choose,
And mark it for a rapture nobly writ,
'Tis good confirm'd, for you have bishop'd it.
_Blood-guiltiness_, guilt betrayed by blushing; cp. 837.
_Excathedrated_, condemned _ex cathedra_.
I saw about her spotless wrist,
Of blackest silk, a curious twist;
Which, circumvolving gently, there
Enthrall'd her arm as prisoner.
Dark was the jail, but as if light
Had met t'engender with the night;
Or so as darkness made a stay
To show at once both night and day.
One fancy more! but if there be
Such freedom in captivity,
I beg of Love that ever I
May in like chains of darkness lie.
I fear no earthly powers,
But care for crowns of flowers;
And love to have my beard
With wine and oil besmear'd.
This day I'll drown all sorrow:
Who knows to live to-morrow?
Julia, I bring
To thee this ring,
Made for thy finger fit;
To show by this
That our love is
(Or should be) like to it.
Close though it be
The joint is free;
So, when love's yoke is on,
It must not gall,
Or fret at all
With hard oppression.
But it must play
Still either way,
And be, too, such a yoke
As not too wide
To overslide,
Or be so strait to choke.
So we who bear
This beam must rear
Ourselves to such a height
As that the stay
Of either may
Create the burden light.
And as this round
Is nowhere found
To flaw, or else to sever:
So let our love
As endless prove,
And pure as gold for ever.
Where others love and praise my verses, still
Thy long black thumb-nail marks them out for ill:
A fellon take it, or some whitflaw come
For to unslate or to untile that thumb!
But cry thee mercy: exercise thy nails
To scratch or claw, so that thy tongue not rails:
Some numbers prurient are, and some of these
Are wanton with their itch; scratch, and 'twill please.
_Fellon_, a sore, especially in the finger.
_Whitflaw_, or whitlow.
I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read,
And lik'st the best. Still thou reply'st: The dead.
I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be;
Then sure thou'lt like or thou wilt envy me.
Thy azure robe I did behold
As airy as the leaves of gold,
Which, erring here, and wandering there,
Pleas'd with transgression ev'rywhere:
Sometimes 'twould pant, and sigh, and heave,
As if to stir it scarce had leave:
But, having got it, thereupon
'Twould make a brave expansion.
And pounc'd with stars it showed to me
Like a celestial canopy.
Sometimes 'twould blaze, and then abate,
Like to a flame grown moderate:
Sometimes away 'twould wildly fling,
Then to thy thighs so closely cling
That some conceit did melt me down
As lovers fall into a swoon:
And, all confus'd, I there did lie
Drown'd in delights, but could not die.
That leading cloud I follow'd still,
Hoping t' have seen of it my fill;
But ah! I could not: should it move
To life eternal, I could love.
_Pounc'd_, sprinkled.
Begin to charm, and, as thou strok'st mine ears
With thy enchantment, melt me into tears.
Then let thy active hand scud o'er thy lyre,
And make my spirits frantic with the fire.
That done, sink down into a silvery strain,
And make me smooth as balm and oil again.
To safeguard man from wrongs, there nothing must
Be truer to him than a wise distrust.
And to thyself be best this sentence known:
_Hear all men speak, but credit few or none_.
Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air:
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east
Above an hour since: yet you not dress'd;
Nay! not so much as out of bed?
When all the birds have matins said
And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in,
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care
Fear not; the leaves will strew
Gems in abundance upon you:
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept;
Come and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
And Titan on the eastern hill
Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying:
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark
How each field turns a street, each street a park
Made green and trimm'd with trees: see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch: each porch, each door ere this
An ark, a tabernacle is,
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street
And open fields and we not see't?
Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey
The proclamation made for May:
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
There's not a budding boy or girl this day
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream
Before that we have left to dream:
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
Many a green-gown has been given;
Many a kiss, both odd and even:
Many a glance too has been sent
From out the eye, love's firmament;
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not a-Maying.
Come, let us go while we are in our prime;
And take the harmless folly of the time.
We shall grow old apace, and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short, and our days run
As fast away as does the sun;
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,
So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drowned with us in endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
_Beads_, prayers.
_Left to dream_, ceased dreaming.
_Green-gown_, tumble on the grass.
Breathe, Julia, breathe, and I'll protest,
Nay more, I'll deeply swear,
That all the spices of the east
Are circumfused there.
_Circumfused_, spread around.
But born, and like a short delight,
I glided by my parents' sight.
That done, the harder fates denied
My longer stay, and so I died.
If, pitying my sad parents' tears,
You'll spill a tear or two with theirs,
And with some flowers my grave bestrew,
Love and they'll thank you for't. Adieu.
_Hor._  While, Lydia, I was loved of thee,
Nor any was preferred 'fore me
To hug thy whitest neck, than I
The Persian king lived not more happily.
_Lyd._  While thou no other didst affect,
Nor Chloe was of more respect
Than Lydia, far-famed Lydia,
I flourished more than Roman Ilia.
_Hor._  Now Thracian Chloe governs me,
Skilful i' th' harp and melody;
For whose affection, Lydia, I
(So fate spares her) am well content to die.
_Lyd._  My heart now set on fire is
By Ornithes' son, young Calais,
For whose commutual flames here I,
To save his life, twice am content to die.
_Hor._  Say our first loves we should revoke,
And, severed, join in brazen yoke;
Admit I Chloe put away,
And love again love-cast-off Lydia?
_Lyd._  Though mine be brighter than the star,
Thou lighter than the cork by far,
Rough as the Adriatic sea, yet I
Will live with thee, or else for thee will die.
As Julia once a-slumbering lay
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
After a dew or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower.
For some rich flower he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip;
But when he felt he sucked from thence
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir,
So Julia took the pilferer.
And thus surprised, as filchers use,
He thus began himself t' excuse:
Sweet lady-flower, I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought;
But, taking those rare lips of yours
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers,
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much syrup ran at waste.
Besides, know this: I never sting
The flower that gives me nourishing;
But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay
For honey that I bear away.
This said, he laid his little scrip
Of honey 'fore her ladyship:
And told her, as some tears did fall,
That that he took, and that was all.
At which she smiled, and bade him go
And take his bag; but thus much know:
When next he came a-pilfering so,
He should from her full lips derive
Honey enough to fill his hive.
Not all thy flushing suns are set,
Herrick, as yet;
Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere
Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere.
Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest
As dead within the west;
Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east.
Alas! for me, that I have lost
E'en all almost;
Sunk is my sight, set is my sun,
And all the loom of life undone:
The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt'ring wall
Whereon my vine did crawl,
Now, now blown down; needs must the old stock fall.
Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive,
In death I thrive:
And like a phœnix re-aspire
From out my nard and fun'ral fire:
And as I prune my feathered youth, so I
Do mar'l how I could die
When I had thee, my chief preserver, by.
I'm up, I'm up, and bless that hand
Which makes me stand
Now as I do, and but for thee
I must confess I could not be.
The debt is paid; for he who doth resign
Thanks to the gen'rous vine
Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.
Life of my life, 'take not so soon thy flight,
But stay the time till we have bade good-night.
Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way
As soon despatch'd is by the night as day.
Let us not then so rudely henceforth go
Till we have wept, kissed, sigh'd, shook hands, or so.
There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell,
When once true lovers take their last farewell.
What! shall we two our endless leaves take here
Without a sad look or a solemn tear?
He knows not love that hath not this truth proved,
_Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved_.
Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part,
Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart
Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none
To warm my breast when thou, my pulse, art gone.
No, here I'll last, and walk (a harmless shade)
About this urn wherein thy dust is laid,
To guard it so as nothing here shall be
Heavy to hurt those sacred seeds of thee.
Sadly I walk'd within the field,
To see what comfort it would yield;
And as I went my private way
An olive branch before me lay,
And seeing it I made a stay,
And took it up and view'd it; then
Kissing the omen, said Amen;
Be, be it so, and let this be
A divination unto me;
That in short time my woes shall cease
And Love shall crown my end with peace.
Ye may simper, blush and smile,
And perfume the air awhile;
But, sweet things, ye must be gone,
Fruit, ye know, is coming on;
Then, ah! then, where is your grace,
Whenas cherries come in place?
White though ye be, yet, lilies, know,
From the first ye were not so;
But I'll tell ye
What befell ye:
Cupid and his mother lay
In a cloud, while both did play,
He with his pretty finger press'd
The ruby niplet of her breast;
Out of which the cream of light,
Like to a dew,
Fell down on you
And made ye white.
Ah, cruel love! must I endure
Thy many scorns and find no cure?
Say, are thy medicines made to be
Helps to all others but to me?
I'll leave thee and to pansies come,
Comforts you'll afford me some;
You can ease my heart and do
What love could ne'er be brought unto.
What was't that fell but now
From that warm kiss of ours?
Look, look! by love I vow
They were two gilly-flowers.
Let's kiss and kiss again,
For if so be our closes
Make gilly-flowers, then
I'm sure they'll fashion roses.
You have beheld a smiling rose
When virgins' hands have drawn
O'er it a cobweb-lawn;
And here you see this lily shows,
Tomb'd in a crystal stone,
More fair in this transparent case
Than when it grew alone
And had but single grace.
You see how cream but naked is
Nor dances in the eye
Without a strawberry,
Or some fine tincture like to this,
Which draws the sight thereto
More by that wantoning with it
Than when the paler hue
No mixture did admit.
You see how amber through the streams
More gently strokes the sight
With some conceal'd delight
Than when he darts his radiant beams
Into the boundless air;
Where either too much light his worth
Doth all at once impair,
Or set it little forth.
Put purple grapes or cherries in-
To glass, and they will send
More beauty to commend
Them from that clean and subtle skin
Than if they naked stood,
And had no other pride at all
But their own flesh and blood
And tinctures natural.
Thus lily, rose, grape, cherry, cream,
And strawberry do stir
More love when they transfer
A weak, a soft, a broken beam,
Than if they should discover
At full their proper excellence;
Without some scene cast over
To juggle with the sense.
Thus let this crystal'd lily be
A rule how far to teach
Your nakedness must reach;
And that no further than we see
Those glaring colours laid
By art's wise hand, but to this end
They should obey a shade,
Lest they too far extend.
So though you're white as swan or snow,
And have the power to move
A world of men to love,
Yet when your lawns and silks shall flow,
And that white cloud divide
Into a doubtful twilight, then,
Then will your hidden pride
Raise greater fires in men.
_Tincture_, colour, dye.
_Scene_, a covering.
Like to a bride, come forth, my book, at last,
Say, if there be, 'mongst many gems here, one
Deserveless of the name of paragon;
Blush not at all for that, since we have set
Some pearls on queens that have been counterfeit.
Thou who wilt not love, do this,
Learn of me what woman is.
Something made of thread and thrum.
A mere botch of all and some.
Pieces, patches, ropes of hair;
Inlaid garbage everywhere.
Outside silk and outside lawn;
Scenes to cheat us neatly drawn.
False in legs, and false in thighs;
False in breast, teeth, hair, and eyes;
False in head, and false enough;
Only true in shreds and stuff.
_Thrum_, a small thread.
_All and some_, anything and everything.
While leanest beasts in pastures feed,
_The fattest ox the first must bleed_.
So soft streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles
Meet after long divorcement by the isles;
When love, the child of likeness, urgeth on
Their crystal natures to a union:
So meet stolen kisses, when the moony nights
Call forth fierce lovers to their wish'd delights;
So kings and queens meet, when desire convinces
All thoughts but such as aim at getting princes,
As I meet thee. Soul of my life and fame!
Eternal lamp of love! whose radiant flame
Out-glares the heaven's Osiris,[H] and thy gleams
Out-shine the splendour of his mid-day beams.
Welcome, O welcome, my illustrious spouse;
Welcome as are the ends unto my vows;
Aye! far more welcome than the happy soil
The sea-scourged merchant, after all his toil,
Salutes with tears of joy, when fires betray
The smoky chimneys of his Ithaca.
Where hast thou been so long from my embraces,
Poor pitied exile? Tell me, did thy graces
Fly discontented hence, and for a time
Did rather choose to bless another clime?
Or went'st thou to this end, the more to move me,
By thy short absence, to desire and love thee?
Why frowns my sweet? Why won't my saint confer
Favours on me, her fierce idolater?
Why are those looks, those looks the which have been
Time-past so fragrant, sickly now drawn in
Like a dull twilight? Tell me, and the fault
I'll expiate with sulphur, hair and salt;
And, with the crystal humour of the spring,
Purge hence the guilt and kill this quarrelling.
Wo't thou not smile or tell me what's amiss?
Have I been cold to hug thee, too remiss,
Too temp'rate in embracing? Tell me, has desire
To thee-ward died i' th' embers, and no fire
Left in this rak'd-up ash-heap as a mark
To testify the glowing of a spark?
Have I divorc'd thee only to combine
In hot adult'ry with another wine?
True, I confess I left thee, and appeal
'Twas done by me more to confirm my zeal
And double my affection on thee, as do those
Whose love grows more inflam'd by being foes.
But to forsake thee ever, could there be
A thought of such-like possibility?
When thou thyself dar'st say thy isles shall lack
Grapes before Herrick leaves canary sack.
Thou mak'st me airy, active to be borne,
Like Iphiclus, upon the tops of corn.
Thou mak'st me nimble, as the winged hours,
To dance and caper on the heads of flowers,
And ride the sunbeams. Can there be a thing
Under the heavenly Isis[I] that can bring
More love unto my life, or can present
My genius with a fuller blandishment?
Help from the garlic, onion and the leek
And pay no vows to thee, who wast their best
God, and far more transcendent than the rest?
Had Cassius, that weak water-drinker, known
Thee in thy vine, or had but tasted one
Small chalice of thy frantic liquor, he,
As the wise Cato, had approv'd of thee.
Had not Jove's son,[J] that brave Tirynthian swain,
Invited to the Thesbian banquet, ta'en
Full goblets of thy gen'rous blood, his sprite
Ne'er had kept heat for fifty maids that night.
Come, come and kiss me; love and lust commends
Thee and thy beauties; kiss, we will be friends
Too strong for fate to break us. Look upon
Me with that full pride of complexion
As queens meet queens, or come thou unto me
As Cleopatra came to Anthony,
When her high carriage did at once present
To the triumvir love and wonderment.
Swell up my nerves with spirit; let my blood
Run through my veins like to a hasty flood.
Fill each part full of fire, active to do
What thy commanding soul shall put it to;
And till I turn apostate to thy love,
Which here I vow to serve, do not remove
Thy fires from me, but Apollo's curse
Blast these-like actions, or a thing that's worse.
When these circumstants shall but live to see
The time that I prevaricate from thee.
Call me the son of beer, and then confine
Me to the tap, the toast, the turf; let wine
Ne'er shine upon me; may my numbers all
Run to a sudden death and funeral.
And last, when thee, dear spouse, I disavow,
Ne'er may prophetic Daphne crown my brow.
_Convinces_, overcomes.
_Ithaca_, the home of the wanderer Ulysses.
_Iphiclus_ won the foot-race at the funeral games of Pelias.
_Circumstants_, surroundings.
My faithful friend, if you can see
The fruit to grow up, or the tree;
If you can see the colour come
Into the blushing pear or plum;
If you can see the water grow
To cakes of ice or flakes of snow;
If you can see that drop of rain
Lost in the wild sea once again;
If you can see how dreams do creep
Into the brain by easy sleep:
Then there is hope that you may see
Her love me once who now hates me.
Now is the time for mirth,
For, with the flowery earth,
The golden pomp is come.
The golden pomp is come;
For now each tree does wear.
Made of her pap and gum,
Rich beads of amber here.
Now reigns the rose, and now
Th' Arabian dew besmears
My uncontrolled brow
And my retorted hairs.
Homer, this health to thee,
In sack of such a kind
That it would make thee see
Though thou wert ne'er so blind.
Next, Virgil I'll call forth
To pledge this second health
In wine, whose each cup's worth
An Indian commonwealth.
A goblet next I'll drink
To Ovid, and suppose,
Made he the pledge, he'd think
The world had all one nose.
Then this immensive cup
Of aromatic wine,
Catullus, I quaff up
To that terse muse of thine.
Wild I am now with heat:
O Bacchus, cool thy rays!
Or, frantic, I shall eat
Thy thyrse and bite the bays.
Round, round the roof does run,
And, being ravish'd thus,
Come, I will drink a tun
Now, to Tibullus, next,
This flood I drink to thee:
But stay, I see a text
That this presents to me.
Behold, Tibullus lies
Here burnt, whose small return
Of ashes scarce suffice
To fill a little urn.
Trust to good verses then;
They only will aspire
When pyramids, as men,
Are lost i' th' funeral fire.
And when all bodies meet
In Lethe to be drown'd,
Then only numbers sweet
With endless life are crown'd.
_Retorted_, bound back, "retorto crine," _Martial_.
_Immensive_, measureless.
Fair was the dawn, and but e'en now the skies
Show'd like to cream inspir'd with strawberries,
But on a sudden all was chang'd and gone
That smil'd in that first sweet complexion.
Then thunder-claps and lightning did conspire
To tear the world, or set it all on fire.
What trust to things below, whenas we see,
As men, the heavens have their hypocrisy?
For my part, I never care
For those lips that tongue-tied are:
Tell-tales I would have them be
Of my mistress and of me.
Let them prattle how that I
Sometimes freeze and sometimes fry:
Let them tell how she doth move
Fore or backward in her love:
Let them speak by gentle tones,
One and th' other's passions:
How we watch, and seldom sleep;
How by willows we do weep;
How by stealth we meet, and then
Kiss, and sigh, so part again.
This the lips we will permit
For to tell, not publish it.
Thou'st dar'd too far; but, fury, now forbear
To give the least disturbance to her hair:
But less presume to lay a plait upon
Her skin's most smooth and clear expansion.
'Tis like a lawny firmament as yet,
Quite dispossess'd of either fray or fret.
Come thou not near that film so finely spread,
Where no one piece is yet unlevelled.
This if thou dost, woe to thee, fury, woe,
I'll send such frost, such hail, such sleet, and snow,
Such flesh-quakes, palsies, and such fears as shall
Dead thee to th' most, if not destroy thee all.
And thou a thousand thousand times shalt be
More shak'd thyself than she is scorch'd by thee.
Welcome, maids-of-honour!
You do bring
In the spring,
And wait upon her.
She has virgins many,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.
You're the maiden posies,
And so grac'd
To be plac'd
'Fore damask roses.
Yet, though thus respected,
By-and-by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.
Stay while ye will, or go
And leave no scent behind ye:
Yet, trust me, I shall know
The place where I may find ye.
Within my Lucia's cheek,
Whose livery ye wear,
Play ye at hide or seek,
I'm sure to find ye there.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.
For my neighbour I'll not know,
Whether high he builds or no:
Only this I'll look upon,
Firm be my foundation.
Sound or unsound, let it be!
'Tis the lot ordain'd for me.
He who to the ground does fall
_Has not whence to sink at all_.
Play I could once; but, gentle friend, you see
My harp hung up here on the willow tree.
Sing I could once; and bravely, too, inspire
With luscious numbers my melodious lyre.
Draw I could once, although not stocks or stones,
Amphion-like, men made of flesh and bones,
Whither I would; but ah! I know not how,
I feel in me this transmutation now.
Grief, my dear friend, has first my harp unstrung,
Wither'd my hand, and palsy-struck my tongue.
Only a little more
I have to write,
Then I'll give o'er,
And bid the world good-night.
'Tis but a flying minute
That I must stay,
Or linger in it;
And then I must away.
O time that cut'st down all
And scarce leav'st here
Of any men that were.
How many lie forgot
In vaults beneath?
And piecemeal rot
Without a fame in death?
Behold this living stone
I rear for me,
Ne'er to be thrown
Down, envious Time, by thee.
Pillars let some set up
If so they please:
Here is my hope
What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore,
Ships have been drown'd where late they danc'd before.
_The Speakers_, Mirtillo, Amintas _and_ Amarillis.
_Amin._ Good-day, Mirtillo.  _Mirt._ And to you no less,
And all fair signs lead on our shepherdess.
_Amar._ With all white luck to you.  _Mirt._ But say, what news
Stirs in our sheep-walk?  _Amin._ None, save that my ewes,
My wethers, lambs, and wanton kids are well,
Smooth, fair and fat! none better I can tell:
Or that this day Menalcas keeps a feast
For his sheep-shearers.  _Mirt._ True, these are the least;
But, dear Amintas and sweet Amarillis,
Rest but a while here, by this bank of lilies,
And lend a gentle ear to one report
The country has.  _Amin._ From whence?  _Amar._ From whence?
Three days before the shutting in of May
(With whitest wool be ever crown'd that day!)
To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,
More tender than the childhood of the morn.
_Chor._ Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheep
Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!
_Mirt._ And that his birth should be more singular
At noon of day was seen a silver star,
Bright as the wise men's torch which guided them
To God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;
While golden angels (some have told to me)
Sung out his birth with heavenly minstrelsy.
_Amin._ O rare! But is't a trespass if we three
Should wend along his babyship to see?
_Chor._ But if it chance to prove
At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.
_Amar._ But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it told
Those learned men brought incense, myrrh and gold
From countries far, with store of spices sweet,
And laid them down for offerings at his feet.
_Mirt._ 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bring
Unto our smiling and our blooming king
A neat, though not so great an offering.
_Amar._ A garland for my gift shall be
Of flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;
And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.
_Amin._ And I will bear, along with you,
Leaves dropping down the honeyed dew,
With oaten pipes as sweet as new.
_Mirt._ And I a sheep-hook will bestow,
To have his little kingship know,
As he is prince, he's shepherd too.
_Chor._ Come, let's away, and quickly let's be dress'd,
And quickly give--_the swiftest grace is best_.
And when before him we have laid our treasures,
We'll bless the babe, then back to country pleasures.
_White_, favourable.
Good speed, for I this day
Betimes my matins say:
Begin to woo,
Sweet-singing lark,
Be thou the clerk,
And know thy when
To say, Amen.
And if I prove
Bless'd in my love,
Then thou shalt be
High-priest to me,
At my return,
To incense burn;
And so to solemnise
Love's and my sacrifice.
To my revenge and to her desperate fears
Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs and tears.
In the wild air when thou hast rolled about,
And, like a blasting planet, found her out.
Stoop, mount, pass by to take her eye, then glare
Like to a dreadful comet in the air:
Next, when thou dost perceive her fixed sight
For thy revenge to be most opposite,
Then, like a globe or ball of wild-fire, fly,
And break thyself in shivers on her eye.
You are a tulip seen to-day,
But, dearest, of so short a stay
That where you grew scarce man can say.
You are a lovely July-flower,
Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower
Will force you hence, and in an hour.
You are a sparkling rose i' th' bud,
Yet lost ere that chaste flesh and blood
Can show where you or grew or stood.
You are a full-spread, fair-set vine,
And can with tendrils love entwine,
Yet dried ere you distil your wine.
You are like balm enclosed well
In amber, or some crystal shell,
Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell.
You are a dainty violet,
Yet wither'd ere you can be set
Within the virgin's coronet.
You are the queen all flowers among,
But die you must, fair maid, ere long,
As he, the maker of this song.
From this bleeding hand of mine
Take this sprig of eglantine,
Which, though sweet unto your smell,
Yet the fretful briar will tell,
He who plucks the sweets shall prove
Many thorns to be in love.
Gold I've none, for use or show,
Neither silver to bestow
At my death; but this much know;
That each lyric here shall be
Of my love a legacy,
Left to all posterity.
Gentle friends, then do but please
To accept such coins as these
As my last remembrances.
Hence, hence, profane! soft silence let us have
While we this trental sing about thy grave.
Had wolves or tigers seen but thee,
They would have showed civility;
And, in compassion of thy years,
Washed those thy purple wounds with tears.
But since thou'rt slain, and in thy fall
The drooping kingdom suffers all;
_Chor._ This we will do, we'll daily come
And offer tears upon thy tomb:
And if that they will not suffice,
Thou shall have souls for sacrifice.
Sleep in thy peace, while we with spice perfume thee,
And cedar wash thee, that no times consume thee.
Live, live thou dost, and shall; for why?
_Souls do not with their bodies die_:
Ignoble offsprings, they may fall
Into the flames of funeral:
Whenas the chosen seed shall spring
Fresh, and for ever flourishing.
_Chor._ And times to come shall, weeping, read thy glory
Less in these marble stones than in thy story.
_Trental_, a dirge; but see Note.
_Cedar_, oil of cedar.
Dear Perenna, prithee come
And with smallage dress my tomb:
Add a cypress sprig thereto,
With a tear, and so Adieu.
_Smallage_, water-parsley.
Rare temples thou hast seen, I know,
And rich for in and outward show:
Survey this chapel, built alone,
Without or lime, or wood, or stone:
Then say if one thou'st seen more fine
Than this, the fairies' once, now thine.
A way enchased with glass and beads
There is, that to the chapel leads:
Whose structure, for his holy rest,
Is here the halcyon's curious nest:
Into the which who looks shall see
His temple of idolatry,
Where he of godheads has such store,
As Rome's pantheon had not more.
His house of Rimmon this he calls,
Girt with small bones instead of walls.
First, in a niche, more black than jet,
His idol-cricket there is set:
Then in a polished oval by
There stands his idol-beetle-fly:
Next in an arch, akin to this,
His idol-canker seated is:
Then in a round is placed by these
His golden god, Cantharides.
So that, where'er ye look, ye see,
No capital, no cornice free,
Or frieze, from this fine frippery.
Now this the fairies would have known,
Theirs is a mixed religion:
And some have heard the elves it call
Part pagan, part papistical.
If unto me all tongues were granted,
I could not speak the saints here painted.
Who 'gainst Mab's-state placed here right is;
Saint Will o' th' Wisp, of no great bigness,
But _alias_ called here _Fatuus ignis_;
Neither those other saintships will I
Here go about for to recite
Their number, almost infinite,
Which one by one here set down are
In this most curious calendar.
First, at the entrance of the gate
A little puppet-priest doth wait,
Who squeaks to all the comers there:
"_Favour your tongues who enter here;
Pure hands bring hither without stain._"
A second pules: "_Hence, hence, profane!_"
Hard by, i' th' shell of half a nut,
The holy-water there is put:
A little brush of squirrel's hairs
(Composed of odd, not even pairs,)
Stands in the platter, or close by,
To purge the fairy family.
Near to the altar stands the priest,
There off'ring up the Holy Grist,
Ducking in mood and perfect tense,
With (much-good-do-'t him) reverence.
The altar is not here four-square,
Nor in a form triangular,
Nor made of glass, or wood, or stone,
But of a little transverse bone;
Which boys and bruckel'd children call
(Playing for points and pins) cockal.
Whose linen drapery is a thin
Subtile and ductile codlin's skin:
Which o'er the board is smoothly spread
With little seal-work damasked.
The fringe that circumbinds it too
Is spangle-work of trembling dew,
Which, gently gleaming, makes a show
Like frost-work glitt'ring on the snow.
Upon this fetuous board doth stand
Something for show-bread, and at hand,
Just in the middle of the altar,
Upon an end, the fairy-psalter,
Grac'd with the trout-flies' curious wings,
Which serve for watchet ribbonings.
Now, we must know, the elves are led
Right by the rubric which they read.
And, if report of them be true,
They have their text for what they do;
Aye, and their book of canons too.
And, as Sir Thomas Parson tells,
They have their book of articles;
And, if that fairy-knight not lies,
They have their book of homilies;
And other scriptures that design
A short but righteous discipline.
The basin stands the board upon
To take the free oblation:
A little pin-dust, which they hold
More precious than we prize our gold
Which charity they give to many
Poor of the parish, if there's any.
Upon the ends of these neat rails,
Hatch'd with the silver-light of snails,
The elves in formal manner fix
Two pure and holy candlesticks:
In either which a small tall bent
Burns for the altar's ornament.
For sanctity they have to these
Their curious copes and surplices
Of cleanest cobweb hanging by
In their religious vestery.
They have their ash-pans and their brooms
To purge the chapel and the rooms;
Their many mumbling Mass-priests here,
And many a dapper chorister,
Their ush'ring vergers, here likewise
Their canons and their chanteries.
Of cloister-monks they have enow,
Aye, and their abbey-lubbers too;
And, if their legend do not lie,
They much affect the papacy.
And since the last is dead, there's hope
_Elf Boniface shall next be pope_.
They have their cups and chalices;
Their pardons and indulgences;
Their beads of nits, bells, books, and wax
Candles, forsooth, and other knacks;
Their holy oil, their fasting spittle;
Their sacred salt here, not a little;
Dry chips, old shoes, rags, grease and bones;
Beside their fumigations
To drive the devil from the cod-piece
Of the friar (of work an odd piece).
Many a trifle, too, and trinket,
And for what use, scarce man would think it.
Next, then, upon the chanters' side
An apple's core is hung up dri'd,
With rattling kernels, which is rung
To call to morn and even-song.
The saint to which the most he prays
And offers incense nights and days,
The lady of the lobster is,
Whose foot-pace he doth stroke and kiss;
And humbly chives of saffron brings
For his most cheerful offerings.
When, after these, h'as paid his vows
He lowly to the altar bows;
And then he dons the silk-worm's shed,
Like a Turk's turban on his head,
And reverently departeth thence,
Hid in a cloud of frankincense,
And by the glow-worm's light well guided,
Goes to the feast that's now provided.
_Halcyon_, king-fisher.
_Saint Tit_, etc., see Note.
_Mab's-state_, Mab's chair of state.
_Bruckel'd_, begrimed.
_Cockal_, a game played with four huckle-bones.
_Codlin_, an apple.
_Fetuous_, feat, neat.
_Watchet_, pale blue.
_Bent_, bent grass.
_Chives_, shreds.
My muse in meads has spent her many hours,
Sitting, and sorting several sorts of flowers
To make for others garlands, and to set
On many a head here many a coronet;
But, amongst all encircled here, not one
Gave her a day of coronation,
Till you, sweet mistress, came and interwove
A laurel for her, ever young as love--
You first of all crown'd her: she must of due
Render for that a crown of life to you.
If, after rude and boisterous seas,
My wearied pinnace here finds ease;
If so it be I've gained the shore
With safety of a faithful oar;
If, having run my barque on ground,
Ye see the aged vessel crown'd:
What's to be done, but on the sands
Ye dance and sing and now clap hands?
The first act's doubtful, but we say
It is the last commends the play.
When I through all my many poems look,
And see yourself to beautify my book,
Methinks that only lustre doth appear
A light fulfilling all the region here.
Gild still with flames this firmament, and be
A lamp eternal to my poetry.
Which, if it now or shall hereafter shine,
'Twas by your splendour, lady, not by mine.
The oil was yours; and that I owe for yet:
_He pays the half who does confess the debt_.
Charm me asleep and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers,
That, being ravished, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
Ease my sick head
And make my bed,
Thou power that canst sever
From me this ill;
And quickly still,
Though thou not kill,
My fever.
Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire
Into a gentle-licking flame,
And make it thus expire.
Then make me weep
My pains asleep;
And give me such reposes
That I, poor I,
May think thereby
I live and die
'Mongst roses.
Fall on me like a silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
A baptism o'er the flowers.
Melt, melt my pains
With thy soft strains;
That, having ease me given,
With full delight
I leave this light,
And take my flight
For heaven.
So long you did not sing or touch your lute,
We knew 'twas flesh and blood that there sat mute.
But when your playing and your voice came in,
'Twas no more you then, but a cherubin.
As lately I a garland bound,
'Mongst roses I there Cupid found;
I took him, put him in my cup,
And drunk with wine, I drank him up.
Hence then it is that my poor breast
Could never since find any rest.
Display thy breasts, my Julia--there let me
Behold that circummortal purity,
Between whose glories there my lips I'll lay,
Ravish'd in that fair _via lactea_.
_Circummortal_, more than mortal.
Fools are they who never know
How the times away do go;
But for us, who wisely see
Where the bounds of black death be,
Let's live merrily, and thus
Be not proud, but now incline
Your soft ear to discipline.
You have changes in your life--
Sometimes peace and sometimes strife;
You have ebbs of face and flows,
As your health or comes or goes;
You have hopes, and doubts, and fears
Numberless, as are your hairs.
You have pulses that do beat
High, and passions less of heat.
You are young, but must be old,
And, to these, ye must be told
Time ere long will come and plough
Loathed furrows in your brow:
And the dimness of your eye
Will no other thing imply
But you must die
As well as I.
_Art quickens nature; care will make a face;
Neglected beauty perisheth apace._
Mop-eyed I am, as some have said,
Because I've lived so long a maid:
But grant that I should wedded be,
Should I a jot the better see?
No, I should think that marriage might,
Rather than mend, put out the light.
_Mop-eyed_, shortsighted.
Thou cam'st to cure me, doctor, of my cold,
And caught'st thyself the more by twenty fold:
Prithee go home; and for thy credit be
First cured thyself, then come and cure me.
Go, happy rose, and interwove
With other flowers, bind my love.
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fetter'd me.
Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold to bind her hands.
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have myrtle rods (at will)
For to tame, though not to kill.
Take thou my blessing, thus, and go
And tell her this, but do not so,
Lest a handsome anger fly,
Like a lightning, from her eye,
And burn thee up as well as I.
Thou art a plant sprung up to wither never,
But like a laurel to grow green for ever.
Men say y'are fair, and fair ye are, 'tis true;
But, hark! we praise the painter now, not you.
At draw-gloves we'll play,
And prithee let's lay
A wager, and let it be this:
Who first to the sum
Of twenty shall come,
Shall have for his winning a kiss.
_Draw-gloves_, a game of talking by the fingers.
Charms, that call down the moon from out her sphere,
On this sick youth work your enchantments here:
Bind up his senses with your numbers so
As to entrance his pain, or cure his woe.
Fall gently, gently, and a while him keep
Lost in the civil wilderness of sleep:
That done, then let him, dispossessed of pain,
Like to a slumb'ring bride, awake again.
Never my book's perfection did appear
Till I had got the name of Villars here:
Now 'tis so full that when therein I look
I see a cloud of glory fills my book.
Here stand it still to dignify our Muse,
Your sober handmaid, who doth wisely choose
Your name to be a laureate wreath to her
Who doth both love and fear you, honoured sir.
Love, I recant,
And pardon crave
That lately I offended;
But 'twas,
To make a brave,
But no disdain intended.
No more I'll vaunt,
For now I see
Thou only hast the power
To find
And bind
A heart that's free,
And slave it in an hour.
So good luck came, and on my roof did light,
Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night:
Not all at once, but gently, as the trees
Are by the sunbeams tickled by degrees.
Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee,
And say thou bring'st this honey bag from me:
When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed,
Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste.
If so, we live; if not, with mournful hum
Toll forth my death; next, to my burial come.
Love bade me ask a gift,
And I no more did move
But this, that I might shift
Still with my clothes my love:
That favour granted was;
Since which, though I love many,
Yet so it comes to pass
That long I love not any.
Come, sons of summer, by whose toil
We are the lords of wine and oil:
By whose tough labours and rough hands
We rip up first, then reap our lands.
Crowned with the ears of corn, now come,
And to the pipe sing harvest home.
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart
Dressed up with all the country art:
See here a maukin, there a sheet,
As spotless pure as it is sweet:
The horses, mares, and frisking fillies,
Clad all in linen white as lilies.
The harvest swains and wenches bound
For joy, to see the hock-cart crowned.
About the cart, hear how the rout
Of rural younglings raise the shout;
Pressing before, some coming after,
Those with a shout, and these with laughter.
Some bless the cart, some kiss the sheaves,
Some prank them up with oaken leaves:
Some cross the fill-horse, some with great
Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat:
While other rustics, less attent
To prayers than to merriment,
Run after with their breeches rent.
Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth,
Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your mirth,
Ye shall see first the large and chief
Foundation of your feast, fat beef:
With upper stories, mutton, veal
And bacon (which makes full the meal),
With sev'ral dishes standing by,
And here all-tempting frumenty.
And for to make the merry cheer,
If smirking wine be wanting here,
There's that which drowns all care, stout beer;
Which freely drink to your lord's health,
Then to the plough, the commonwealth,
Next to your flails, your fans, your fats,
Then to the maids with wheaten hats:
To the rough sickle, and crook'd scythe,
Drink, frolic boys, till all be blithe.
Feed, and grow fat; and as ye eat
Be mindful that the lab'ring neat,
As you, may have their fill of meat.
And know, besides, ye must revoke
The patient ox unto the yoke,
And all go back unto the plough
And harrow, though they're hanged up now.
And, you must know, your lord's word's true,
Feed him ye must, whose food fills you;
And that this pleasure is like rain,
Not sent ye for to drown your pain,
But for to make it spring again.
_Maukin_, a cloth.
_Fill-horse_, shaft-horse.
_Frumenty_, wheat boiled in milk.
To-morrow, Julia, I betimes must rise,
For some small fault to offer sacrifice:
The altar's ready: fire to consume
The fat; breathe thou, and there's the rich perfume.
Let but thy voice engender with the string,
And angels will be born while thou dost sing.
He that will not love must be
My scholar, and learn this of me:
There be in love as many fears
As the summer's corn has ears:
Sighs, and sobs, and sorrows more
Than the sand that makes the shore:
Freezing cold and fiery heats,
Fainting swoons and deadly sweats;
Now an ague, then a fever,
Both tormenting lovers ever.
Would'st thou know, besides all these,
How hard a woman 'tis to please,
How cross, how sullen, and how soon
She shifts and changes like the moon.
How false, how hollow she's in heart:
And how she is her own least part:
How high she's priz'd, and worth but small;
Little thou'lt love, or not at all.
Music, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spell,
That strik'st a stillness into hell:
Thou that tam'st tigers, and fierce storms that rise,
With thy soul-melting lullabies,
Fall down, down, down from those thy chiming spheres,
To charm our souls, as thou enchant'st our ears.
Sweet western wind, whose luck it is,
Made rival with the air,
To give Perenna's lip a kiss,
And fan her wanton hair.
Bring me but one, I'll promise thee,
Instead of common showers,
Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me,
And all beset with flowers.
Why do not all fresh maids appear
To work love's sampler only here,
Where spring-time smiles throughout the year?
Are not here rosebuds, pinks, all flowers
Nature begets by th' sun and showers,
Met in one hearse-cloth to o'erspread
The body of the under-dead?
Phil, the late dead, the late dead dear,
O! may no eye distil a tear
For you once lost, who weep not here!
Had Lesbia, too-too kind, but known
This sparrow, she had scorn'd her own:
And for this dead which under lies
Wept out her heart, as well as eyes.
But, endless peace, sit here and keep
My Phil the time he has to sleep;
And thousand virgins come and weep
To make these flowery carpets show
Fresh as their blood, and ever grow,
Till passengers shall spend their doom:
Not Virgil's gnat had such a tomb.
_Phil_, otherwise Philip or Phip, was a pet name for a sparrow.
_Virgil's gnat_, the _Culex_ attributed to Virgil.
Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
Just as the modest morn
Teem'd her refreshing dew?
Alas! you have not known that shower
That mars a flower,
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind,
Nor are ye worn with years,
Or warp'd as we,
Who think it strange to see
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known
The reason why
Ye droop and weep;
Is it for want of sleep?
Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?
Or brought a kiss
From that sweetheart to this?
No, no, this sorrow shown
By your tears shed
Would have this lecture read:
That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,
Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought forth.
Roses at first were white,
Till they could not agree,
Whether my Sappho's breast
Or they more white should be.
But, being vanquish'd quite,
A blush their cheeks bespread;
Since which, believe the rest,
The roses first came red.
Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's rain,
Since, clouds dispers'd, suns gild the air again.
Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and overboil,
But turn soon after calm as balm or oil.
Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease
The leafy trees nod in a still-born peace.
Your storm is over; lady, now appear
Like to the peeping springtime of the year.
Off then with grave clothes; put fresh colours on,
And flow and flame in your vermilion.
Upon your cheek sat icicles awhile;
Now let the rose reign like a queen, and smile.
Love on a day, wise poets tell,
Some time in wrangling spent,
Whether the violets should excel,
Or she, in sweetest scent.
But Venus having lost the day,
Poor girls, she fell on you:
And beat ye so, as some dare say,
Her blows did make ye blue.
Thou art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distres't,
And left of love, are crown'd.
When once the lover's rose is dead,
Or laid aside forlorn:
Then willow-garlands 'bout the head
Bedew'd with tears are worn.
When with neglect, the lovers' bane,
Poor maids rewarded be,
For their love lost, their only gain
Is but a wreath from thee.
And underneath thy cooling shade,
When weary of the light,
The love-spent youth and love-sick maid
Come to weep out the night.
Among the myrtles as I walk'd,
Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my shepherdess.
Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this?
In everything that's sweet she is.
In yond' carnation go and seek,
There thou shalt find her lip and cheek:
In that enamell'd pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye:
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.
'Tis true, said I, and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts a union:
But on a sudden all were gone.
At which I stopp'd; said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;
For, as these flowers, thy joys must die,
And in the turning of an eye:
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets, ere knit together.
If when these lyrics, Cæsar, you shall hear,
And that Apollo shall so touch your ear
As for to make this, that, or any one,
Number your own, by free adoption;
That verse, of all the verses here, shall be
The heir to this _great realm of poetry_.
_Goddess of youth, and lady of the spring,
Most fit to be the consort to a king_,
Be pleas'd to rest you in this sacred grove
Beset with myrtles, whose each leaf drops love.
Many a sweet-fac'd wood-nymph here is seen,
Of which chaste order you are now the queen:
Witness their homage when they come and strew
Your walks with flowers, and give their crowns to you.
Your leafy throne, with lily-work possess,
And be both princess here and poetess.
May his pretty dukeship grow
Like t'a rose of Jericho:
Sweeter far than ever yet
Showers or sunshines could beget.
Strew his hopes and him with flowers:
And so dress him up with love
As to be the chick of Jove.
May the thrice-three sisters sing
Him the sovereign of their spring:
And entitle none to be
May his soft foot, where it treads,
Gardens thence produce and meads:
And those meadows full be set
With the rose and violet.
May his ample name be known
To the last succession:
And his actions high be told
Through the world, but writ in gold.
Bid me to live, and I will live
Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.
A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
A heart as sound and free
As in the whole world thou canst find,
That heart I'll give to thee.
Bid that heart stay, and it will stay
To honour thy decree:
Or bid it languish quite away,
And't shall do so for thee.
Bid me to weep, and I will weep
While I have eyes to see:
And, having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.
Bid me despair, and I'll despair
Under that cypress-tree:
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death to die for thee.
Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me:
And hast command of every part
To live and die for thee.
_That prince takes soon enough the victor's room
Who first provides not to be overcome._
_The gods to kings the judgment give to sway:
The subjects only glory to obey._
_He that may sin, sins least: leave to transgress
Enfeebles much the seeds of wickedness._
That morn which saw me made a bride,
The evening witness'd that I died.
Those holy lights, wherewith they guide
Unto the bed the bashful bride,
Serv'd but as tapers for to burn
And light my relics to their urn.
This epitaph, which here you see,
Supplied the epithalamy.
Ye have been fresh and green,
Ye have been fill'd with flowers,
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours.
You have beheld how they
With wicker arks did come
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.
Y'ave heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round:
Each virgin like a spring,
With honeysuckles crown'd.
But now we see none here
Whose silvery feet did tread,
And with dishevell'd hair
Adorn'd this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock and needy grown,
Y'are left here to lament
Your poor estates, alone.
_Round_, a rustic dance.
Though good things answer many good intents,
_Crosses do still bring forth the best events_.
Though hourly comforts from the gods we see,
_No life is yet life-proof from misery_.
Rise, household gods, and let us go;
But whither I myself not know.
First, let us dwell on rudest seas;
Next, with severest savages;
Last, let us make our best abode
Where human foot as yet ne'er trod:
Search worlds of ice, and rather there
Dwell than in loathed Devonshire.
When I departed am, ring thou my knell,
Thou pitiful and pretty Philomel:
And when I'm laid out for a corse, then be
Thou sexton, redbreast, for to cover me.
Both you two have
Relation to the grave:
And where
The funeral-trump sounds, you are there,
I shall be made,
Ere long, a fleeting shade:
Pray, come
And do some honour to my tomb.
Do not deny
My last request; for I
Thankful to you, or friends, for me.
I call, I call: who do ye call?
The maids to catch this cowslip ball:
But since these cowslips fading be,
Troth, leave the flowers, and, maids, take me.
Yet, if that neither you will do,
Speak but the word and I'll take you.
You say you're sweet; how should we know
Whether that you be sweet or no?
From powders and perfumes keep free,
Then we shall smell how sweet you be.
What's that we see from far? the spring of day
Blown out of April, or some new
Star filled with glory to our view,
Reaching at heaven,
To add a nobler planet to the seven?
Say, or do we not descry
Some goddess in a cloud of tiffany
To move, or rather the
Emergent Venus from the sea?
'Tis she! 'tis she! or else some more divine
Enlightened substance; mark how from the shrine
Of holy saints she paces on,
Treading upon vermilion
And amber: spic-
ing the chaft air with fumes of Paradise.
Then come on, come on and yield
A savour like unto a blessed field
When the bedabbled morn
Washes the golden ears of corn.
See where she comes; and smell how all the street
Breathes vineyards and pomegranates: O how sweet!
As a fir'd altar is each stone,
Perspiring pounded cinnamon.
The phœnix' nest,
Built up of odours, burneth in her breast.
Who, therein, would not consume
His soul to ash-heaps in that rich perfume?
Bestroking fate the while
He burns to embers on the pile.
Hymen, O Hymen! tread the sacred ground;
Show thy white feet and head with marjoram crown'd:
Mount up thy flames and let thy torch
Display the bridegroom in the porch,
In his desires
More towering, more disparkling than thy fires:
Show her how his eyes do turn
And roll about, and in their motions burn
Their balls to cinders: haste
Or else to ashes he will waste.
Glide by the banks of virgins, then, and pass
The showers of roses, lucky four-leav'd grass:
The while the cloud of younglings sing
And drown ye with a flowery spring;
While some repeat
Your praise and bless you, sprinkling you with wheat;
While that others do divine,
_Bless'd is the bride on whom the sun doth shine_;
And thousands gladly wish
You multiply as doth a fish.
And, beauteous bride, we do confess y'are wise
In dealing forth these bashful jealousies:
In love's name do so; and a price
Set on yourself by being nice:
But yet take heed;
What now you seem be not the same indeed,
And turn apostate: love will,
Part of the way be met or sit stone-still.
On, then, and though you slow-
ly go, yet, howsoever, go.
And now y'are entered; see the coddled cook
Runs from his torrid zone to pry and look
And bless his dainty mistress: see
The aged point out, "This is she
Who now must sway
The house (love shield her) with her yea and nay":
And the smirk butler thinks it
Sin in's napery not to express his wit;
Each striving to devise
Some gin wherewith to catch your eyes.
To bed, to bed, kind turtles, now, and write
This the short'st day, and this the longest night;
But yet too short for you: 'tis we
Who count this night as long as three,
Lying alone,
Telling the clock strike ten, eleven, twelve, one.
Quickly, quickly then prepare,
And let the young men and the bride-maids share
Your garters; and their joints
Encircle with the bridegroom's points.
By the bride's eyes, and by the teeming life
Of her green hopes, we charge ye that no strife
(Farther than gentleness tends) gets place
Among ye, striving for her lace:
O do not fall
Foul in these noble pastimes, lest ye call
Discord in, and so divide
The youthful bridegroom and the fragrant bride:
Which love forfend; but spoken
Be't to your praise, no peace was broken.
Strip her of springtime, tender-whimpering maids,
Now autumn's come, when all these flowery aids
Of her delays must end; dispose
That lady-smock, that pansy, and that rose
Neatly apart,
But for prick-madam and for gentle-heart,
And soft maidens'-blush, the bride
Makes holy these, all others lay aside:
Then strip her, or unto her
Let him come who dares undo her.
And to enchant ye more, see everywhere
About the roof a siren in a sphere,
As we think, singing to the din
Of many a warbling cherubin.
O mark ye how
The soul of nature melts in numbers: now
See, a thousand Cupids fly
To light their tapers at the bride's bright eye.
To bed, or her they'll tire,
Were she an element of fire.
And to your more bewitching, see, the proud
Plump bed bear up, and swelling like a cloud,
Tempting the two too modest; can
Ye see it brusle like a swan,
And you be cold
To meet it when it woos and seems to fold
The arms to hug it? Throw, throw
Yourselves into the mighty overflow
Of that white pride, and drown
The night with you in floods of down.
The bed is ready, and the maze of love
Looks for the treaders; everywhere is wove
Wit and new mystery; read, and
Put in practice, to understand
And know each wile,
Each hieroglyphic of a kiss or smile;
And do it to the full; reach
High in your own conceit, and some way teach
Nature and art one more
Play than they ever knew before.
If needs we must for ceremony's sake,
Bless a sack-posset, luck go with it, take
The night-charm quickly, you have spells
And magics for to end, and hells
To pass; but such
And of such torture as no one would grutch
To live therein for ever: fry
And consume, and grow again to die
And live, and, in that case,
Love the confusion of the place.
But since it must be done, despatch, and sew
Up in a sheet your bride, and what if so
It be with rock or walls of brass
Ye tower her up, as Danae was;
Think you that this
Or hell itself a powerful bulwark is?
I tell ye no; but like a
Bold bolt of thunder he will make his way,
And rend the cloud, and throw
The sheet about like flakes of snow.
All now is hushed in silence: midwife-moon
With all her owl-eyed issue begs a boon,
Which you must grant; that's entrance; with
Which extract, all we can call pith
And quintessence
Of planetary bodies, so commence,
All fair constellations
Looking upon ye, that two nations,
Springing from two such fires
May blaze the virtue of their sires.
_Tiffany_, gauze.
_More disparkling_, more widespreading.
_Nice_, fastidious.
_Coddled_, lit. boiled.
_Brusle_, raise its feathers.
_Grutch_, grumble.
For sport my Julia threw a lace
Of silk and silver at my face:
Watchet the silk was, and did make
A show as if't had been a snake:
The suddenness did me afright,
But though it scar'd, it did not bite.
_Lace_, a girdle.
_Watchet_, pale blue.
I am sieve-like, and can hold
Nothing hot or nothing cold.
Put in love, and put in too
Jealousy, and both will through:
Put in fear, and hope, and doubt;
What comes in runs quickly out:
Put in secrecies withal,
Whate'er enters, out it shall:
But if you can stop the sieve,
For mine own part, I'd as lief
Maids should say or virgins sing,
Herrick keeps, as holds nothing.
Love's a thing, as I do hear,
Ever full of pensive fear;
Rather than to which I'll fall,
Trust me, I'll not like at all.
If to love I should intend,
Let my hair then stand an end:
And that terror likewise prove
Fatal to me in my love.
But if horror cannot slake
Flames which would an entrance make
Then the next thing I desire
Is, to love and live i' th' fire.
_An end_, on end.
Like to the income must be our expense;
_Man's fortune must be had in reverence_.
_Who forms a godhead out of gold or stone
Makes not a god, but he that prays to one._
I could wish you all who love,
That ye could your thoughts remove
From your mistresses, and be
Wisely wanton, like to me,
I could wish you dispossessed
Of that _fiend that mars your rest_,
And with tapers comes to fright
Your weak senses in the night.
I could wish ye all who fry
Cold as ice, or cool as I;
But if flames best like ye, then,
Much good do 't ye, gentlemen.
I a merry heart will keep,
While you wring your hands and weep.
'Tis a known principle in war,
The eyes be first that conquered are.
No fault in women to refuse
The offer which they most would choose.
No fault in women to confess
How tedious they are in their dress.
No fault in women to lay on
The tincture of vermilion:
And there to give the cheek a dye
Of white, where nature doth deny.
No fault in women to make show
Of largeness when they're nothing so:
(When true it is the outside swells
With inward buckram, little else).
No fault in women, though they be
But seldom from suspicion free.
No fault in womankind at all
If they but slip and never fall.
_Shapcot! to thee the fairy state
I, with discretion, dedicate.
Because thou prizest things that are
Curious and unfamiliar.
Take first the feast; these dishes gone,
We'll see the Fairy Court anon._
A little mushroom table spread,
After short prayers, they set on bread;
A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat,
With some small glittering grit to eat
His choice bits with; then in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all this while his eye is serv'd,
We must not think his ear was sterv'd;
But that there was in place to stir
His spleen, the chirring grasshopper,
The merry cricket, puling fly,
The piping gnat for minstrelsy.
And now we must imagine first,
The elves present, to quench his thirst,
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew
Brought and besweetened in a blue
And pregnant violet, which done,
His kitling eyes begin to run
Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery butterflies:
Of which he eats, and tastes a little
Of that we call the cuckoo's spittle.
A little fuzz-ball pudding stands
By, yet not blessed by his hands;
That was too coarse: but then forthwith
He ventures boldly on the pith
Of sugar'd rush, and eats the sagg
And well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag:
Gladding his palate with some store
Of emmets' eggs; what would he more?
But beards of mice, a newt's stewed thigh,
A bloated earwig and a fly;
With the red-capp'd worm that's shut
Within the concave of a nut,
Brown as his tooth. A little moth
Late fatten'd in a piece of cloth:
With withered cherries, mandrakes' ears,
Moles' eyes; to these the slain stag's tears
The unctuous dewlaps of a snail,
The broke-heart of a nightingale
O'ercome in music; with a wine
Ne'er ravish'd from the flattering vine,
But gently press'd from the soft side
Of the most sweet and dainty bride,
Brought in a dainty daisy, which
He fully quaffs up to bewitch
His blood to height; this done, commended
Grace by his priest; _the feast is ended_.
_Bestrutted_, swollen.
By time and counsel do the best we can,
Th' event is never in the power of man.
When Julia blushes she does show
Cheeks like to roses when they blow.
Our honours and our commendations be
Due to the merits, not authority.
Hear, ye virgins, and I'll teach
What the times of old did preach.
Rosamond was in a bower
Kept, as Danae in a tower:
But yet Love, who subtle is,
Crept to that, and came to this.
Be ye lock'd up like to these,
Or the rich Hesperides,
Or those babies in your eyes,
In their crystal nunneries;
Notwithstanding Love will win,
Or else force a passage in:
And as coy be as you can,
Gifts will get ye, or the man.
_Babies in your eyes_, see Note to p. 17.
Each must in virtue strive for to excel;
_That man lives twice that lives the first life well_.
From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,
From murders _Benedicite_.
From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night,
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye while ye sleep.
Past one o'clock, and almost two!
My masters all, good-day to you.
_Scare-fires_, alarms of fire.
Of all our parts, the eyes express
The sweetest kind of bashfulness.
For one so rarely tun'd to fit all parts,
For one to whom espous'd are all the arts,
Long have I sought for, but could never see
Them all concentr'd in one man, but thee.
Thus, thou that man art whom the fates conspir'd
To make but one, and that's thyself, admir'd.
Prue, my dearest maid, is sick,
Æsculapius! come and bring
Means for her recovering;
And a gallant cock shall be
Offer'd up by her to thee.
Phœbus! when that I a verse
Or some numbers more rehearse,
Tune my words that they may fall
Each way smoothly musical:
For which favour there shall be
Swans devoted unto thee.
Bacchus, let me drink no more;
Wild are seas that want a shore.
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up, for to please
Thee, that great cup Hercules:
Urge no more, and there shall be
Daffodils given up to thee.
Here down my wearied limbs I'll lay;
My pilgrim's staff, my weed of gray,
My palmer's hat, my scallop's shell,
My cross, my cord, and all, farewell.
For having now my journey done,
Just at the setting of the sun,
Here I have found a chamber fit,
God and good friends be thanked for it,
Where if I can a lodger be,
A little while from tramplers free,
At my up-rising next I shall,
If not requite, yet thank ye all.
Meanwhile, the holy-rood hence fright
The fouler fiend and evil sprite
From scaring you or yours this night.
Good things that come of course, far less do please
Than those which come by sweet contingencies.
Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute;
But let that speak, the client gets the suit.
If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right;
_It is the end that crowns us, not the fight_.
Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood:
Who as soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.
'Tis not the food, but the content
That makes the table's merriment.
Where trouble serves the board, we eat
The platters there as soon as meat.
A little pipkin with a bit
Of mutton or of veal in it,
Set on my table, trouble-free,
More than a feast contenteth me.
Welcome! but yet no entrance, till we bless
First you, then you, and both for white success.
Profane no porch, young man and maid, for fear
Ye wrong the Threshold-god that keeps peace here:
Please him, and then all good-luck will betide
You, the brisk bridegroom, you, the dainty bride.
Do all things sweetly, and in comely wise;
Put on your garlands first, then sacrifice:
That done, when both of you have seemly fed,
We'll call on Night, to bring ye both to bed:
Where, being laid, all fair signs looking on,
Fish-like, increase then to a million;
And millions of spring-times may ye have,
Which spent, one death bring to ye both one grave.
Blessings in abundance come
To the bride and to her groom;
May the bed and this short night
Know the fulness of delight!
Pleasures many here attend ye,
And, ere long, a boy Love send ye
Curled and comely, and so trim,
Maids, in time, may ravish him.
Thus a dew of graces fall
On ye both; good-night to all.
Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the evensong;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die,
As your hours do, and dry
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
As gilliflowers do but stay
To blow, and seed, and so away;
So you, sweet lady, sweet as May,
The garden's glory, lived a while
To lend the world your scent and smile.
But when your own fair print was set
Once in a virgin flosculet,
Sweet as yourself, and newly blown,
To give that life, resigned your own:
But so as still the mother's power
Lives in the pretty lady-flower.
No news of navies burnt at seas;
No closet plot, or open vent,
That frights men with a parliament;
No new device or late-found trick
To read by the stars the kingdom's sick;
No gin to catch the state, or wring
The freeborn nostril of the king,
We send to you; but here a jolly
Verse, crown'd with ivy and with holly,
That tells of winter's tales and mirth,
That milkmaids make about the hearth,
Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,
Of blind-man-buff, and of the care
That young men have to shoe the mare;
Of Twelfth-tide cakes, of peas and beans,
Wherewith you make those merry scenes,
Whenas ye choose your king and queen,
And cry out: _Hey, for our town green_;
Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use
Husbands and wives by streaks to choose;
Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds
A plenteous harvest to your grounds:
Of these and such-like things for shift,
We send instead of New-Year's gift.
Read then, and when your faces shine
With buxom meat and cap'ring wine,
Remember us in cups full crown'd,
And let our city-health go round,
Quite through the young maids and the men,
To the ninth number, if not ten;
Until the fired chesnuts leap
For joy to see the fruits ye reap
From the plump chalice and the cup,
That tempts till it be tossed up;
Then as ye sit about your embers,
Call not to mind those fled Decembers,
But think on these that are t' appear
As daughters to the instant year:
Sit crown'd with rosebuds, and carouse
Till Liber Pater twirls the house
About your ears; and lay upon
The year your cares that's fled and gone.
And let the russet swains the plough
And harrow hang up, resting now;
And to the bagpipe all address,
Till sleep takes place of weariness.
And thus, throughout, with Christmas plays
Frolic the full twelve holidays.
_Fox-i'-th'-hole_, a game of hopping.
_To shoe the mare_, or, shoe the wild mare, a Christmas game.
When with the virgin morning thou dost rise,
Crossing thyself, come thus to sacrifice;
First wash thy heart in innocence, then bring
Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure everything.
Next to the altar humbly kneel, and thence
Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense.
Thy golden censers, fill'd with odours sweet,
Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet.
Begin with Jove; then is the work half done,
And runs most smoothly when 'tis well begun.
Jove's is the first and last: the morn's his due,
The midst is thine; but Jove's the evening too;
As sure a matins does to him belong,
So sure he lays claim to the evensong.
Why I tie about thy wrist,
Julia, this my silken twist;
For what other reason is't,
But to show thee how, in part,
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bondslave is my heart;
'Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Knap the thread and thou art free:
But 'tis otherwise with me;
I am bound, and fast bound, so
That from thee I cannot go;
If I could, I would not so.
A man prepar'd against all ills to come,
That dares to dead the fire of martyrdom;
That sleeps at home, and sailing there at ease,
Fears not the fierce sedition of the seas;
That's counter-proof against the farm's mishaps,
Undreadful too of courtly thunderclaps;
That wears one face, like heaven, and never shows
A change when fortune either comes or goes;
That keeps his own strong guard in the despite
Of what can hurt by day or harm by night;
That takes and re-delivers every stroke
Of chance (as made up all of rock and oak);
That sighs at others' death, smiles at his own
Most dire and horrid crucifixion.
Who for true glory suffers thus, we grant
Him to be here our Christian militant.
Though I cannot give thee fires
Glittering to my free desires;
These accept, and I'll be free,
Offering poppy unto thee.
Mighty Neptune, may it please
Thee, the rector of the seas,
That my barque may safely run
Through thy watery region;
And a tunny-fish shall be
Offered up with thanks to thee.
For my embalming, Julia, do but this;
Give thou my lips but their supremest kiss,
Or else transfuse thy breath into the chest
Where my small relics must for ever rest;
That breath the balm, the myrrh, the nard shall be,
To give an incorruption unto me.
How rich a man is all desire to know;
But none inquires if good he be or no.
What is the thing we call a kiss?
It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips (all cherry-red),
By love and warm desires fed.
_Chor._ And makes more soft the bridal bed.
First, to the babies of the eyes;
And charms them there with lullabies.
_Chor._ And stills the bride, too, when she cries.
It frisks and flies, now here, now there,
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near.
_Chor._ And here and there and everywhere.
Part your joined lips, then speaks your kiss
_Chor._ And this love's sweetest language is.
With thousand rare encolourings;
And, as it flies, it gently sings,
_Chor._ Love honey yields, but never stings.
Seest thou those diamonds which she wears
In that rich carcanet;
Or those, on her dishevell'd hairs,
Fair pearls in order set?
Believe, young man, all those were tears
By wretched wooers sent,
In mournful hyacinths and rue,
That figure discontent;
Which when not warmed by her view,
By cold neglect, each one
Congeal'd to pearl and stone;
Which precious spoils upon her
She wears as trophies of her honour.
Ah then, consider, what all this implies:
She that will wear thy tears would wear thine eyes.
_Carcanet_, necklace.
I can but name thee, and methinks I call
All that have been, or are canonical
For love and bounty to come near, and see
Their many virtues volum'd up in thee;
In thee, brave man! whose incorrupted fame
Casts forth a light like to a virgin flame;
And as it shines it throws a scent about,
As when a rainbow in perfumes goes out.
So vanish hence, but leave a name as sweet
As benjamin and storax when they meet.
_Benjamin_, gum benzoin.
_Storax_ or _Styrax_, another resinous gum.
Ask me why I do not sing
To the tension of the string
As I did not long ago,
When my numbers full did flow?
Grief, ay, me! hath struck my lute
And my tongue, at one time, mute.
No more shall I, since I am driven hence,
Devote to thee my grains of frankincense;
No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down,
To honour thee, my little parsley crown;
No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bring
My chives of garlic for an offering;
No more shall I from henceforth hear a choir
Of merry crickets by my country fire.
Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here,
Warm by a glitt'ring chimney all the year.
_Chives_, shreds.
What can I do in poetry
Now the good spirit's gone from me?
Why, nothing now but lonely sit
And over-read what I have writ.
For punishment in war it will suffice
If the chief author of the faction dies;
Let but few smart, but strike a fear through all;
Where the fault springs there let the judgment fall.
Ah Posthumus! our years hence fly,
And leave no sound; nor piety,
Or prayers, or vow
Can keep the wrinkle from the brow;
But we must on,
As fate does lead or draw us; none,
None, Posthumus, could ere decline
The doom of cruel Proserpine.
The pleasing wife, the house, the ground,
Must all be left, no one plant found
To follow thee,
Save only the curs'd cypress tree;
A merry mind
Looks forward, scorns what's left behind;
Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may,
And here enjoy our holiday.
W'ave seen the past best times, and these
Will ne'er return; we see the seas
And moons to wane
But they fill up their ebbs again;
But vanish'd man,
Like to a lily lost, ne'er can,
Ne'er can repullulate, or bring
His days to see a second spring.
But on we must, and thither tend,
Where Anchus and rich Tullus blend
Their sacred seed:
Thus has infernal Jove decreed;
We must be made,
Ere long a song, ere long a shade.
Why then, since life to us is short,
Let's make it full up by our sport.
Crown we our heads with roses then,
And 'noint with Tyrian balm; for when
We two are dead,
The world with us is buried.
Then live we free
As is the air, and let us be
Our own fair wind, and mark each one
Day with the white and lucky stone.
We are not poor, although we have
No roofs of cedar, nor our brave
Baiæ, nor keep
Account of such a flock of sheep;
Nor bullocks fed
To lard the shambles: barbels bred
To kiss our hands; nor do we wish
For Pollio's lampreys in our dish.
If we can meet and so confer
Both by a shining salt-cellar,
And have our roof,
Although not arch'd, yet weather-proof,
And ceiling free
From that cheap candle bawdery;
We'll eat our bean with that full mirth
As we were lords of all the earth.
Well then, on what seas we are toss'd,
Our comfort is, we can't be lost.
Let the winds drive
Our barque, yet she will keep alive
Amidst the deeps.
'Tis constancy, my Wickes, which keeps
The pinnace up; which, though she errs
I' th' seas, she saves her passengers.
Say, we must part (sweet mercy bless
Us both i' th' sea, camp, wilderness),
Can we so far
Stray to become less circular
Than we are now?
No, no, that self-same heart, that vow
Which made us one, shall ne'er undo,
Or ravel so to make us two.
Live in thy peace; as for myself,
When I am bruised on the shelf
Of time, and show
My locks behung with frost and snow;
When with the rheum,
The cough, the ptisick, I consume
Unto an almost nothing; then
The ages fled I'll call again,
And with a tear compare these last
Lame and bad times with those are past;
My old lean wife, shall kiss it dry.
And so we'll sit
By th' fire, foretelling snow and sleet,
And weather by our aches, grown
Now old enough to be our own
True calendars, as puss's ear
Washed o'er's, to tell what change is near:
Then to assuage
The gripings of the chine by age,
I'll call my young
Iülus to sing such a song
I made upon my Julia's breast;
And of her blush at such a feast.
Then shall he read that flower of mine,
Enclos'd within a crystal shrine;
A primrose next;
A piece, then, of a higher text,
For to beget
In me a more transcendent heat
Than that insinuating fire,
Which crept into each aged sire,
When the fair Helen, from her eyes,
Shot forth her loving sorceries;
At which I'll rear
Mine aged limbs above my chair,
And, hearing it,
Flutter and crow as in a fit
Of fresh concupiscence, and cry:
_No lust there's like to poetry_.
I'll call to mind things half-forgot,
And oft between
Repeat the times that I have seen!
Thus ripe with tears,
And twisting my Iülus' hairs,
Doting, I'll weep and say, in truth,
Baucis, these were my sins of youth.
Then next I'll cause my hopeful lad,
If a wild apple can be had,
To crown the hearth,
Lar thus conspiring with our mirth;
Then to infuse
Our browner ale into the cruse,
Which sweetly spic'd, we'll first carouse
Unto the Genius of the house.
Then the next health to friends of mine,
Loving the brave Burgundian wine,
High sons of pith,
Whose fortunes I have frolicked with;
Such as could well
Bear up the magic bough and spell;
And dancing 'bout the mystic thyrse,
Give up the just applause to verse:
To those, and then again to thee,
We'll drink, my Wickes, until we be
Plump as the cherry,
Though not so fresh, yet full as merry
As the cricket,
The untam'd heifer, or the pricket,
Until our tongues shall tell our ears
We're younger by a score of years.
Thus, till we see the fire less shine
From th' embers than the kitling's eyne,
We'll still sit up,
Sphering about the wassail-cup
To all those times
Which gave me honour for my rhymes.
The coal once spent, we'll then to bed,
Far more than night-bewearied.
_Repullulate_, be born again.
_Bawdery_, dirt (with no moral meaning).
_Thyrse_, bacchic staff.
_Pricket_, a buck in his second year.
Goddess, I do love a girl,
Ruby-lipp'd and tooth'd with pearl;
If so be I may but prove
Lucky in this maid I love,
I will promise there shall be
Myrtles offer'd up to thee.
True to yourself and sheets, you'll have me swear;
You shall, if righteous dealing I find there.
Do not you fall through frailty; I'll be sure
To keep my bond still free from forfeiture.
Two parts of us successively command:
The tongue in peace; but then in war the hand.
Come, come away,
Or let me go;
Must I here stay
Because y'are slow,
And will continue so?
Troth, lady, no.
I scorn to be
A slave to state:
And, since I'm free,
I will not wait
Henceforth at such a rate
For needy fate.
If you desire
My spark should glow,
The peeping fire
You must blow,
Or I shall quickly grow
To frost or snow.
When I of Villars do but hear the name,
It calls to mind that mighty Buckingham,
Who was your brave exalted uncle here,
Binding the wheel of fortune to his sphere,
Who spurned at envy, and could bring with ease
An end to all his stately purposes.
For his love then, whose sacred relics show
Their resurrection and their growth in you;
And for my sake, who ever did prefer
You above all those sweets of Westminster;
Permit my book to have a free access
To kiss your hand, most dainty governess.
Will ye hear what I can say
Black and rolling is her eye,
Double-chinn'd and forehead high;
Lips she has all ruby red,
Cheeks like cream enclareted;
And a nose that is the grace
And proscenium of her face.
So that we may guess by these
The other parts will richly please.
In time of life I graced ye with my verse;
Do now your flowery honours to my hearse.
You shall not languish, trust me; virgins here
Weeping shall make ye flourish all the year.
Thou say'st my lines are hard,
And I the truth will tell--
They are both hard and marr'd
If thou not read'st them well.
Let kings command and do the best they may,
The saucy subjects still will bear the sway.
Sea-born goddess, let me be
By thy son thus grac'd and thee;
That whene'er I woo, I find
Virgins coy but not unkind.
Let me when I kiss a maid
Taste her lips so overlaid
With love's syrup, that I may,
In your temple when I pray,
Kiss the altar and confess
There's in love no bitterness.
How am I ravish'd! when I do but see
The painter's art in thy sciography?
If so, how much more shall I dote thereon
When once he gives it incarnation?
_Sciography_, the profile or section of a building.
See'st thou that cloud as silver clear,
Plump, soft, and swelling everywhere?
'Tis Julia's bed, and she sleeps there.
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg,
Which is as white and hairless as an egg.
See how the poor do waiting stand
For the expansion of thy hand.
A wafer dol'd by thee will swell
Thousands to feed by miracle.
Still to our gains our chief respect is had;
Reward it is that makes us good or bad.
Nothing is new; we walk where others went;
There's no vice now but has his precedent.
Look how the rainbow doth appear
But in one only hemisphere;
So likewise after our decease
No more is seen the arch of peace.
That cov'nant's here, the under-bow,
That nothing shoots but war and woe.
Come with the spring-time forth, fair maid, and be
This year again the meadow's deity.
Yet ere ye enter give us leave to set
Upon your head this flowery coronet;
To make this neat distinction from the rest,
You are the prime and princess of the feast;
To which with silver feet lead you the way,
While sweet-breath nymphs attend on you this day.
This is your hour, and best you may command,
Since you are lady of this fairy land.
Full mirth wait on you, and such mirth as shall
Cherish the cheek but make none blush at all.
_Meadow-verse_, to be recited at a rustic feast.
Loth to depart, but yet at last each one
Back must now go to's habitation;
Not knowing thus much when we once do sever,
Whether or no that we shall meet here ever.
As for myself, since time a thousand cares
And griefs hath filed upon my silver hairs,
'Tis to be doubted whether I next year
Or no shall give ye a re-meeting here.
If die I must, then my last vow shall be,
You'll with a tear or two remember me.
Your sometime poet; but if fates do give
Me longer date and more fresh springs to live,
Oft as your field shall her old age renew,
Herrick shall make the meadow-verse for you.
Judith has cast her old skin and got new,
And walks fresh varnish'd to the public view;
Foul Judith was and foul she will be known
For all this fair transfiguration.
How dull and dead are books that cannot show
A prince of Pembroke, and that Pembroke you!
You who are high born, and a lord no less
Free by your fate than fortune's mightiness,
Who hug our poems, honour'd sir, and then
The paper gild and laureate the pen.
Nor suffer you the poets to sit cold,
But warm their wits and turn their lines to gold.
Others there be who righteously will swear
Those smooth-paced numbers amble everywhere,
And these brave measures go a stately trot;
Love those, like these, regard, reward them not.
But you, my lord, are one whose hand along
Goes with your mouth or does outrun your tongue;
Paying before you praise, and, cockering wit,
Give both the gold and garland unto it.
_Cockering_, pampering.
Stately goddess, do thou please,
Who are chief at marriages,
But to dress the bridal bed
When my love and I shall wed;
And a peacock proud shall be
Offered up by us to thee.
When thou dost play and sweetly sing--
Whether it be the voice or string
Or both of them that do agree
Thus to entrance and ravish me--
This, this I know, I'm oft struck mute,
And die away upon thy lute.
Thou gav'st me leave to kiss,
Thou gav'st me leave to woo;
Thou mad'st me think, by this
And that, thou lov'dst me too.
But I shall ne'er forget
How, for to make thee merry,
Thou mad'st me chop, but yet
Another snapp'd the cherry.
_Chop-cherry_, another name of cherry-bob.
I, who have favour'd many, come to be
Grac'd now, at last, or glorified by thee,
Lo! I, the lyric prophet, who have set
On many a head the delphic coronet,
Come unto thee for laurel, having spent
My wreaths on those who little gave or lent.
Give me the daphne, that the world may know it,
Whom they neglected thou hast crown'd a poet.
A city here of heroes I have made
Upon the rock whose firm foundation laid,
Shall never shrink; where, making thine abode,
Live thou a Selden, that's a demi-god.
Thou shalt not all die; for, while love's fire shines
Upon his altar, men shall read thy lines,
And learn'd musicians shall, to honour Herrick's
Fame and his name, both set and sing his lyrics.
Wrinkles no more are or no less
Than beauty turned to sourness.
First offer incense, then thy field and meads
Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads.
The spangling dew, dredg'd o'er the grass, shall be
Turn'd all to mell and manna there for thee.
Butter of amber, cream, and wine, and oil
Shall run, as rivers, all throughout thy soil.
Would'st thou to sincere silver turn thy mould?
Pray once, twice pray, and turn thy ground to gold.
_Beads_, prayers.
_Sincere silver_, pure silver.
Call me no more,
As heretofore,
The music of a feast;
Since now, alas!
The mirth that was
In me is dead or ceas'd.
Before I went,
To banishment,
Into the loathed west,
I could rehearse
A lyric verse,
And speak it with the best.
But time, ay me!
Has laid, I see,
My organ fast asleep,
And turn'd my voice
Into the noise
Of those that sit and weep.
So smell those odours that do rise
From out the wealthy spiceries;
So smells the flower of blooming clove,
Or roses smother'd in the stove;
So smells the air of spiced wine,
Or essences of jessamine;
So smells the breath about the hives
When well the work of honey thrives,
And all the busy factors come
Laden with wax and honey home;
So smell those neat and woven bowers
All over-arch'd with orange flowers,
And almond blossoms that do mix
To make rich these aromatics;
So smell those bracelets and those bands
Of amber chaf'd between the hands,
When thus enkindled they transpire
A noble perfume from the fire;
The wine of cherries, and to these
The cooling breath of respasses;
The smell of morning's milk and cream,
Butter of cowslips mix'd with them;
Of roasted warden or bak'd pear,
These are not to be reckon'd here,
Whenas the meanest part of her,
Smells like the maiden pomander.
Thus sweet she smells, or what can be
More lik'd by her or lov'd by me.
_Factors_, workers.
_Respasses_, raspberries.
_Pomander_, ball of scent.
Sweet virgin, that I do not set
The pillars up of weeping jet
Or mournful marble, let thy shade
Not wrathful seem, or fright the maid
Who hither at her wonted hours
Shall come to strew thy earth with flowers.
No; know, bless'd maid, when there's not one
Remainder left of brass or stone,
Thy living epitaph shall be,
Though lost in them, yet found in me;
Dear, in thy bed of roses then,
Till this world shall dissolve as men,
Sleep while we hide thee from the light,
Drawing thy curtains round: Good-night.
Till I shall come again let this suffice,
I send my salt, my sacrifice
To thee, thy lady, younglings, and as far
To the worn threshold, porch, hall, parlour, kitchen,
The fat-fed smoking temple, which in
The wholesome savour of thy mighty chines
Invites to supper him who dines,
Where laden spits, warp'd with large ribs of beef,
Not represent but give relief
To the lank stranger and the sour swain,
Where both may feed and come again;
For no black-bearded vigil from thy door
Beats with a button'd-staff the poor;
But from thy warm love-hatching gates each may
Take friendly morsels and there stay
To sun his thin-clad members if he likes,
For thou no porter keep'st who strikes.
No comer to thy roof his guest-rite wants,
Or staying there is scourg'd with taunts
Of some rough groom, who, yirkt with corns, says: "Sir,
Y'ave dipped too long i' th' vinegar;
And with our broth, and bread, and bits, sir friend,
Y'ave fared well: pray make an end;
Two days y'ave larded here; a third, ye know,
Makes guests and fish smell strong; pray go
You to some other chimney, and there take
Essay of other giblets; make
Merry at another's hearth--y'are here
Welcome as thunder to our beer;
Manners know distance, and a man unrude
Would soon recoil and not intrude
His stomach to a second meal". No, no!
Thy house well fed and taught can show
No such crabb'd vizard: thou hast learnt thy train
With heart and hand to entertain,
And by the armsful, with a breast unhid,
As the old race of mankind did,
When either's heart and either's hand did strive
To be the nearer relative.
Thou dost redeem those times, and what was lost
Of ancient honesty may boast
It keeps a growth in thee, and so will run
A course in thy fame's pledge, thy son.
Thus, like a Roman tribune, thou thy gate
Early sets ope to feast and late;
Keeping no currish waiter to affright
With blasting eye the appetite,
Which fain would waste upon thy cates, but that
The trencher-creature marketh what
Best and more suppling piece he cuts, and by
Some private pinch tells danger's nigh
A hand too desp'rate, or a knife that bites
Skin-deep into the pork, or lights
Upon some part of kid, as if mistook,
When checked by the butler's look.
No, no; thy bread, thy wine, thy jocund beer
Is not reserved for Trebius here,
But all who at thy table seated are
Find equal freedom, equal fare;
And thou, like to that hospitable god,
Jove, joy'st when guests make their abode
To eat thy bullock's thighs, thy veals, thy fat
Wethers, and never grudged at.
The _cock_, the _curlew_ and the _quail_,
These and thy choicest viands do extend
Their taste unto the lower end
Of thy glad table: not a dish more known
To thee than unto anyone.
But as thy meat so thy _immortal wine_
Makes the smirk face of each to shine
And spring fresh rosebuds, while the salt, the wit,
Flows from the wine and graces it;
While reverence, waiting at the bashful board,
Honours my lady and my lord.
No scurril jest; no open scene is laid
Here for to make the face afraid;
But temperate mirth dealt forth, and so discreet-
ly that it makes the meat more sweet;
And adds perfumes unto the wine, which thou
Dost rather pour forth than allow
By cruse and measure; thus devoting wine
As the Canary Isles were thine;
But with that wisdom and that method, as
No one that's there his guilty glass
Drinks of distemper, or has cause to cry
Repentance to his liberty.
No, thou knowest order, ethics, and has read
All economics, know'st to lead
A house-dance neatly, and canst truly show
How far a figure ought to go,
Forward or backward, sideward, and what pace
Can give, and what retract a grace;
What gesture, courtship, comeliness agrees
With those thy primitive decrees,
To give subsistence to thy house, and proof
What Genii support thy roof,
Goodness and Greatness; not the oaken piles;
_For these and marbles have their whiles
To last, but not their ever_; virtue's hand
It is which builds 'gainst fate to stand.
Such is thy house, whose firm foundation's trust
Is more in thee than in her dust
Or depth; these last may yield and yearly shrink
Or yawning rupture can the same devour,
But fix'd it stands, by her own power
And well-laid bottom, on the iron and rock
Which tries and counter-stands the shock
And ram of time, and by vexation grows
The stronger; _virtue dies when foes
Are wanting to her exercise, but great
And large she spreads by dust and sweat_.
Safe stand thy walls and thee, and so both will,
Since neither's height was rais'd by th' ill
Of others; since no stud, no stone, no piece
Was rear'd up by the poor man's fleece;
No widow's tenement was rack'd to gild
Or fret thy ceiling or to build
A sweating-closet to anoint the silk-
soft skin, or bathe in asses' milk;
No orphan's pittance left him serv'd to set
The pillars up of lasting jet,
For which their cries might beat against thine ears,
Or in the damp jet read their tears.
No plank from hallowed altar does appeal
To yond' Star-Chamber, or does seal
A curse to thee or thine; but all things even
Make for thy peace and pace to heaven.
Go on directly so, as just men may
A thousand times more swear than say:
This is that princely Pemberton who can
Teach man to keep a god in man;
And when wise poets shall search out to see
Good men, they find them all in thee.
_Vigil_, watchman.
_Button'd-staff_, staff with a knob at its end.
_Yirkt_, scourged.
_Redeem_, buy back.
_Suppling_, tender.
_Trebius_, friend of the epicure Lucullus; cp. Juv. v. 19.
Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say
Birds choose their mates, and couple too this day;
But by their flight I never can divine
When I shall couple with my valentine.
After the rare arch-poet, Jonson, died,
The sock grew loathsome, and the buskin's pride,
Together with the stage's glory, stood
Each like a poor and pitied widowhood.
The cirque profan'd was, and all postures rack'd;
For men did strut, and stride, and stare, not act.
Then temper flew from words, and men did squeak,
Look red, and blow, and bluster, but not speak;
No holy rage or frantic fires did stir
Or flash about the spacious theatre.
No clap of hands, or shout, or praise's proof
Did crack the play-house sides, or cleave her roof.
Artless the scene was, and that monstrous sin
Of deep and arrant ignorance came in:
Such ignorance as theirs was who once hiss'd
At thy unequall'd play, the _Alchemist_;
Oh, fie upon 'em! Lastly, too, all wit
In utter darkness did, and still will sit,
Sleeping the luckless age out, till that she
Her resurrection has again with thee.
Thou had'st the wreath before, now take the tree,
That henceforth none be laurel-crown'd but thee.
On, as thou hast begun, brave youth, and get
The palm from Urbin, Titian, Tintoret,
Brugel and Coxu, and the works outdo
Of Holbein and that mighty Rubens too.
So draw and paint as none may do the like,
Store of courage to me grant,
Now I'm turn'd a combatant;
Help me, so that I my shield,
Fighting, lose not in the field.
That's the greatest shame of all
That in warfare can befall.
Do but this, and there shall be
Offer'd up a wolf to thee.
These summer-birds did with thy master stay
The times of warmth, but then they flew away,
Leaving their poet, being now grown old,
Expos'd to all the coming winter's cold.
But thou, kind Prew, did'st with my fates abide
As well the winter's as the summer's tide;
For which thy love, live with thy master here,
Not one, but all the seasons of the year.
Play, Phœbus, on thy lute;
And we will all sit mute,
By listening to thy lyre,
That sets all ears on fire.
Hark, hark, the god does play!
And as he leads the way
Through heaven the very spheres,
As men, turn all to ears.
A just man's like a rock that turns the wrath
Of all the raging waves into a froth.
Sing me to death; for till thy voice be clear,
'Twill never please the palate of mine ear.
Frolic virgins once these were,
Over-loving, living here;
Being here their ends denied,
Ran for sweethearts mad, and died.
Love, in pity of their tears,
And their loss in blooming years,
For their restless here-spent hours,
Gave them heart's-ease turn'd to flowers.
Since, for thy full deserts, with all the rest
Of these chaste spirits that are here possest
Of life eternal, time has made thee one
For growth in this my rich plantation,
Live here; but know 'twas virtue, and not chance,
That gave thee this so high inheritance.
Keep it for ever, grounded with the good,
Who hold fast here an endless livelihood.
At my homely country-seat
I have there a little wheat,
Which I work to meal, and make
Therewithal a holy cake:
Part of which I give to Lar,
Part is my peculiar.
_Peculiar_, his own property.
Man is compos'd here of a twofold part:
The first of nature, and the next of art:
Art presupposes nature; nature she
Prepares the way for man's docility.
Those ills that mortal men endure
So long, are capable of cure,
As they of freedom may be sure;
But, that denied, a grief, though small,
Shakes the whole roof, or ruins all.
Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall,
Short lot or not, to be content with all.
Jove may afford us thousands of reliefs,
Since man expos'd is to a world of griefs.
By dream I saw one of the three
Sisters of fate appear to me;
Close to my bedside she did stand,
Showing me there a firebrand;
She told me too, as that did spend,
So drew my life unto an end.
Three quarters were consum'd of it;
Only remained a little bit,
Which will be burnt up by-and-by;
Then, Julia, weep, for I must die.
Away with silks, away with lawn,
I'll have no scenes or curtains drawn;
Give me my mistress as she is,
Dress'd in her nak'd simplicities;
For as my heart e'en so mine eye
Is won with flesh, not drapery.
Show me thy feet; show me thy legs, thy thighs;
Show me those fleshy principalities;
Show me that hill where smiling love doth sit.
Having a living fountain under it;
Show me thy waist, then let me therewithal,
By the assention of thy lawn, see all.
When out of bed my love doth spring,
'Tis but as day a-kindling;
But when she's up and fully dress'd,
'Tis then broad day throughout the east.
Have I not blest thee? Then go forth, nor fear
Or spice, or fish, or fire, or close-stools here.
But with thy fair fates leading thee, go on
With thy most white predestination.
Nor think these ages that do hoarsely sing
The farting tanner and familiar king,
The dancing friar, tatter'd in the bush;
Those monstrous lies of little Robin Rush,
Tom Chipperfeild, and pretty lisping Ned,
That doted on a maid of gingerbread;
The flying pilchard and the frisking dace,
With all the rabble of Tim Trundell's race
(Bred from the dunghills and adulterous rhymes),
Shall live, and thou not superlast all times.
No, no; thy stars have destin'd thee to see
The whole world die and turn to dust with thee.
_He's greedy of his life who will not fall
Whenas a public ruin bears down all._
_The farting tanner_, etc., see Note.
I do not love, nor can it be
Love will in vain spend shafts on me;
I did this godhead once defy,
Since which I freeze, but cannot fry.
Yet out, alas! the death's the same,
Kill'd by a frost or by a flame.
I dislik'd but even now;
Now I love I know not how.
Was I idle, and that while
Was I fir'd with a smile?
I'll to work, or pray; and then
I shall quite dislike again.
Love he that will, it best likes me
To have my neck from love's yoke free.
Good-morrow to the day so fair,
Good-morning, sir, to you;
Good-morrow to mine own torn hair,
Bedabbled with the dew.
Good-morning to this primrose too,
Good-morrow to each maid
That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my love is laid.
Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me,
Alack and well-a-day!
For pity, sir, find out that bee
Which bore my love away.
I'll seek him in your bonnet brave,
I'll seek him in your eyes;
Nay, now I think th'ave made his grave
I' th' bed of strawberries.
I'll seek him there; I know ere this
The cold, cold earth doth shake him;
But I will go or send a kiss
By you, sir, to awake him.
Pray, hurt him not, though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him,
And who with green turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.
He's soft and tender (pray take heed);
With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home; but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him.
I heard ye could cool heat, and came
With hope you would allay the same;
Thrice I have wash'd but feel no cold,
Nor find that true which was foretold.
Methinks, like mine, your pulses beat
And labour with unequal heat;
Cure, cure yourselves, for I descry
Ye boil with love as well as I.
Tell if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come
This camphor, storax, spikenard, galbanum;
These musks, these ambers, and those other smells,
Sweet as the vestry of the oracles.
I'll tell thee: while my Julia did unlace
Her silken bodice but a breathing space,
The passive air such odour then assum'd,
As when to Jove great Juno goes perfum'd,
Whose pure immortal body doth transmit
A scent that fills both heaven and earth with it.
Whither dost thou whorry me,
Bacchus, being full of thee?
This way, that way, that way, this,
Here and there a fresh love is.
That doth like me, this doth please,
Thus a thousand mistresses
I have now; yet I alone,
Having all, enjoy not one.
_Whorry_, carry rapidly.
Would I see lawn, clear as the heaven, and thin?
It should be only in my Julia's skin,
Which so betrays her blood as we discover
The blush of cherries when a lawn's cast over.
When my off'ring next I make,
Be thy hand the hallowed cake,
And thy breast the altar whence
Love may smell the frankincense.
I'm sick of love, O let me lie
Under your shades to sleep or die!
Either is welcome, so I have
Or here my bed, or here my grave.
Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep
Time with the tears that I do weep?
Say, have ye sense, or do you prove
What crucifixions are in love?
I know ye do, and that's the why
You sigh for love as well as I.
_Mon._ Bad are the times. _Sil._ And worse than they are we.
_Mon._ Troth, bad are both; worse fruit and ill the tree:
The feast of shepherds fail. _Sil._ None crowns the cup
Of wassail now or sets the quintell up;
And he who us'd to lead the country-round,
Youthful Mirtillo, here he comes grief-drown'd.
_Ambo._ Let's cheer him up. _Sil._ Behold him weeping-ripe.
_Mir._ Ah! Amaryllis, farewell mirth and pipe;
Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play
To these smooth lawns my mirthful roundelay.
_Ambo._ Poor pitied youth! _Mir._ And here the breath of kine
And sheep grew more sweet by that breath of thine.
This flock of wool and this rich lock of hair,
This ball of cowslips, these she gave me here.
_Sil._ Words sweet as love itself. Montano, hark!
_Mir._ This way she came, and this way too she went;
How each thing smells divinely redolent!
Like to a field of beans when newly blown,
Or like a meadow being lately mown.
_Mir._ In dewy mornings when she came this way
Sweet bents would bow to give my love the day;
And when at night she folded had her sheep,
Daisies would shut, and, closing, sigh and weep.
Besides (ay me!) since she went hence to dwell,
The voices' daughter ne'er spake syllable.
But she is gone. _Sil._ Mirtillo, tell us whither.
_Mir._ Where she and I shall never meet together.
_Mon._ Forfend it Pan, and, Pales, do thou please
To give an end. _Mir._ To what? _Sil._ Such griefs as these.
_Mir._ Never, O never! Still I may endure
The wound I suffer, never find a cure.
_Mon._ Love for thy sake will bring her to these hills
And dales again. _Mir._ No, I will languish still;
And all the while my part shall be to weep,
And with my sighs, call home my bleating sheep:
And in the rind of every comely tree
I'll carve thy name, and in that name kiss thee.
_Mon._ Set with the sun thy woes. _Sil._ The day grows old,
And time it is our full-fed flocks to fold.
_Chor._ The shades grow great, but greater grows our sorrow;
But let's go steep
Our eyes in sleep,
And meet to weep
To-morrow.
_Quintell_, quintain or tilting board.
_Bents_, grasses.
_Pales_, the goddess of sheepfolds.
I do not love to wed,
Though I do like to woo;
And for a maidenhead
I'll beg and buy it too.
I'll praise and I'll approve
Those maids that never vary;
And fervently I'll love,
But yet I would not marry.
I'll hug, I'll kiss, I'll play,
And, cock-like, hens I'll tread,
And sport it any way
But in the bridal bed.
For why? that man is poor
Who hath but one of many,
But crown'd he is with store
That, single, may have any.
Why then, say, what is he,
To freedom so unknown,
Who, having two or three,
Will be content with one?
A willow garland thou did'st send
Perfum'd, last day, to me,
Which did but only this portend--
I was forsook by thee.
Since so it is, I'll tell thee what,
To-morrow thou shalt see
Me wear the willow; after that,
To die upon the tree.
As beasts unto the altars go
With garlands dress'd, so I
Will, with my willow-wreath, also
Come forth and sweetly die.
'Twas not love's dart,
Or any blow
Of want, or foe,
Did wound my heart
With an eternal smart;
But only you,
My sometimes known
My dearest Crew,
That me unkindly slew.
May your fault die,
And have no name
In books of fame;
Or let it lie
Forgotten now, as I.
We parted are
And now no more,
As heretofore,
By jocund Lar
Shall be familiar.
But though we sever,
My Crew shall see
That I will be
Here faithless never,
But love my Clipseby ever.
Empires of kings are now, and ever were,
As Sallust saith, coincident to fear.
Every time seems short to be
That's measured by felicity;
But one half-hour that's made up here
With grief, seems longer than a year.
In holy meetings there a man may be
One of the crowd, not of the company.
That princes may possess a surer seat,
'Tis fit they make no one with them too great.
Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry, double grac'd,
Within a lily centre plac'd?
Or ever mark'd the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half-drown'd in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.
Shut not so soon; the dull-ey'd night
Has not as yet begun
To make a seizure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.
No marigolds yet closed are,
No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherd's star
Shine like a spangle here.
Stay but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye,
And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die.
Ye pretty housewives, would ye know
The work that I would put ye to?
This, this it should be: for to spin
A lawn for me, so fine and thin
As it might serve me for my skin.
For cruel Love has me so whipp'd
That of my skin I all am stripp'd:
And shall despair that any art
Can ease the rawness or the smart,
Unless you skin again each part.
Which mercy if you will but do,
I call all maids to witness to
What here I promise: that no broom
Shall now or ever after come
To wrong a spinner or her loom.
_Spinners_, spiders.
After the feast, my Shapcot, see
The fairy court I give to thee;
Where we'll present our Oberon, led
Half-tipsy to the fairy bed,
Where Mab he finds, who there doth lie,
Not without mickle majesty.
Which done, and thence remov'd the light,
We'll wish both them and thee good-night.
Full as a bee with thyme, and red
As cherry harvest, now high fed
For lust and action, on he'll go
To lie with Mab, though all say no.
Lust has no ears; he's sharp as thorn,
And fretful, carries hay in's horn,
And lightning in his eyes; and flings
Among the elves, if moved, the stings
Of peltish wasps; well know his guard--
_Kings, though they're hated, will be fear'd_.
Wine lead[s] him on. Thus to a grove,
Sometimes devoted unto love,
Tinselled with twilight, he and they,
Led by the shine of snails, a way
Beat with their num'rous feet, which, by
Many a neat perplexity,
Many a turn and many a cross-
Track they redeem a bank of moss,
Spongy and swelling, and far more
Soft than the finest Lemster ore,
Mildly disparkling like those fires
Of curious brides; or like those mites
Of candi'd dew in moony nights.
Upon this convex all the flowers
Nature begets by th' sun and showers,
Are to a wild digestion brought,
As if love's sampler here was wrought:
Or Citherea's ceston, which
All with temptation doth bewitch.
Sweet airs move here, and more divine
Made by the breath of great-eyed kine,
Who, as they low, impearl with milk
The four-leaved grass or moss like silk.
The breath of monkeys met to mix
With musk-flies are th' aromatics
Which 'cense this arch; and here and there
And farther off, and everywhere
Throughout that brave mosaic yard,
Those picks or diamonds in the card
Are here most neatly inter-laid
Many a counter, many a die,
Half-rotten and without an eye
Lies hereabouts; and, for to pave
The excellency of this cave,
Squirrels' and children's teeth late shed
Are neatly here enchequered
With brownest toadstones, and the gum
That shines upon the bluer plum.
The nails fallen off by whitflaws: art's
Wise hand enchasing here those warts
Which we to others, from ourselves,
Sell, and brought hither by the elves.
The tempting mole, stolen from the neck
Of the shy virgin, seems to deck
The holy entrance, where within
The room is hung with the blue skin
Of shifted snake: enfriez'd throughout
With eyes of peacocks' trains and trout-
Flies' curious wings; and these among
Those silver pence that cut the tongue
Of the red infant, neatly hung.
The glow-worm's eyes; the shining scales
Of silv'ry fish; wheat straws, the snail's
Soft candle light; the kitling's eyne;
Corrupted wood; serve here for shine.
No glaring light of bold-fac'd day,
Or other over-radiant ray,
Ransacks this room; but what weak beams
Can make reflected from these gems
And multiply; such is the light,
But ever doubtful day or night.
By this quaint taper light he winds
His errors up; and now he finds
His moon-tann'd Mab, as somewhat sick,
And (love knows) tender as a chick.
Upon six plump dandillions, high-
Rear'd, lies her elvish majesty:
Whose woolly bubbles seem'd to drown
Her Mabship in obedient down.
For either sheet was spread the caul
That doth the infant's face enthral,
When it is born (by some enstyl'd
The lucky omen of the child),
And next to these two blankets o'er-
Cast of the finest gossamore.
And then a rug of carded wool,
Which, sponge-like drinking in the dull
Light of the moon, seemed to comply,
Cloud-like, the dainty deity.
Thus soft she lies: and overhead
A spinner's circle is bespread
With cob-web curtains, from the roof
So neatly sunk as that no proof
Of any tackling can declare
What gives it hanging in the air.
The fringe about this are those threads
Broke at the loss of maidenheads:
And, all behung with these, pure pearls,
Dropp'd from the eyes of ravish'd girls
Or writhing brides; when (panting) they
Give unto love the straiter way.
For music now, he has the cries
Of feigned-lost virginities;
The which the elves make to excite
A more unconquered appetite.
The king's undrest; and now upon
The gnat's watchword the elves are gone.
And now the bed, and Mab possess'd
Of this great little kingly guest;
We'll nobly think, what's to be done,
He'll do no doubt; _this flax is spun_.
_Carries hay in's horn_ (fœnum habet in cornu), is dangerous.
_Peltish_, angry.
_Lemster ore_, Leominster wool.
_Tyres_, head-dresses.
_Whitflaws_, whitlows.
_Winds his errors up_, brings his wanderings to an end.
_Dandillions_, dandelions.
_Comply_, embrace.
_Spinner_, spider.
I've paid thee what I promis'd; that's not all;
Besides I give thee here a verse that shall
(When hence thy circummortal part is gone),
Arch-like, hold up thy name's inscription.
Brave men can't die, whose candid actions are
Writ in the poet's endless calendar:
Whose vellum and whose volume is the sky,
And the pure stars the praising poetry.
_Circummortal_, more than mortal.
Besides us two, i' th' temple here's not one
To make up now a congregation.
Let's to the altar of perfumes then go,
And say short prayers; and when we have done so,
Then we shall see, how in a little space
Saints will come in to fill each pew and place.
What conscience, say, is it in thee,
When I a heart had one,
To take away that heart from me,
And to retain thy own?
For shame or pity now incline
To play a loving part;
Either to send me kindly thine,
Or give me back my heart.
Covet not both; but if thou dost
Resolve to part with neither,
Why! yet to show that thou art just,
Take me and mine together.
I cannot suffer; and in this my part
Of patience wants. _Grief breaks the stoutest heart._
To print our poems, the propulsive cause
Is fame--the breath of popular applause.
Ye silent shades, whose each tree here
Some relique of a saint doth wear,
Who, for some sweetheart's sake, did prove
The fire and martyrdom of love:
Here is the legend of those saints
That died for love, and their complaints:
Their wounded hearts and names we find
Encarv'd upon the leaves and rind.
Give way, give way to me, who come
Scorch'd with the self-same martyrdom:
And have deserv'd as much (love knows)
As to be canonis'd 'mongst those
Whose deeds and deaths here written are
Within your greeny calendar:
By all those virgins' fillets hung
Upon your boughs, and requiems sung
For saints and souls departed hence
(Here honour'd still with frankincense);
By all those tears that have been shed,
As a drink-offering to the dead;
By all those true love-knots that be
With mottoes carv'd on every tree;
By sweet Saint Phyllis pity me:
By dear Saint Iphis, and the rest
Of all those other saints now blest,
Me, me, forsaken, here admit
Among your myrtles to be writ:
That my poor name may have the glory
To live remembered in your story.
_Phyllis_, the Thracian princess who hanged herself for love of
Here a solemn fast we keep,
While all beauty lies asleep
Hush'd be all things--no noise here--
But the toning of a tear:
Or a sigh of such as bring
Cowslips for her covering.
Of all those three brave brothers fall'n i' th' war
(Not without glory), noble sir, you are,
Despite of all concussions, left the stem
To shoot forth generations like to them.
Which may be done, if, sir, you can beget
Men in their substance, not in counterfeit,
Such essences as those three brothers; known
Eternal by their own production.
Of whom, from fame's white trumpet, this I'll tell,
Worthy their everlasting chronicle:
Never since first Bellona us'd a shield,
_Such three brave brothers fell in Mars his field_.
These were those three Horatii Rome did boast,
Rome's were these three Horatii we have lost.
One Cœur-de-Lion had that age long since;
This, three; which three, you make up four, brave prince.
O jealousy, that art
The canker of the heart;
And mak'st all hell
Where thou do'st dwell;
For pity be
No fury, or no firebrand to me.
Far from me I'll remove
All thoughts of irksome love:
And turn to snow,
Or crystal grow,
To keep still free,
O! soul-tormenting jealousy, from thee.
Let's live in haste; use pleasures while we may;
Could life return, 'twould never lose a day.
Here, here I live,
And somewhat give
Of what I have
To those who crave,
Little or much,
My alms is such;
But if my deal
Of oil and meal
Shall fuller grow,
More I'll bestow;
E'en but a bit,
Or else a crumb,
The scrip hath some.
Come, leave this loathed country life, and then
Grow up to be a Roman citizen.
Those mites of time, which yet remain unspent,
Waste thou in that most civil government.
Get their comportment and the gliding tongue
Of those mild men thou art to live among;
Then, being seated in that smoother sphere,
Decree thy everlasting topic there;
And to the farm-house ne'er return at all:
Though granges do not love thee, cities shall.
While Fates permit us let's be merry,
Pass all we must the fatal ferry;
And this our life too whirls away
With the rotation of the day.
Love, I have broke
Thy yoke,
The neck is free;
But when I'm next
Love-vexed,
Then shackle me.
'Tis better yet
To fret
The feet or hands,
Than to enthral
Or gall
The neck with bands.
You are a lord, an earl, nay more, a man
Who writes sweet numbers well as any can;
If so, why then are not these verses hurled,
Like Sybil's leaves, throughout the ample world?
Forth by a ring or some rich carcanet?
But being so, then the beholders cry:
See, see a gem as rare as Belus' eye.
Then public praise does run upon the stone,
For a most rich, a rare, a precious one.
That we may praise them, or themselves prize you.
_Virtue concealed_, with Horace you'll confess,
_Differs not much from drowsy slothfulness_.
I am of all bereft,
Save but some few beans left,
Whereof, at last, to make
For me and mine a cake,
Which eaten, they and I
Will say our grace, and die.
One feeds on lard, and yet is lean,
And I but feasting with a bean
Grow fat and smooth. The reason is:
Jove prospers my meat more than his.
Thou sent'st to me a true love-knot, but I
Returned a ring of jimmals to imply
Thy love had one knot, mine a triple tie.
_Jimmal_ or _gimmal_, double or triple ring.
Go hence, and with this parting kiss,
Which joins two souls, remember this:
Though thou be'st young, kind, soft, and fair
And may'st draw thousands with a hair;
Yet let these glib temptations be
Furies to others, friends to me.
Look upon all, and though on fire
Thou set their hearts, let chaste desire
Steer thee to me, and think, me gone,
In having all, that thou hast none.
Nor so immured would I have
Thee live, as dead and in thy grave;
But walk abroad, yet wisely well
Stand for my coming, sentinel.
And think, as thou do'st walk the street,
Me or my shadow thou do'st meet.
I know a thousand greedy eyes
Will on thy feature tyrannise
In my short absence, yet behold
Them like some picture, or some mould
Fashion'd like thee, which, though 't have ears
And eyes, it neither sees or hears.
Gifts will be sent, and letters, which
Are the expressions of that itch,
And salt, which frets thy suitors; fly
Both, lest thou lose thy liberty;
For, that once lost, thou't fall to one,
Then prostrate to a million.
But if they woo thee, do thou say,
As that chaste Queen of Ithaca
Did to her suitors, this web done,
(Undone as oft as done), I'm won;
I will not urge thee, for I know,
Though thou art young, thou canst say no,
And no again, and so deny
Those thy lust-burning incubi.
Let them enstyle thee fairest fair,
The pearl of princes, yet despair
That so thou art, because thou must
Believe love speaks it not, but lust;
And this their flattery does commend
Thee chiefly for their pleasure's end.
I am not jealous of thy faith,
Or will be, for the axiom saith:
He that doth suspect does haste
A gentle mind to be unchaste.
No, live thee to thy self, and keep
Thy thoughts as cold as is thy sleep,
And let thy dreams be only fed
With this, that I am in thy bed;
And thou, then turning in that sphere,
Waking shalt find me sleeping there.
But yet if boundless lust must scale
Thy fortress, and will needs prevail,
And wildly force a passage in,
Banish consent, and 'tis no sin
Of thine; so Lucrece fell and the
So Medullina fell; yet none
Of these had imputation
For the least trespass, 'cause the mind
Here was not with the act combin'd.
_The body sins not, 'tis the will
That makes the action, good or ill._
And if thy fall should this way come,
Triumph in such a martyrdom.
I will not over-long enlarge
To thee this my religious charge.
Take this compression, so by this
Means I shall know what other kiss
Is mixed with mine, and truly know,
Returning, if't be mine or no:
Keep it till then; and now, my spouse,
For my wished safety pay thy vows
And prayers to Venus; if it please
The great blue ruler of the seas,
Not many full-faced moons shall wane,
Lean-horn'd, before I come again
As one triumphant, when I find
In thee all faith of womankind.
Nor would I have thee think that thou
Had'st power thyself to keep this vow,
But, having 'scaped temptation's shelf,
Know virtue taught thee, not thyself.
_Incubi_, adulterous spirits.
_Medullina_, a Roman virgin who endured a like fate.
_Compression_, embrace.
Seeing thee, Soame, I see a goodly man,
And in that good a great patrician.
Next to which two, among the city powers
And thrones, thyself one of those senators;
Not wearing purple only for the show,
As many conscripts of the city do,
But for true service, worthy of that gown,
The golden chain, too, and the civic crown.
_Conscripts_, "patres conscripti," aldermen.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past
But you may stay yet here a while,
To blush and gently smile;
And go at last.
What! were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
Like you a while, they glide
Into the grave.
Man knows where first he ships himself, but he
Never can tell where shall his landing be.
Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let
His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.
Many we are, and yet but few possess
Those fields of everlasting happiness.
How long, Perenna, wilt thou see
Me languish for the love of thee?
Consent, and play a friendly part
To save, when thou may'st kill a heart.
Trust me, ladies, I will do
Nothing to distemper you;
If I any fret or vex,
Men they shall be, not your sex.
Holy rood, come forth and shield
Us i' th' city and the field:
Safely guard us, now and aye,
From the blast that burns by day;
And those sounds that us affright
In the dead of dampish night.
Drive all hurtful fiends us fro,
By the time the cocks first crow.
And die:
As one
And gone:
I'm made
A shade,
And laid
I' th' grave:
There have
My cave,
Where tell
I dwell.
Give way, give way, ye gates, and win
An easy blessing to your bin
And basket, by our entering in.
May both with manchet stand replete;
Your larders, too, so hung with meat,
That though a thousand, thousand eat,
Yet, ere twelve moons shall whirl about
Their silv'ry spheres, there's none may doubt
But more's sent in than was served out.
Next, may your dairies prosper so
As that your pans no ebb may know;
But if they do, the more to flow,
Like to a solemn sober stream
Bank'd all with lilies, and the cream
Of sweetest cowslips filling them.
Then, may your plants be prest with fruit,
Nor bee, or hive you have be mute;
But sweetly sounding like a lute.
Next, may your duck and teeming hen
Both to the cock's tread say Amen;
And for their two eggs render ten.
Last, may your harrows, shears, and ploughs,
Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows,
All prosper by our virgin vows.
Alas! we bless, but see none here
That brings us either ale or beer;
_In a dry house all things are near_.
Let's leave a longer time to wait,
Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate,
And all live here with needy fate.
Where chimneys do for ever weep
For want of warmth, and stomachs keep,
With noise, the servants' eyes from sleep.
It is in vain to sing, or stay
Our free feet here; but we'll away:
Yet to the Lares this we'll say:
The time will come when you'll be sad
And reckon this for fortune bad,
T'ave lost the good ye might have had.
_Manchet_, fine white bread.
_Near_, penurious.
_Leave to wait_, cease waiting.
Twice has Pudica been a bride, and led
By holy Hymen to the nuptial bed.
Two youths she's known thrice two, and twice three years;
Yet not a lily from the bed appears:
Nor will; for why, Pudica this may know,
_Trees never bear unless they first do blow_.
These springs were maidens once that lov'd,
But lost to that they most approv'd:
My story tells by Love they were
Turn'd to these springs which we see here;
The pretty whimpering that they make,
When of the banks their leave they take,
Tells ye but this, they are the same,
In nothing chang'd but in their name.
My wooing's ended: now my wedding's near
When gloves are giving, gilded be you there.
'Tis heresy in others: in your face
That scar's no schism, but the sign of grace.
I begin to wane in sight;
Shortly I shall bid good-night:
Then no gazing more about,
When the tapers once are out.
Stand with thy graces forth, brave man, and rise
High with thine own auspicious destinies:
Nor leave the search, and proof, till thou canst find
These, or those ends, to which thou wast design'd.
Thy lucky genius and thy guiding star
Have made thee prosperous in thy ways thus far:
Nor will they leave thee till they both have shown
Thee to the world a prime and public one.
Then, when thou see'st thine age all turn'd to gold,
Remember what thy Herrick thee foretold,
When at the holy threshold of thine house
_He boded good luck to thy self and spouse_.
Lastly, be mindful, when thou art grown great,
_That towers high rear'd dread most the lightning's threat:
Whenas the humble cottages not fear
The cleaving bolt of Jove the thunderer_.
Dew sat on Julia's hair
And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are
With trembling dew:
Or glitter'd to my sight,
As when the beams
Have their reflected light
Danc'd by the streams.
How can I choose but love and follow her
Whose shadow smells like milder pomander?
How can I choose but kiss her, whence does come
The storax, spikenard, myrrh, and laudanum?
_Pomander_, ball of scent.
Great men by small means oft are overthrown;
_He's lord of thy life who contemns his own_.
All things are open to these two events,
Or to rewards, or else to punishments.
Shame is a bad attendant to a state:
_He rents his crown that fears the people's hate_.
Since to the country first I came
I have lost my former flame:
And, methinks, I not inherit,
As I did, my ravish'd spirit.
If I write a verse or two,
'Tis with very much ado;
In regard I want that wine
Which should conjure up a line.
Yet, though now of Muse bereft,
I have still the manners left
For to thank you, noble sir,
For those gifts you do confer
Upon him who only can
Be in prose a grateful man.
I could never love indeed;
Never see mine own heart bleed:
Never crucify my life,
Or for widow, maid, or wife.
I could never seek to please
One or many mistresses:
Never like their lips to swear
Oil of roses still smelt there.
I could never break my sleep,
Fold mine arms, sob, sigh, or weep:
Never beg, or humbly woo
With oaths and lies, as others do.
I could never walk alone;
Put a shirt of sackcloth on:
Never keep a fast, or pray
For good luck in love that day.
But have hitherto liv'd free
As the air that circles me:
And kept credit with my heart,
Neither broke i' th' whole, or part.
Would ye have fresh cheese and cream?
Julia's breast can give you them:
And, if more, each nipple cries:
To your cream here's strawberries.
_End._  Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why
Thy whilom merry oat
By thee doth so neglected lie,
And never purls a note?
I prithee speak. _Lyc._ I will. _End._ Say on.
_Lyc._    'Tis thou, and only thou,
That art the cause, Endymion.
_End._    For love's sake, tell me how.
_Lyc._  In this regard: that thou do'st play
Upon another plain,
And for a rural roundelay
Strik'st now a courtly strain.
Thou leav'st our hills, our dales, our bowers,
Our finer fleeced sheep,
Unkind to us, to spend thine hours
Where shepherds should not keep.
I mean the court: Let Latmos be
My lov'd Endymion's court.
_End._  But I the courtly state would see.
_Lyc._    Then see it in report.
What has the court to do with swains,
Where Phyllis is not known?
Nor does it mind the rustic strains
Break, if thou lov'st us, this delay.
_End._    Dear Lycidas, e're long
I vow, by Pan, to come away
And pipe unto thy song.
Then Jessamine, with Florabell,
And dainty Amaryllis,
With handsome-handed Drosomell
Shall prank thy hook with lilies.
And Thyrsis, they shall follow
With all the rest; while thou alone
Shalt lead like young Apollo.
And till thou com'st, thy Lycidas,
In every genial cup,
Shall write in spice: Endymion 'twas
That kept his piping up.
And, my most lucky swain, when I shall live to see
Endymion's moon to fill up full, remember me:
Meantime, let Lycidas have leave to pipe to thee.
_Oat_, oaten pipe.
_Drosomell_, honey dew.
Bright tulips, we do know
You had your coming hither,
And fading-time does show
That ye must quickly wither.
Your sisterhoods may stay,
And smile here for your hour;
But die ye must away,
Even as the meanest flower.
Come, virgins, then, and see
Your frailties, and bemoan ye;
For, lost like these, 'twill be
As time had never known ye.
That love last long, let it thy first care be
To find a wife that is most fit for thee.
Be she too wealthy or too poor, be sure
_Love in extremes can never long endure_.
Reach, with your whiter hands, to me
Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this,
To th' glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine.
To this white temple of my heroes here,
Beset with stately figures everywhere
Of such rare saintships, who did here consume
Their lives in sweets, and left in death perfume,
Come, thou brave man! And bring with thee a stone
Unto thine own edification.
High are these statues here, besides no less
Strong than the heavens for everlastingness:
Where build aloft; and, being fix'd by these,
Set up thine own eternal images.
A golden fly one show'd to me,
Clos'd in a box of ivory,
Where both seem'd proud: the fly to have
His burial in an ivory grave;
The ivory took state to hold
A corpse as bright as burnish'd gold.
One fate had both, both equal grace;
The buried, and the burying-place.
Not Virgil's gnat, to whom the spring
All flowers sent to's burying;
Not Martial's bee, which in a bead
Of amber quick was buried;
Nor that fine worm that does inter
Herself i' th' silken sepulchre;
Nor my rare Phil,[K] that lately was
With lilies tomb'd up in a glass;
More honour had than this same fly,
Dead, and closed up in ivory.
_Martial's bee_, see Note.
Julia, when thy Herrick dies,
Close thou up thy poet's eyes:
And his last breath, let it be
Taken in by none but thee.
If thou ask me, dear, wherefore
I do write of thee no more,
I must answer, sweet, thy part
Less is here than in my heart.
Fill me my wine in crystal; thus, and thus
I see't in's _puris naturalibus_:
Unmix'd. I love to have it smirk and shine;
_'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throttle wine_.
What madman's he, that when it sparkles so,
Will cool his flames or quench his fires with snow?
Jealous girls these sometimes were,
While they liv'd or lasted here:
Turn'd to flowers, still they be
Yellow, mark'd for jealousy.
To fetch me wine my Lucia went,
Bearing a crystal continent:
But, making haste, it came to pass
She brake in two the purer glass,
Then smil'd, and sweetly chid her speed;
So with a blush beshrew'd the deed.
_Continent_, holder.
Good precepts we must firmly hold,
By daily learning we wax old.
If I dare write to you, my lord, who are
Of your own self a public theatre,
And, sitting, see the wiles, ways, walks of wit,
And give a righteous judgment upon it,
What need I care, though some dislike me should,
If Dorset say what Herrick writes is good?
We know y'are learn'd i' th' Muses, and no less
In our state-sanctions, deep or bottomless.
Whose smile can make a poet, and your glance
Dash all bad poems out of countenance;
So that an author needs no other bays
For coronation than your only praise,
And no one mischief greater than your frown
To null his numbers, and to blast his crown.
_Few live the life immortal. He ensures
His fame's long life who strives to set up yours._
Thou'rt hence removing (like a shepherd's tent),
And walk thou must the way that others went:
Fall thou must first, then rise to life with these,
Mark'd in thy book for faithful witnesses.
What though the heaven be lowering now,
And look with a contracted brow?
We shall discover, by-and-by,
A repurgation of the sky;
And when those clouds away are driven,
Then will appear a cheerful heaven.
I held Love's head while it did ache;
But so it chanc'd to be,
The cruel pain did his forsake,
And forthwith came to me.
Ay me! how shall my grief be still'd?
Or where else shall we find
One like to me, who must be kill'd
For being too-too kind?
Next is your lot, fair, to be number'd one,
Here, in my book's canonisation:
Late you come in; but you a saint shall be,
In chief, in this poetic liturgy.
First, for your shape, the curious cannot show
Any one part that's dissonant in you:
And 'gainst your chaste behaviour there's no plea,
Since you are known to be Penelope.
Thus fair and clean you are, although there be
_A mighty strife 'twixt form and chastity_.
Fair and foul days trip cross and pile; the fair
Far less in number than our foul days are.
Why, madam, will ye longer weep,
Whenas your baby's lull'd asleep?
And (pretty child) feels now no more
Those pains it lately felt before.
All now is silent; groans are fled:
Your child lies still, yet is not dead;
But rather like a flower hid here
To spring again another year.
Come thou, who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest.
Thou art of what I did intend
The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee, my sheet.
Come then, and be to my chaste side
Both bed and bride.
We two, as reliques left, will have
One rest, one grave.
And, hugging close, we will not fear
Lust entering here,
Where all desires are dead or cold
As is the mould;
And all affections are forgot,
Or trouble not.
Here, here the slaves and pris'ners be
From shackles free:
And weeping widows long oppress'd
Do here find rest.
The wronged client ends his laws
Here, and his cause.
Here those long suits of chancery lie
Quiet, or die:
And all Star-Chamber bills do cease,
Or hold their peace.
Here needs no Court for our Request,
Where all are best,
All wise, all equal, and all just
Alike i' th' dust.
Nor need we here to fear the frown
Of court or crown:
_Where fortune bears no sway o'er things,
There all are kings_.
In this securer place we'll keep,
As lull'd asleep;
Or for a little time we'll lie
As robes laid by;
To be another day re-worn,
Turn'd, but not torn:
Or, like old testaments engrost,
Lock'd up, not lost.
And for a while lie here conceal'd,
To be reveal'd
Next at that great Platonick year,
And then meet here.
One more by thee, love, and desert have sent,
T' enspangle this expansive firmament.
O flame of beauty! come, appear, appear
A virgin taper, ever shining here.
What now we like anon we disapprove:
_The new successor drives away old love_.
Born I was to meet with age,
And to walk life's pilgrimage.
Much I know of time is spent,
Tell I can't what's resident.
Howsoever, cares, adieu!
I'll have nought to say to you:
But I'll spend my coming hours
Drinking wine and crown'd with flowers.
_Resident_, remaining.
Fortune did never favour one
Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite.
Live, live with me, and thou shall see
The pleasures I'll prepare for thee;
What sweets the country can afford
Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board.
The soft, sweet moss shall be thy bed
With crawling woodbine over-spread;
By which the silver-shedding streams
Shall gently melt thee into dreams.
Thy clothing, next, shall be a gown
Made of the fleece's purest down.
The tongues of kids shall be thy meat,
Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat
The paste of filberts for thy bread,
With cream of cowslips buttered;
Thy feasting-tables shall be hills
With daisies spread and daffodils,
Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by,
For meat, shall give thee melody.
I'll give thee chains and carcanets
Of primroses and violets.
A bag and bottle thou shalt have,
That richly wrought, and this as brave;
So that as either shall express
The wearer's no mean shepherdess.
At shearing-times, and yearly wakes,
When Themilis his pastime makes,
There thou shalt be; and be the wit,
Nay, more, the feast, and grace of it.
On holidays, when virgins meet
To dance the heyes with nimble feet,
Thou shall come forth, and then appear
The queen of roses for that year;
And having danced, 'bove all the best,
Carry the garland from the rest.
In wicker baskets maids shall bring
To thee, my dearest shepherling,
The blushing apple, bashful pear,
And shame-fac'd plum, all simp'ring there.
Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find
The name of Phyllis in the rind
Of every straight and smooth-skin tree;
Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.
To thee a sheep-hook I will send,
Be-prank'd with ribands to this end;
This, this alluring hook might be
Less for to catch a sheep than me.
Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine,
Not made of ale, but spiced wine,
To make thy maids and self free mirth,
All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth.
Thou shalt have ribands, roses, rings,
Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings
Of winning colours, that shall move
Others to lust, but me to love.
These, nay, and more, thine own shall be
If thou wilt love, and live with me.
_Carcanets_, necklaces.
_Wakes_, village feasts on the dedication day of the church.
_The heyes_, a winding, country dance.
When I consider, dearest, thou dost stay
But here a-while, to languish and decay,
Like to these garden-glories, which here be
The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee;
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry:
Would thou hadst ne'er been born, or might'st not die.
Rare are thy cheeks, Susanna, which do show
Ripe cherries smiling, while that others blow.
Clear are her eyes,
Like purest skies,
Discovering from thence
A baby there
That turns each sphere,
Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-Peep,
Did soon draw in again.
For civil, clean, and circumcised wit,
And for the comely carriage of it,
Thou art the man, the only man best known,
Mark'd for the true wit of a million:
From whom we'll reckon. Wit came in but since
The calculation of thy birth, brave Mince.
Fly me not, though I be grey:
Lady, this I know you'll say;
Better look the roses red
When with white commingled.
Black your hairs are, mine are white;
This begets the more delight,
When things meet most opposite:
As in pictures we descry
Venus standing Vulcan by.
If accusation only can draw blood,
None shall be guiltless, be he ne'er so good.
As thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let
The Muse give thee the Delphic coronet.
Goddess, I begin an art;
Come thou in, with thy best part
For to make the texture lie
Each way smooth and civilly;
And a broad-fac'd owl shall be
Offer'd up with vows to thee.
_Civilly_, orderly.
_Owl_, the bird sacred to Athene or Minerva.
'Tis evening, my sweet,
And dark, let us meet;
Long time w'ave here been a-toying,
And never, as yet,
That season could get
Wherein t'ave had an enjoying.
For pity or shame,
Then let not love's flame
Be ever and ever a-spending;
Since now to the port
The path is but short,
And yet our way has no ending.
Time flies away fast,
Our hours do waste,
The while we never remember
How soon our life, here,
Grows old with the year
That dies with the next December.
Fortune no higher project can devise
Than to sow discord 'mongst the enemies.
Preposterous is that government, and rude,
When kings obey the wilder multitude.
_Preposterous_, lit. hind-part before.
Give way, and be ye ravish'd by the sun,
And hang the head whenas the act is done,
Spread as he spreads, wax less as he does wane;
And as he shuts, close up to maids again.
Give me one kiss
And no more:
If so be this
Makes you poor,
To enrich you,
I'll restore
For that one two
Thousand score.
Thou know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turn
This morning's incense to prepare and burn.
The chaplet and Inarculum[L] here be,
With the white vestures, all attending thee.
This day the queen-priest thou art made, t' appease
Love for our very many trespasses.
One chief transgression is, among the rest,
Because with flowers her temple was not dressed;
The next, because her altars did not shine
With daily fires; the last, neglect of wine;
For which her wrath is gone forth to consume
Us all, unless preserved by thy perfume.
Take then thy censer, put in fire, and thus,
O pious priestess! make a peace for us.
For our neglect Love did our death decree;
That we escape. _Redemption comes by thee_.
Born I was to be old,
And for to die here:
After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
But before that day comes
Still I be bousing,
For I know in the tombs
There's no carousing.
Eaten I have; and though I had good cheer,
I did not sup, because no friends were there.
Where mirth and friends are absent when we dine
Or sup, there wants the incense and the wine.
All things o'er-ruled are here by chance:
The greatest man's inheritance,
Where'er the lucky lot doth fall,
Serves but for place of burial.
Ursley, she thinks those velvet patches grace
The candid temples of her comely face;
But he will say, whoe'er those circlets seeth,
They be but signs of Ursley's hollow teeth.
Here we securely live and eat
The cream of meat,
And keep eternal fires,
By which we sit, and do divine
As wine
And rage inspires.
If full we charm, then call upon
To grace the frantic thyrse;
And having drunk, we raise a shout
To praise his verse.
Then cause we Horace to be read,
Which sung, or said,
A goblet to the brim
Of lyric wine, both swell'd and crown'd,
We quaff to him.
Thus, thus we live, and spend the hours
In wine and flowers,
And make the frolic year,
The month, the week, the instant day
To stay
The longer here.
Come then, brave knight, and see the cell
Wherein I dwell,
And my enchantments too,
Which love and noble freedom is;
And this
Shall fetter you.
Take horse, and come, or be so kind
To send your mind,
Though but in numbers few,
And I shall think I have the heart,
Or part
_Securely_, free from care.
_Thyrse_, a Bacchic staff.
_Instant_, oncoming.
_Numbers_, verses.
Nor is my number full till I inscribe
Thee, sprightly Soame, one of my righteous tribe;
A tribe of one lip, leaven, and of one
Civil behaviour, and religion;
A stock of saints, where ev'ry one doth wear
A stole of white, and canonised here;
Among which holies be thou ever known,
Brave kinsman, mark'd out with the whiter stone
Which seals thy glory, since I do prefer
Thee here in my eternal calender.
Go I must; when I am gone,
Write but this upon my stone:
Chaste I lived, without a wife,
That's the story of my life.
Strewings need none, every flower
Is in this word, bachelour.
Our mortal parts may wrapp'd in sear-cloths lie:
_Great spirits never with their bodies die_.
Out of the world he must, who once comes in.
_No man exempted is from death, or sin._
Let me sleep this night away,
Till the dawning of the day;
Then at th' opening of mine eyes
I, and all the world, shall rise.
'Tis worse than barbarous cruelty to show
No part of pity on a conquered foe.
Here, here I live with what my board
Can with the smallest cost afford.
Though ne'er so mean the viands be,
They well content my Prew and me.
Or pea, or bean, or wort, or beet,
Whatever comes, content makes sweet.
Here we rejoice, because no rent
We pay for our poor tenement,
Wherein we rest, and never fear
The landlord or the usurer.
The quarter-day does ne'er affright
Our peaceful slumbers in the night.
We eat our own and batten more,
Because we feed on no man's score;
But pity those whose flanks grow great,
Swell'd with the lard of others' meat.
We bless our fortunes when we see
Our own beloved privacy;
And like our living, where we're known
To very few, or else to none.
_Prew_, _i.e._, his servant, Prudence Baldwin.
He who commends the vanquished, speaks the power
And glorifies the worthy conqueror.
Some parts may perish, die thou canst not all:
The most of thee shall 'scape the funeral.
If ye will with Mab find grace,
Set each platter in his place;
Rake the fire up, and get
Water in, ere sun be set.
Wash your pails, and cleanse your dairies;
Sweep your house, who doth not so,
Mab will pinch her by the toe.
Did I or love, or could I others draw
To the indulgence of the rugged law,
The first foundation of that zeal should be
By reading all her paragraphs in thee,
Who dost so fitly with the laws unite,
As if you two were one hermaphrodite.
Nor courts[t] thou her because she's well attended
With wealth, but for those ends she was intended:
Which were,--and still her offices are known,--
_Law is to give to ev'ry one his own_;
To shore the feeble up against the strong,
To shield the stranger and the poor from wrong.
This was the founder's grave and good intent:
To keep the outcast in his tenement,
To free the orphan from that wolf-like man,
Who is his butcher more than guardian;
To dry the widow's tears, and stop her swoons,
By pouring balm and oil into her wounds.
This was the old way; and 'tis yet thy course
To keep those pious principles in force.
Modest I will be; but one word I'll say,
Like to a sound that's vanishing away,
Sooner the inside of thy hand shall grow
Hisped and hairy, ere thy palm shall know
A postern-bribe took, or a forked fee,
To fetter Justice, when she might be free.
_Eggs I'll not shave_; but yet, brave man, if I
Was destin'd forth to golden sovereignty,
A prince I'd be, that I might thee prefer
To be my counsel both and chancellor.
_Hisped_ (_hispidus_), rough with hairs.
_Postern-bribe_, a back-door bribe.
_Forked fee_, a fee from both sides in a case; cp. Ben Jonson's
Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never
Wound up again: once down, he's down for ever.
The watch once down, all motions then do cease;
And man's pulse stop'd, all passions sleep in peace.
As in our clothes, so likewise he who looks,
Shall find much farcing buckram in our books.
_Farcing_, stuffing.
When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head,
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which like a pinnacle doth show
The top, and the top-gallant too.
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility,
And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so:
I must confess mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.
_Civility_, order.
Sweet Bridget blush'd, and therewithal
Fresh blossoms from her cheeks did fall.
I thought at first 'twas but a dream,
Till after I had handled them
And smelt them, then they smelt to me
As blossoms of the almond tree.
I played with Love, as with the fire
The wanton Satyr did;
Nor did I know, or could descry
What under there was hid.
That Satyr he but burnt his lips;
But mine's the greater smart,
For kissing Love's dissembling chips
The fire scorch'd my heart.
_The wanton Satyr_, see Note.
If men can say that beauty dies,
Marbles will swear that here it lies.
If, reader, then thou canst forbear
In public loss to shed a tear,
The dew of grief upon this stone
Will tell thee pity thou hast none.
One of the five straight branches of my hand
Is lop'd already, and the rest but stand
Expecting when to fall, which soon will be;
First dies the leaf, the bough next, next the tree.
But a minute's life with me:
Such a fire I espy
Walking in and out her eye,
As at once I freeze and fry.
Upon her cheeks she wept, and from those showers
Sprang up a sweet nativity of flowers.
Aetherias, lascive, cupis volitare per auras:
I, fuge; sed poteras tutior esse domi.
Erubuit posuitque meum Lucretia librum,
Sed coram Bruto; Brute, recede, leget.
Nec doctum satis et parum severum,
Sed non rusticulum nimis libellum
I perfer:
Sed ne tempore non tuo disertam
Pulses ebria januam, videto.
Seras tutior ibis ad lucernas.
Hæc hora est tua, cum furit Lyæus,
Cum regnat rosa, cum madent capilli:
Tunc me vel rigidi legant Catones.
"Of crackling laurel, which foresounds
A plenteous harvest to your grounds":
Harum pars tecta quatiebant cuspide thyrsos
Pars obscura cavis celebrabant orgia cistis,
Orgia, quæ frustra cupiunt audire profani.
_Small griefs find tongue._ Seneca, _Hippol._ 608:
Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent.
"_Nicholas_ and _Nell_ did lately sit
Playing for sport at cherry-pit;
They both did throw, and, having thrown,
He got the pit and she the stone".
Herrick's country incumbency was good for his verse; but if the
Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
Dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
Deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum,
Dein, cum millia multa fecerimus,
Conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus, etc.
Μεσονυκτίοις ποθ' ὥραις
στρέφεθ' ἡνίκ' Ἄρκτος ἤδη
κατὰ χεῖρα τὴν Βοώτου,
μερόπων δὲ φῦλα πάντα
κέαται κόπῳ δαμέντα,
τότ' Ἔρως ἐπισταθείς μευ
θυρέων ἔκοπτ' ὀχῆας.
τίς, ἔφην, θύρας ἀράσσει;
κατά μευ σχίζεις ὀνείρους.
ὁ δ' Ἔρως, ἄνοιγε, φησίν·
βρέφος εἰμί, μὴ φόβησαι·
βρέχομαι δὲ κἀσέληνον
κατὰ νύκτα πεπλάνημαι.
ἐλέησα ταῦτ' ἀκούσας,
ἀνὰ δ' εὐθὺ λύχνον ἅψας
ἀνέῳξα, καὶ βρέφος μέν
ἐσορῶ φἐροντα τόξον
πτέρυγάς τε καὶ φαρέτρην.
παρὰ δ' ἱστίην καθῖσα,
παλάμαις τε χεῖρας αὐτοῦ
ἀνέθαλπον, ἐκ δὲ χαίτης
ἀπέθλιβον ὑγρὸν ὕδωρ.
ὁ δ', ἐπεὶ κρύος μεθῆκεν,
φέρε, φησί, πειράσωμεν
τόδε τόξον, εἴ τι μοι νῦν
βλάβεται βραχεῖσα νευρή.
τανύει δὲ καί με τύπτει
μέσον ἡπαρ, ὥσπερ οἶστρος·
ἀνὰ δ' ἅλλεται καχάζων,
ξένε δ', εἶπε, συγχάρηθι·
κέρας ἀβλαβὲς μὲν ἡμῖν,
σὺ δὲ καρδίην πονήσεις.
Some of his phrases, however, prove that he was occasionally more
"Nor know thy happy and unenvied state
Owes more to virtue than to fate,
Or fortune too; for what the first secures,
That as herself, or heaven, endures.
The two last fail, and by experience make
Known, not they give again, they take."
_Jove for our labour all things sells us._ Epicharm. apud Xenoph.
Ecce puer Veneris fert eversamque pharetram
Et fractos arcus, et sine luce facem.
Ὑγιαίνειν μὲν ἄριστον ἀνδρὶ θνατῷ·
δεύτερον δὲ φυὰν καλὸν γενέσθαι·
τὸ τρίτον δὲ πλουτεῖν αδόλως·
καὶ τὸ τέταρτον, ἡβᾶν μετὰ τῶν φίλων.
"Prithee not smile
Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile,"
we have the very inferior passage:--
"I prithee draw in
Thy gazing fires, lest at their sight the sin
Of fierce idolatry shoot into me, and
I turn apostate to the strict command
Of nature; bid me now farewell, or smile
More ugly, lest thy tempting looks beguile".
Ἔρως ποτ' ἐν ῥόδοισιν
κοιμωμένην μέλιτταν
οὐκ εἶδεν, ἀλλ' ἐτοώθη
τὸν δάκτυλον· παταχθείς
τὰς χεῖρας ὠλόλυξεν·
δραμὼν δὲ καὶ πετασθεις
πρὸς τὴν καλὴν Κυθήρην
ὄλωλα, μᾶτερ, εἶπεν,
ὄλωλα κἀποθνήσκω·
ὄφις μ' ἔτυψε μικρός
πτερωτός, ὃν καλοῦσιν
μέλιτταν οἱ γεωργοί.
ἁ δ' εἶπεν· εἰ τὸ κέντρον
πονεῖ τὸ τᾶς μελίττας,
πόσον δοκεῖς πονοῦσιν,
Ἔρως, ὅσους σὺ βάλλεις;
Virginis os habitumque gerens et virginis arma,
Spartanae vel qualis equos Threissa fatigat
Harpalyce volucremque fuga praevertitur Eurum.
Namque umeris de more habilem suspenderat arcum
Venatrix, dederatque comam diffundere ventis,
Nuda genu nodoque sinus collecta fluentis.
_With a wand of myrtle_, etc. Cp. Anacreon, 7 :--
Ὑακινθίνῃ με ῥάβδῳ
χαλέπως, Ἔρως ῥαπίζων ... εἶπε·
Σὺ γὰρ οὐ δύνῃ φιλῆσαι.
_Two ripe shocks of corn._ Cp. Job v. 26.
Sed satis est orare Jovem quæ donat et aufert;
Det vitam, det opes; æquum mî animum ipse parabo:
where Herrick seems to have read _qui_ for _quæ_.
Ἄγριε παῖ καὶ στυγνέ, κ.τ.λ.
Λέγουσιν αἱ γυναῖκες,
Ἀνακρέων, γέρων εἶ·
λαβὼν ἔσοπτρον ἄθρει
κόμας μὲν οὐκέτ' οὔσας κ.τ.λ.
Miraris veteres, Vacerra, solos
Nec laudas nisi mortuos poetas.
Condita perspicuâ vivit vindemia gemmâ
Et tegitur felix, nec tamen uva latet:
Femineum lucet sic per bombycina corpus,
Calculus in nitidâ sic numeratur aquâ.
"So _swift_ streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles
Meet after long divorcement _made by_ isles:
When love (the child of likeness) urgeth on
Their crystal _waters_ to an union.
So meet stol'n kisses when the moonie _night_
Calls forth fierce lovers to their wisht _delight_:
So kings and queens meet, when desire convinces
All thoughts, _save those that tend to_ getting princes.
As I meet thee, Soul of my life and fame!
Eternal Lamp of Love, whose radiant flame
Out-_darts_ the heaven's Osiris; and thy _gems
Darken_ the splendour of his mid-day beams.
Welcome, O welcome, my illustrious spouse!
Welcome as are the ends unto my vows:
_Nay_, far more welcome than the happy soil
The sea-scourged merchant, after all his toil,
Salutes with tears of joy, when fires _display_
The _smoking_ chimneys of his Ithaca.
Where hast thou been so long from my embraces,
Poor pitied exile? Tell me, did thy Graces
Fly discontented hence, and for a time
_Choose rather for_ to bless _some_ other clime?
†*_Oh, then, not longer let my sweet defer
*Her buxom smiles from me, her worshipper!_
Why _have those amber_ looks, the which have been
Time-past so fragrant, sickly now _call'd_ in
Like a dull twilight? Tell me, *_hath my soul
*Prophaned in speech or done an act that is foul
*Against thy purer essence?_ _For that_ fault
I'll expiate with sulphur, hair and salt:
And with the crystal humour of the spring
Purge hence the guilt, and kill _the_ quarrelling.
_Wilt_ thou not smile, _nor_ tell me what's amiss?
Have I been cold to hug thee, too remiss,
Too temperate in embracing? Tell me, has desire
To-thee-ward died in the embers, and no fire
Left in _the_ raked-up _ashes_, as a mark
To testify the glowing of a spark?
†_I must_ confess I left thee, and appeal
'Twas done by me more to _increase_ my zeal,
And double my affection[†]; as do those
Whose love grows more inflamed by being _froze_.
But to forsake thee, [†] could there _ever_ be
A thought of such-like possibility?
When _all the world may know that vines_ shall lack
Grapes, before Herrick _leave_ Canary sack.
*_Sack is my life, my leaven, salt to all
*My dearest dainties, nay, 'tis the principal
*Fire unto all my functions, gives me blood,
*An active spirit, full marrow, and, what is good,_
_Sack makes_ me _sprightful, airy_ to be borne,
Like Iphyclus, upon the tops of corn.
_Sack makes_ me nimble, as the wingèd hours,
To dance and caper _o'er the tops_ of flowers,
And ride the sunbeams. Can there be a thing
Under the _cope of heaven_ that can bring
More _joy_ unto my _soul_, or can present
My Genius with a fuller blandishment?
Help from the garlick, onion and the leek,
And pay no vows to thee, who _art the_ best
God, and far more _transcending_ than the rest?
Had Cassius, that weak water-drinker, known
Thee in _the_ Vine, or had but tasted one
Small chalice of thy _nectar, he, even_ he
As the wise Cato had approved of thee.
Had not Jove's son, the _rash_ Tyrinthian swain
(Invited to the Thesbian banquet), ta'ne
Full goblets of thy [†] blood; his *_lustful_ sprite
_Had not_ kept heat for fifty maids that night.
†As Queens meet Queens, _so let sack come to_ me
_Or_ as Cleopatra _unto_ Anthonie,
When her high _visage_ did at once present
To the Triumvir love and wonderment.
Swell up my _feeble sinews_, let my blood
†Fill each part full of fire,* _let all my good_
_Parts be encouraged_, active to do
What thy commanding soul shall put _me_ to,
And till I turn apostate to thy love,
Which here I vow to serve, _never_ remove
Thy _blessing_ from me; but Apollo's curse
Blast _all mine_ actions; or, a thing that's worse,
When these circumstants _have the fate_ to see
The time _when_ I prevaricate from thee,
Call me the Son of Beer, and then confine
Me to the tap, the toast, the turf; let wine
Ne'er shine upon me; _let_ my _verses_ all
_Haste_ to a sudden death and funeral:
And last, _dear Spouse, when I thee_ disavow,
_May ne'er_ prophetic Daphne crown my brow."
Non dubia est Ithaci prudentia sed tamen optat
Fumum de patriis posse videre focis.
_Upon the tops of corn._ Virgil (_Æn._ vii. 808-9) uses the same
_Cassius, that weak water-drinker._ Not, as Dr. Grosart queries:
Si linguam clauso tenes in ore,
Fructus projicies amoris omnes:
Verbosa gaudet Venus loquela.
Collige, virgo, rosas, dum flos novus, et nova pubes,
Et memor esto aevum sic properare tuum:
Quam longa una dies, ætas tam longa rosarum.
"Exegi monumentum aere perennius
Regalique situ pyramidum altius".
Somersetshire. John (son of Richard) Merrifield, the father, was
Στέφος πλέκων ποθ' εὗρον
ἐν τοῖς ῥόδοις Ἔρωτα·
καὶ τῶν πτερῶν κατασχών
ἐβάπτισ' εἰς τὸν οἶνον·
λαβὼν δ' ἔπινον αὐτόν,
καὶ νῦν ἔσω μελῶν μου
πτεροῖσι γαργαλίζει.
I, felix rosa, mollibusque sertis
Nostri cinge comas Apollinaris.
Si quis male fert indignae regna puellae,
Ne pereat nostrae sentiat artis opem.
"The violets, as poets tell,
With Venus wrangling went".
Cui peccare licet, peccat minus: ipsa potestas
Semina nequitiae languidiora facit.
Οὐ γάμον ἀλλ' Ἀίδαν ἐπινυμφίδιον Κλεαρίστα
δέξατο παρθενίας ἅμματα λυομένα·
Ἄρτι γὰρ ἑσπέριοι νύμφας ἐπὶ δικλίσιν ἄχευν
λωτοί, καὶ θαλάμων ἐπλαταγεῦντο θύραι·
Ἠῷοι δ' ὀλολυγμὸν ἀνέκραγον, ἐκ δ' Ὑμέναιος
σιγαθεὶς γοερὸν φθέγμα μεθαρμόσατο,
Αἱ δ' αὐταὶ καὶ φέγγος ἐδᾳδούχουν παρὰ παστῷ
πεῦκαι καὶ φθιμένᾳ νέρθεν ἔφαινον ὁδόν.
Pulteney), two manuscript versions, substantially agreeing, are
"What's that we see from far? the spring of Day
Bloom'd from the East, or fair _enamell'd_ May
Blown out of April; or some new
Star fill'd with glory to our view,
To add a nobler Planet to the seven?
Say or do we not descry
To move, or rather the
Emerg_ing_ Venus from the sea?
"'Tis she! 'tis she! or else some more Divine
Enlightened substance; mark how from the shrine
Of holy Saints she paces on
_Throwing about_ Vermilion
And Amber: spice-
ing the chafte-air with fumes of Paradise.
Then come on, come on, and yield
A savour like unto a blessed field,
When the bedabbled morn
Washes the golden ears of corn.
"_Lead on fair paranymphs, the while her eyes,
Guilty of somewhat, ripe the strawberries
And cherries in her cheeks, there's cream
Already spilt, her rays must gleam
Gently thereon,
And so beget lust and temptation
To surfeit and to hunger.
Help on her pace; and, though she lag, yet stir
Her homewards; well she knows
Her heart's at home, howe'er she goes._
"See where she comes; and smell how all the street
Breathes Vine-yards and Pomegranates: O how sweet,
As a fir'd Altar, is each stone
_Spirting forth_ pounded Cinnamon.
The Phœnix nest,
Built up of odours, burneth in her breast.
Who _would not then_ consume
He burns to embers on the Pile.
Mount up thy flames, and let thy Torch
Display _thy_ Bridegroom in the porch
In his desires
And roll about, and in their motions burn
Their balls to cinders: haste
Or, _like a firebrand_, he will waste.
"_See how he waves his hand, and through his eyes
Shoots forth his jealous soul, for to surprise
And ravish you his Bride, do you
Not now perceive the soul of C[lipseby] C[rew],
Your mayden knight,
With kisses to inspire
You with his just and holy ire._
"_If so, glide through the ranks of Virgins_, pass
The Showers of Roses, lucky four-leaved grass:
The while the cloud of younglings sing,
And drown _you_ with a flowery spring:
While some repeat
Your praise, and bless you, sprinkling you with Wheat,
While that others do divine,
'Blest is the Bride on whom the Sun doth shine';
And thousands gladly wish
You multiply as _do the_ fish.
"_Why then go forward, sweet Auspicious Bride,
And come upon your Bridegroom like a Tide
Bearing down Time before you; hye
Swell, mix, and loose your souls; imply
Like streams which flow
Encurled together, and no difference show
In their [most] silver waters; run
Into your selves like wool together spun.
Or blend so as the sight
Of two makes one Hermaphrodite._
"And, beauteous Bride, we do confess _you_ are wise
Set on yourself by being nice.
But yet take heed
What now you seem be not the same indeed,
And turn Apostat_a_: Love will
Part of the way be met, or sit stone still;
On them, and though _y'are slow
In going_ yet, howsoever go.
"_How long, soft Bride, shall your dear C[lipseby] make
Love to your welcome with the mystic cake,
How long, oh pardon, shall the house
And the smooth Handmaids pay their vows
With oil and wine
For your approach, yet see their Altars pine?
How long shall the page to please
You stand for to surrender up the keys
Of the glad house? Come, come,
Or Lar will freeze to death at home._
"_Welcome at last unto the Threshold, Time
Throned in a saffron evening, seems to chime
All in, kiss and so enter. If
A prayer must be said, be brief,
The easy Gods
For such neglect have only myrtle rods
To stroke, not strike; fear you
Not more, mild Nymph, than they would have you do;
But dread that you do more offend
In that you do begin than end._
"And now y'are entered, see the coddled cook
Runs from his Torrid Zone to pry and look
And bless his dainty mistress; see
_How_ th' aged point out: 'This is she
Who now must sway
_Us_ (_and God_ shield her) with her yea and nay,'
And the smirk Butler thinks it
Sin in _his_ nap'ry not t' express his wit;
Each striving to devise
Some gin wherewith to catch _her_ eyes.
"_What though your laden Altar now has won
The credit from the table of the Sun
For earth and sea; this cost
On you is altogether lost
Because you feed
Not on the flesh of beasts, but on the seed
Of contemplation: your,
Your eyes are they, wherewith you draw the pure
Elixir to the mind
Which sees the body fed, yet pined._
"If _you must needs_ for ceremonie's sake
Bless a sack posset, Luck go with _you_, take
The night charm quickly; you have spells
And magic for to end, and Hells
To pass, but such
And of such torture as no _God_ would grutch
To live therein for ever: fry,
_Aye_ and consume, and grow again to die,
And live, and in that case
Love the _damnation_ of _that_ place.                       [the
"To Bed, to Bed, _sweet_ Turtles now, and write
This the shortest day,† this the longest night
_And_ yet too short for you; 'tis we
Who count this night as long as three,
Lying alone
_Hearing_ the clock _go_ Ten, Eleven, Twelve, One:
Quickly, quickly then prepare.
And let the young men and the Bridemaids share
Your garters, and their joints
Encircle with the Bridegroom's points.
"By the Bride's eyes, and by the teeming life
Of her green hopes, we charge you that no strife,
_Further_ than _virtue lends_, gets place
Among _you catching at_ her Lace.
Oh, do not fall
Foul in these noble pastimes, lest you call
Discord in, and so divide
The _gentle_ Bridegroom and the _fragrous_ Bride,
Which Love forefend: but spoken
Be't to your praise: 'No peace was broken'.
"Strip her of spring-time, tender whimpering maids,
Now Autumn's come, when all _those_ flowery aids
Of her delays must end, dispose
That Lady-smock, that pansy and that Rose
Neatly apart;
But for prick-madam, and for gentle-heart,
And soft maiden-blush, the Bride
Makes holy these, all others lay aside:
Then strip her, or unto her
Let him come who dares undo her.
As we think, singing to the din
Of many a warbling cherubin:
_List, oh list!_ how
To light their Tapers at the Bride's bright eye;
To bed, or her they'll tire,
Were she an element of fire.
"And to your more bewitching, see the proud
Plump bed bear up, and _rising_ like a cloud,
Tempting _thee, too, too_ modest; can
You see it brussle like a swan
And you be cold
To meet it, when it woos and seems to fold
The arms to hug _you_? throw, throw
Yourselves into _that main, in the full_ flow
Of _the_ white pride, and drown
The _stars_ with you in floods of down.
"_You see 'tis_ ready, and the maze of love
Looks for the treaders; everywhere is wove
Wit and new mystery, read and
Put in practice, to understand
And know each wile,
Each Hieroglyphic of a kiss or smile;
And do it _in_ the full, reach
High in your own conceipts, and _rather_ teach
Nature and Art one more
_Sport_ than they ever knew before.
Know so long Treaties; beat the Drum
Aloft, and like two armies, come
And guild the field,
Fight bravely for the flame of mankind, yield
Not to this, or that assault,
For that would prove more Heresy than fault
In combatants to fly
'Fore this or that hath got the victory._
"But since it must be done, despatch and sew
Up in a sheet your Bride, and what if so
It be with _rib of Rock and_ Brass,
_Yea_ tower her up, as Danae was,                            [ye
Think you that this,
Or Hell itself, a powerful Bulwark is?
I tell _you_ no; but like a                                  [ye
Bold bolt of thunder he will make his way,
And rend the cloud, and throw
The sheet about, like flakes of snow.
"All now is hushed in silence: Midwife-moon
With all her Owl-ey'd issue begs a boon
Which you must grant; that's entrance with
Which extract, all we † call pith
And quintessence
Of Planetary bodies; so commence,
All fair constellations
Looking upon _you_ that _the_ Nations
Springing from to such Fires
May blaze the virtue of their Sires."
solliciti plena timoris amor.
Qui fingit sacros auro vel marmore vultus
Non facit ille deos: qui rogat, ille facit.
"A little mushroom table spread
After _the dance_, they set on bread,
A _yellow corn of hecky_ wheat
With some small _sandy_ grit to eat
His choice bits; with _which_ in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all _the_ while his eye _was_ served
We _dare_ not think his ear was sterved:
But that there was in place to stir
His _fire_ the _pittering_ Grasshopper;
The merry Cricket, puling Fly,
The piping Gnat for minstralcy.
_The Humming Dor, the dying Swan,
And each a choice Musician._
And now we must imagine first,
The Elves present to quench his thirst
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew,
Brought and _beswetted_ in a blue
And pregnant violet; which done,
His kitling eyes begin to run
Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery Butterflies:
Of which he eats, _but with_ a little
_Neat cool allay_ of Cuckoo's spittle;
A little Fuz-ball pudding stands
By, yet not blessed by his hands--
That was too coarse, but _he not spares
To feed upon the candid hairs
Of a dried canker, with a_ sagg
And well _bestuffed_ Bee's sweet bag:
_Stroking_ his pallet with some store
Of Emme_t_ eggs. What would he more,
But Beards of Mice, _an Ewt's_ stew'd thigh,
_A pickled maggot and a dry
Hipp, with a_ Red cap worm, that's shut
Within the concave of a Nut
Brown as his tooth, _and with the fat
And well-boiled inchpin of a Bat.
A bloated Earwig with the Pith
Of sugared rush aglads him with;
But most of all the Glow-worm's fire.
As most betickling his desire
To know his Queen, mixt with the far-
Fetcht binding-jelly of a star.
The silk-worm's seed_, a little moth
_Lately_ fattened in a piece of cloth;
Withered cherries; Mandrake's ears;
Mole's eyes; to these the slain stag's tears;
The unctuous dewlaps of a Snail;
The broke heart of a Nightingale
O'er-come in music; with a wine
Ne'er ravished from the flattering Vine,
But gently pressed from the soft side
Of the most sweet and dainty Bride,
Brought in a _daisy chalice_, which
He fully quaffs _off_ to bewitch
His blood _too high_. This done, commended
Grace by his Priest, the feast is ended."
Ampliat aetatis spatium sibi vir bonus: hoc est
Vivere bis vita posse priore frui.
"They call themselves the Tytere-tues,
And wore a blue rib-bin;
And when a-drie would not refuse
To drink. O fearful sin!
"The council, which is thought most wise,
Did sit so long upon it,
That they grew weary and did rise,
And could make nothing on it."
_As benjamin and storax when they meet._ Instances of the use of
"Benjamin" for gum benzoin will be found in the Dictionaries. Dr.
Patriarch," is unfortunate.
"We have no vineyards which do bear
Their lustful clusters all the year,
Nor odoriferous
Orchards, like to Alcinous;
Nor gall the seas
Our witty appetites to please
With mullet, turbot, gilt-head bought
At a high rate and further brought.
"Nor can we glory of a great
And stuffed magazine of wheat;
We have no bath
Of oil, but only rich in faith
O'er which the hand
Of fortune can have no command,
But what she gives not, she not takes,
But of her own a spoil she makes."
"Live in thy peace; as for myself,
When I am bruisèd on the shelf
Of Time, and _read
Eternal daylight o'er my head:_
When with the rheum,
_With_ cough _and_ ptisick, I consume
_Into an heap of cinders:_ then
The Ages fled I'll call again,
"And with a tear compare these last
_And cold times unto_ those are past,
_With her lean lips_ shall kiss _them dry
Then will we_ sit
By the fire, foretelling snow and sleet
And weather by our aches, grown
†Old enough to be our own
_Is for to know_ what change is near,
Then to assuage
The gripings _in_ the chine by age,
I'll call my young
Iülus to sing such a song
I made upon my _mistress'_ breast;
_Or such a_ blush at such a feast.
"Then shall he read _my Lily fine
Entomb'd_ within a crystal shrine:
_My_ Primrose next:
A piece then of a higher text;
For to beget
In me a more transcendent heat
Than that insinuating fire
Which crept into each _reverend_ Sire,
"When the _high_ Helen _her fair cheeks
Showed to the army of the Greeks;_
At which I'll _rise_
(_Blind though as midnight in my eyes_),
And hearing it,
Flutter and crow, _and_, in a fit
Of _young_ concupiscence, and _feel
New flames within the aged steal_.
I'll call to mind _the times_ forgot
And oft between
_Sigh out_ the Times that _we_ have seen!
_And shed a tear_,
And twisting my Iülus _hair_,
Doting, I'll weep and say (in truth)
Baucis, these were _the_ sins of youth.
"Then _will I_ cause my hopeful Lad
(If a wild Apple can be had)
To crown the Hearth
(Lar thus conspiring with our mirth);
_Next_ to infuse
Our _better beer_ into the cruse:
Which, neatly spiced, we'll first carouse
Unto the _Vesta_ of the house.
"Then the next health to friends of mine
_In oysters, and_ Burgundian wine,
And Nansagge_, sons of _clune[M] and_ pith,
Such _who know_ well
_To board_ the magic _bowl_, and _spill
All mighty blood, and can do more
Than Jove and Chaos them before_."
To whose glad threshold and free door
I may, a poet, come, though poor.
"That old sack
Young Herrick took to entertain
The Muses in a sprightly vein".
misplacement of the epithet, reading:--
"But we must on and thither tend
Where Tullus and rich Ancus blend," etc.,
for "Where Ancus and rich Tullus".
"What all the minutes, hours, weeks, months, and years
That hang in file upon these silver hairs
Could not produce," etc.
"Thy wrinkles are no more nor less".
Herrick's poem is modelled on Mart. III. lxv.
Postquam est mortem aptus Plautus, comoedia luget;
Scena deserta, dein risus, ludu' jocusque,
Et numeri innumeri simul omnes collacrumarunt.
"Jack, as he piped, laughed among,
The Friar with briars was vilely stung,
He hopped wondrous high.
At last the Friar held up his hand
And said: I can no longer stand,
Oh! I shall dancing die."
Vitæ est avidus quisquis non vult
Mundo secum pereunte mori.
Et mihi dulce magis resoluto vivere collo.
Τοῖσι μὲν εὖ πράττουσιν ἅπας ὁ βίος βραχύς ἐστιν·
Τοῖς δὲ κακῶς, μία νὺξ ἄπλετός ἐστι χρόνος.
_Hesperides_. They read as follows:--
"Some sort of pear,
Apple or plum, is neatly laid
(As if it was a tribute paid)
By the round urchin; some mixt wheat
The which the ant did taste, not eat;
Chippings, the mice filched from the bin
Of the gray farmer, and to these
The scraps of lentils, chitted peas,
Dried honeycombs, brown acorn cups,
Out of the which he sometimes sups
His herby broth, and there close by
Are pucker'd bullace, cankers (?), dry
Kernels, and withered haws; the rest
Are trinkets fal'n from the kite's nest,
As butter'd bread, the which the wild
Bird snatched away from the crying child,
Blue pins, tags, fesenes, beads and things
Of higher price, as half-jet rings,
Ribbons and then some silken shreaks
The virgins lost at barley-breaks.
Many a purse-string, many a thread
Of gold and silver therein spread,
_Many a counter, many a die,
Half rotten and without an eye,
Lies here about_, and, as we guess,
Some bits of thimbles seem to dress
The brave cheap work; _and for to pave
The excellency of this cave,
Squirrels and children's teeth late shed_,
Serve here, both which _enchequered_
With castors' doucets, which poor they
Bite off themselves to 'scape away:
Brown _toadstones_, ferrets' eyes, _the gum
That shines_," etc.
reflected"; "Candlemas" for "taper-light"; "moon-tane" for
Vive velut rapto: fugitivaque gaudia carpe:
Perdiderit nullum vita reversa diem.
Dum Fata sinunt,
Vivite laeti: properat cursu
Vita citato, volucrique die
Rota praecipitis vertitur anni.
Paulùm sepultae distat inertiae
Celata virtus.
"For that once lost thou _needst must fall
To one, then prostitute to all:_
And we then have the transposed passage:--
Nor so immurèd would I have
Thee live, as dead, _or_ in thy grave;
But walk abroad, yet wisely well
_Keep 'gainst_ my coming sentinel.
And think _each man thou seest doth doom
Thy thoughts to say, I back am come._
Farther on we have the rather pretty variant:--
"Let them _call thee wondrous fair,
Crown of women_, yet despair".
"[And] Let thy dreams be only fed
With this, that I am in thy bed.
And [thou] then turning in that sphere,
Waking findst [shall find] me sleeping there.
But [yet] if boundless lust must scale
Thy fortress and _must_ needs prevail
_'Gainst thee and_ force a passage in," etc.
Jonson's _Silent Woman_; "We see no ensigns of a wedding here, no
Saepius ventis agitatur ingens
Pinus, et celsae graviore casu
Decidunt turres, feriuntque summos
Fulgura montes.
"A city here of heroes I have made
Upon the rock whose firm foundation laid
Shall never shrink; where, making thine abode,
Live thou a Selden, that's a demi-god".
_Martial's bee._ See _Epig._ IV. xxxii.
De ape electro inclusa.
Et latet et lucet Phaethontide condita gutta,
Ut videatur apis nectare clausa suo.
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit illa laborum.
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mori.
"Grow up in beauty, as thou dost begin,
And be of all admired, Thomasine".
jugulare Falernum.
describes a duel which he fought with Lord Bruce in Flanders.
Ἐπείδη βρότος ἐτέχθην,
Βιότου τρίβον ὁδεύειν,
Χρόνον ἔγνων ὃν παρῆλθον,
Ὅν δ' ἔχω δραμεῖν οὐκ οἶδα·
Μέθετέ με, φρονίιδες·
Μηδέν μοι καὶ ὑμῖν ἔστω.
Πρὶν ἐμὲ φθάσῃ τὸ τέρμα,
Παίξω, γελάσω, χορεύσω,
Μετὰ τοῦ καλοῦ Λυαίου.
"Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,
As if they feared the light".
"That old sack
Young Herrick took to entertain
The Muses in a sprightly vein".
Μή με φύγῃς, ὁρῶσα
Τὰν πολιὰν ἔθειραν· ...
Ὅρα κἀν στεφάνοισιν
Ὅπως πρέπει τὰ λευκὰ
Ῥόδοις κρίν' ἐμπλακέντα.
Sume superbiam
Quaesitam meritis et mihi Delphica
Lauro cinge volens, Melpomene, comam.
Male imperatur, cum regit vulgus duces.
I pinch the maids both black and blue";
and Ben Jonson's _Entertainment at Althorpe_, etc.
much-lamented Mr. J. Warr" of 134.
"Prometheus, when first from heaven high
He brought down fire, ere then on earth not seen,
Fond of delight, a Satyr standing by
Gave it a kiss, as it like sweet had been.
The difference is--the Satyr's lips, my heart,
He for a time, I evermore, have smart."
Transcriber's Endnotes
poem.
"And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:"
"Though good things answer many good intents,"
Page 316. Note to 479. "  owers" corrected to _flowers_.
"Smell sweet, O ye flowers, in your native sweetness:"
The following errors remain as printed:
In 405. TO HIS BOOK., _Chipperfeild_, has been retained as it is
unclear whether this is a misprint, or intentional.
In 101. BARLEY-BREAK; OR, LAST IN HELL. No corresponding note can
When I love (as some have told,
Love I shall when I am old),
O ye Graces! make me fit
For the welcoming of it.
Clean my rooms, as temples be,
T' entertain that deity.
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures, and, withal,
Manners each way musical:
Sweetness to allay my sour
And unsmooth behaviour.
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill,
And of any wood ye see,
You can make a Mercury.
_Suppling_, softening.
_Mercury_, god of eloquence and inventor of the lyre.
No more, my Silvia, do I mean to pray
For those good days that ne'er will come away.
I want belief; O gentle Silvia, be
The patient saint, and send up vows for me.
I cannot pipe as I was wont to do,
Broke is my reed, hoarse is my singing, too;
My wearied oat I'll hang upon the tree,
And give it to the sylvan deity.
Wilt thou my true friend be?
Then love not mine, but me.
Come then, and like two doves with silv'ry wings,
Let our souls fly to th' shades where ever springs
Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil,
Roses and cassia crown the untill'd soil.
Where no disease reigns, or infection comes
To blast the air, but ambergris and gums
This, that, and ev'ry thicket doth transpire,
More sweet than storax from the hallowed fire,
Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue bears
Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, or pears;
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew
Like morning sunshine tinselling the dew.
Here in green meadows sits eternal May,
Purfling the margents, while perpetual day
So double gilds the air, as that no night
Can ever rust th' enamel of the light.
Here, naked younglings, handsome striplings, run
Their goals for virgins' kisses; which when done,
Then unto dancing forth the learned round
Commixed they meet, with endless roses crown'd.
And here we'll sit on primrose-banks, and see
Love's chorus led by Cupid; and we'll be
Two loving followers, too, unto the grove
Where poets sing the stories of our love.
There thou shalt hear divine Musæus sing
Of Hero and Leander; then I'll bring
Thee to the stand, where honour'd Homer reads
His Odysseys and his high Iliads;
About whose throne the crowd of poets throng
To hear the incantation of his tongue:
To Linus, then to Pindar; and that done,
I'll bring thee, Herrick, to Anacreon,
Quaffing his full-crown'd bowls of burning wine,
And in his raptures speaking lines of thine,
Like to his subject; and as his frantic
Looks show him truly Bacchanalian-like
Besmear'd with grapes, welcome he shall thee thither,
Where both may rage, both drink and dance together.
Then stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by
Whom fair Corinna sits, and doth comply
With ivory wrists his laureate head, and steeps
His eye in dew of kisses while he sleeps;
Then soft Catullus, sharp-fang'd Martial,
And towering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal,
And snaky Persius, these, and those, whom rage
(Dropt for the jars of heaven) fill'd t' engage
All times unto their frenzies,--thou shalt there
Behold them in a spacious theatre.
Among which glories, crowned with sacred bays
And flatt'ring ivy, two recite their plays--
Beaumont and Fletcher, swans to whom all ears
Listen, while they, like syrens in their spheres,
Sing their Evadne; and still more for thee
There yet remains to know than thou can'st see
By glim'ring of a fancy. Do but come,
And there I'll show thee that capacious room
In which thy father Jonson now is plac'd,
As in a globe of radiant fire, and grac'd
To be in that orb crown'd, that doth include
Those prophets of the former magnitude,
And he one chief; but hark, I hear the cock
(The bellman of the night) proclaim the clock
Of late struck one, and now I see the prime
Of day break from the pregnant east: 'tis time
I vanish; more I had to say,
But night determines here, away.
_Purfling_, trimming, embroidering.
_Round_, rustic dance.
_Comply_, encircle.
_Their Evadne_, the sister of Melantius in their play "The Maid's
Life is the body's light, which once declining,
Those crimson clouds i' th' cheek and lips leave shining.
Those counter-changed tabbies in the air
(The sun once set) all of one colour are.
So, when Death comes, fresh tinctures lose their place,
And dismal darkness then doth smutch the face.
_Tabbies_, shot silks.
Let fair or foul my mistress be,
Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me;
Or let her walk, or stand, or sit,
The posture hers, I'm pleas'd with it;
Or let her tongue be still, or stir,
Graceful is every thing from her;
Or let her grant, or else deny,
_My love will fit each history_.
Ask me why I send you here
This sweet Infanta of the year?
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew?
I will whisper to your ears:
The sweets of love are mix'd with tears.
Ask me why this flower does show
So yellow-green, and sickly too?
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending (yet it doth not break)?
I will answer: These discover
What fainting hopes are in a lover.
If nine times you your bridegroom kiss,
The tenth you know the parson's is.
Pay then your tithe, and doing thus,
Prove in your bride-bed numerous.
If children you have ten, Sir John
Won't for his tenth part ask you one.
_Sir John_, the parson.
Bring me my rosebuds, drawer, come;
So, while I thus sit crown'd,
I'll drink the aged Cæcubum,
Until the roof turn round.
_Drawer_, waiter.
_Cæcubum_, Cæcuban, an old Roman wine.
All things subjected are to fate;
Whom this morn sees most fortunate,
The evening sees in poor estate.
The saints'-bell calls, and, Julia, I must read
The proper lessons for the saints now dead:
To grace which service, Julia, there shall be
One holy collect said or sung for thee.
Dead when thou art, dear Julia, thou shalt have
A trentall sung by virgins o'er thy grave:
Meantime we two will sing the dirge of these,
Who dead, deserve our best remembrances.
_Trentall_, a service for the dead.
I do love I know not what,
Sometimes this and sometimes that;
All conditions I aim at.
But, as luckless, I have yet
Many shrewd disasters met
To gain her whom I would get.
Therefore now I'll love no more
As I've doted heretofore:
He who must be, shall be poor.
Night hides our thefts, all faults then pardon'd be;
All are alike fair when no spots we see.
Lais and Lucrece in the night-time are
Pleasing alike, alike both singular:
Joan and my lady have at that time one,
One and the self-same priz'd complexion:
Then please alike the pewter and the plate,
The chosen ruby, and the reprobate.
If so be a toad be laid
In a sheep's-skin newly flay'd,
And that tied to man, 'twill sever
Him and his affections ever.
For being comely, consonant, and free
To most of men, but most of all to me;
For so decreeing that thy clothes' expense
Keeps still within a just circumference;
Then for contriving so to load thy board
As that the messes ne'er o'erlade the lord;
Next for ordaining that thy words not swell
To any one unsober syllable:
These I could praise thee for beyond another,
Wert thou a Winstfield only, not a brother.
_Consonant_, harmonious.
My head doth ache,
O Sappho! take
Thy fillet,
And bind the pain,
Or bring some bane
To kill it.
But less that part
Than my poor heart
Now is sick;
One kiss from thee
Will counsel be
And physic.
Live by thy muse thou shalt, when others die
Leaving no fame to long posterity:
When monarchies trans-shifted are, and gone,
Here shall endure thy vast dominion.
Hence a blessed soul is fled,
Leaving here the body dead;
Which since here they can't combine,
For the saint we'll keep the shrine.
O times most bad,
Without the scope
Of hope
Of better to be had!
Where shall I go,
Or whither run
To shun
This public overthrow?
No places are,
This I am sure,
In this our wasting war.
Some storms we've past,
Yet we must all
Down fall,
And perish at the last.
Nothing can be more loathsome than to see
Power conjoin'd with Nature's cruelty.
I ask'd my Lucia but a kiss,
And she with scorn denied me this;
Say then, how ill should I have sped,
Had I then ask'd her maidenhead?
Little you are, for woman's sake be proud;
For my sake next, though little, be not loud.
He who has suffered shipwreck fears to sail
Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
A long life's-day I've taken pains
For very little, or no gains;
The evening's come, here now I'll stop,
And work no more, but shut up shop.
Be bold, my book, nor be abash'd, or fear
The cutting thumb-nail or the brow severe;
But by the Muses swear all here is good
If but well read, or, ill read, understood.
When I a verse shall make,
Know I have pray'd thee,
For old religion's sake,
Make the way smooth for me,
Honouring thee, on my knee
Offer my lyric.
Candles I'll give to thee,
And a new altar,
And thou, Saint Ben, shall be
Give Want her welcome if she comes; we find
Riches to be but burdens to the mind.
Who with a little cannot be content,
Endures an everlasting punishment.
Let's live with that small pittance that we have;
_Who covets more, is evermore a slave_.
When laws full power have to sway, we see
Little or no part there of tyranny.
I'll get me hence,
Because no fence
Or fort that I can make here,
But love by charms,
Or else by arms
Will storm, or starving take here.
Go woo young Charles no more to look
Than but to read this in my book:
How Herrick begs, if that he can-
Not like the muse, to love the man,
Who by the shepherds sung, long since,
The star-led birth of Charles the Prince.
_Long since_, _i.e._, in the "Pastoral upon the Birth of Prince
Dull to myself, and almost dead to these
My many fresh and fragrant mistresses;
Lost to all music now, since everything
Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing.
Sick is the land to the heart, and doth endure
More dangerous faintings by her desp'rate cure.
But if that golden age would come again,
And Charles here rule, as he before did reign;
If smooth and unperplexed the seasons were,
As when the sweet Maria lived here:
I should delight to have my curls half drown'd
In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd;
And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead,
_Knock at a star with my exalted head_.
Thy sooty godhead I desire
Still to be ready with thy fire;
That should my book despised be,
Acceptance it might find of thee.
_This is the height of justice: that to do
Thyself which thou put'st other men unto.
As great men lead, the meaner follow on,
Or to the good, or evil action._
No wrath of men or rage of seas
Can shake a just man's purposes:
No threats of tyrants or the grim
Visage of them can alter him;
But what he doth at first intend,
That he holds firmly to the end.
Come, sit we under yonder tree,
Where merry as the maids we'll be;
And as on primroses we sit,
We'll venture, if we can, at wit:
If not, at draw-gloves we will play;
So spend some minutes of the day:
Or else spin out the thread of sands,
Or tell what strange tricks love can do,
By quickly making one of two.
Thus we will sit and talk, but tell
No cruel truths of Philomel,
Or Phyllis, whom hard fate forc'd on
To kill herself for Demophon.
But fables we'll relate: how Jove
Put on all shapes to get a love;
As now a satyr, then a swan;
A bull but then, and now a man.
Next we will act how young men woo,
And sigh, and kiss as lovers do;
And talk of brides, and who shall make
That wedding-smock, this bridal cake,
That dress, this sprig, that leaf, this vine,
That smooth and silken columbine.
This done, we'll draw lots who shall buy
And gild the bays and rosemary;
What posies for our wedding rings;
What gloves we'll give and ribandings:
And smiling at ourselves, decree,
Who then the joining priest shall be.
What short, sweet prayers shall be said;
And how the posset shall be made
With cream of lilies, not of kine,
And maiden's-blush, for spiced wine.
Thus, having talked, we'll next commend
A kiss to each, and so we'll end.
_Draw-gloves_, talking on the fingers.
_Philomela_, daughter of Pandion, changed into a nightingale.
_Phyllis_, the S. Phyllis of a former lyric (To Groves).
_Gild the bays_, see Note to 479.
As wearied pilgrims, once possest
Of long'd-for lodging, go to rest,
So I, now having rid my way,
Fix here my button'd staff and stay.
Youth, I confess, hath me misled;
But age hath brought me right to bed.
Spring with the lark, most comely bride, and meet
Your eager bridegroom with auspicious feet.
The morn's far spent, and the immortal sun
Corals his cheek to see those rites not done.
Fie, lovely maid! indeed you are too slow,
When to the temple Love should run, not go.
Dispatch your dressing then, and quickly wed;
Then feast, and coy't a little, then to bed.
This day is Love's day, and this busy night
Is yours, in which you challenged are to fight
With such an arm'd, but such an easy foe,
As will, if you yield, lie down conquer'd too.
The field is pitch'd, but such must be your wars,
As that your kisses must outvie the stars.
Fall down together vanquished both, and lie
Drown'd in the blood of rubies there, not die.
_Corals_, reddens.
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there's none to affright thee.
Let not the dark thee cumber:
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light
Like tapers clear without number.
Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silv'ry feet
My soul I'll pour into thee.
Give me wine, and give me meat,
To create in me a heat,
That my pulses high may beat.
Cold and hunger never yet
Could a noble verse beget;
But your bowls with sack replete.
Give me these, my knight, and try
In a minute's space how I
Can run mad and prophesy.
Then, if any piece prove new
And rare, I'll say, my dearest Crew,
It was full inspired by you.
If well the dice run, let's applaud the cast:
_The happy fortune will not always last_.
What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve:
The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
I make no haste to have my numbers read:
_Seldom comes glory till a man be dead_.
Wantons we are, and though our words be such,
Our lives do differ from our lines by much.
Reproach we may the living, not the dead:
_'Tis cowardice to bite the buried_.
What will ye, my poor orphans, do
When I must leave the world and you?
Who'll give ye then a sheltering shed,
Or credit ye when I am dead?
Who'll let ye by their fire sit,
Although ye have a stock of wit
Already coin'd to pay for it?
I cannot tell, unless there be
Some race of old humanity
Left, of the large heart and long hand,
Alive, as noble Westmorland,
Or gallant Newark, which brave two
May fost'ring fathers be to you.
If not, expect to be no less
Ill us'd, than babes left fatherless.
Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near
That with my lines my life must full-stop here.
Cut off thy hairs, and let thy tears be shed
Over my turf when I am buried.
Then for effusions, let none wanting be,
Or other rites that do belong to me;
As love shall help thee, when thou dost go hence
Unto thy everlasting residence.
In a dream, Love bade me go
To the galleys there to row;
In the vision I ask'd why?
Love as briefly did reply,
'Twas better there to toil, than prove
The turmoils they endure that love.
I awoke, and then I knew
What Love said was too-too true;
Henceforth therefore I will be,
As from love, from trouble free.
_None pities him that's in the snare,
And, warned before, would not beware._
Come sit we by the fire's side,
And roundly drink we here;
Till that we see our cheeks ale-dy'd
And noses tann'd with beer.
_Chorus Sacerdotum._ From the temple to your home
May a thousand blessings come!
And a sweet concurring stream
Of all joys to join with them.
Make no long stay
In thy sphere;
But give thy place to Night,
That she,
As thee,
May be
Partaker of this sight.
And since it was thy care
To see the younglings wed,
'Tis fit that Night the pair
Should see safe brought to bed.
_Chorus Senum._ Go to your banquet then, but use delight,
So as to rise still with an appetite.
Love is a thing most nice, and must be fed
To such a height, but never surfeited.
What is beyond the mean is ever ill:
_'Tis best to feed Love, but not overfill_;
Go then discreetly to the bed of pleasure,
And this remember, _virtue keeps the measure_.
_Chorus Virginum._ Lucky signs we have descri'd
To encourage on the bride,
And to these we have espi'd,
Not a kissing Cupid flies
Here about, but has his eyes
To imply your love is wise.
_Chorus Pastorum._ Here we present a fleece
To make a piece
Of cloth;
Nor, fair, must you be both
Your finger to apply
To housewifery.
Then, then begin
To spin:
And, sweetling, mark you, what a web will come
Into your chests, drawn by your painful thumb.
_Chorus Matronarum._ Set you to your wheel, and wax
Rich by the ductile wool and flax.
Yarn is an income, and the housewives' thread
The larder fills with meat, the bin with bread.
_Chorus Senum._ Let wealth come in by comely thrift
And not by any sordid shift;
'Tis haste
Makes waste:
Extremes have still their fault:
_The softest fire makes the sweetest malt:
Who grips too hard the dry and slippery sand
Holds none at all, or little in his hand._
_Chorus Virginum._ Goddess of pleasure, youth and peace,
Give them the blessing of increase:
And thou, Lucina, that dost hear
The vows of those that children bear:
Whenas her April hour draws near,
Be thou then propitious there.
_Chorus Juvenum._ Far hence be all speech that may anger move:
_Sweet words must nourish soft and gentle love_.
_Chorus Omnium._ Live in the love of doves, and having told
The raven's years, go hence more ripe than old.
One night i' th' year, my dearest beauties, come
And bring those due drink-offerings to my tomb.
When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise,
And there to lick th' effused sacrifice:
Though paleness be the livery that I wear,
Look ye not wan or colourless for fear.
Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show
The least grim look, or cast a frown on you:
Nor shall the tapers when I'm there burn blue.
This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by,
Cast on my girls a glance and loving eye,
Or fold mine arms and sigh, because I've lost
The world so soon, and in it you the most.
Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall,
Though then I smile and speak no words at all.
_Fold mine arms_, cp. "crossing his arms in this sad knot"
A crystal vial Cupid brought,
Which had a juice in it;
Of which who drank, he said no thought
Of love he should admit.
I, greedy of the prize, did drink,
And emptied soon the glass;
Which burnt me so, that I do think
The fire of hell it was.
Give me my earthen cups again,
The crystal I contemn;
Which, though enchas'd with pearls, contain
A deadly draught in them.
And thou, O Cupid! come not to
My threshold, since I see,
For all I have, or else can do,
Thou still wilt cozen me.
Please your Grace, from out your store,
Give an alms to one that's poor,
That your mickle may have more.
Black I'm grown for want of meat
Give me then an ant to eat,
Or the cleft ear of a mouse
Over-sour'd in drink of souce;
Or, sweet lady, reach to me
The abdomen of a bee;
Or commend a cricket's hip,
Or his huckson, to my scrip.
Give for bread a little bit
Of a pea that 'gins to chit,
And my full thanks take for it.
Flour of fuzz-balls, that's too good
For a man in needihood;
But the meal of milldust can
Well content a craving man.
Any orts the elves refuse
Well will serve the beggar's use.
But if this may seem too much
For an alms, then give me such
Little bits that nestle there
In the prisoner's panier.
So a blessing light upon
You and mighty Oberon:
That your plenty last till when
I return your alms again.
_Souce_, salt-pickle.
_Huckson_, huckle-bone.
_Orts_, scraps of food.
Let's be jocund while we may,
All things have an ending day;
And when once the work is done,
_Fates revolve no flax they've spun_.
Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies;
Pray be silent, and not stir
Th' easy earth that covers her.
If Nature do deny
Colours, let Art supply.
Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appear
Re-cloth'd in fresh and verdant diaper.
Thaw'd are the snows, and now the lusty spring
Gives to each mead a neat enamelling.
The palms put forth their gems, and every tree
Now swaggers in her leafy gallantry.
The while the Daulian minstrel sweetly sings,
With warbling notes, her Terean sufferings.
What gentle winds perspire! As if here
Never had been the northern plunderer
To strip the trees and fields, to their distress,
Leaving them to a pitied nakedness.
And look how when a frantic storm doth tear
A stubborn oak, or holm, long growing there,
But lull'd to calmness, then succeeds a breeze
That scarcely stirs the nodding leaves of trees:
So when this war, which tempest-like doth spoil
Our salt, our corn, our honey, wine and oil,
Falls to a temper, and doth mildly cast
His inconsiderate frenzy off, at last,
The gentle dove may, when these turmoils cease,
Bring in her bill, once more, the branch of peace.
_Daulian minstrel_, the nightingale Philomela.
_Terean sufferings_, _i.e._, at the hands of Tereus.
The hag is astride
This night for to ride,
The devil and she together;
Through thick and through thin,
Now out and then in,
Though ne'er so foul be the weather.
A thorn or a burr
She takes for a spur,
With a lash of a bramble she rides now;
Through brakes and through briars,
O'er ditches and mires,
She follows the spirit that guides now.
No beast for his food
Dare now range the wood,
But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking;
While mischiefs, by these,
On land and on seas,
At noon of night are a-working.
The storm will arise
And trouble the skies;
This night, and more for the wonder,
The ghost from the tomb
Affrighted shall come,
Call'd out by the clap of the thunder.
Tread, sirs, as lightly as ye can
Upon the grave of this old man.
Twice forty, bating but one year
And thrice three weeks, he lived here.
Whom gentle fate translated hence
To a more happy residence.
Yet, reader, let me tell thee this,
Which from his ghost a promise is,
If here ye will some few tears shed,
He'll never haunt ye now he's dead.
_Residentiary_, old inhabitant.
Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine,
Above they are the angels' spiced wine.
Physicians fight not against men; but these
Combat for men by conquering the disease.
Our household-gods our parents be;
And manners good require that we
The first fruits give to them, who gave
Us hands to get what here we have.
Sound teeth has Lucy, pure as pearl, and small,
With mellow lips, and luscious therewithal.
I am holy while I stand
Circum-crost by thy pure hand;
But when that is gone, again
I, as others, am profane.
_Circum-crost_, marked round with a cross.
When I go hence, ye Closet-Gods, I fear
Never again to have ingression here
Where I have had whatever thing could be
Pleasant and precious to my muse and me.
Besides rare sweets, I had a book which none
Could read the intext but myself alone.
About the cover of this book there went
A curious-comely clean compartlement,
And, in the midst, to grace it more, was set
A blushing, pretty, peeping rubelet.
But now 'tis closed; and being shut and seal'd,
Be it, O be it, never more reveal'd!
Keep here still, Closet-Gods, 'fore whom I've set
Oblations oft of sweetest marmelet.
_Ingression_, entrance.
_Intext_, contents.
Fill me a mighty bowl
Up to the brim,
That I may drink
Unto my Jonson's soul.
Crown it again, again;
And thrice repeat
That happy heat,
To drink to thee, my Ben.
Well I can quaff, I see,
To th' number five
Or nine; but thrive
In frenzy ne'er like thee.
_To the number five or nine_, see Note.
Though long it be, years may repay the debt;
_None loseth that which he in time may get_.
Drink wine, and live here blitheful, while ye may:
_The morrow's life too late is; live to-day_.
No man comes late unto that place from whence
Never man yet had a regredience.
_Regredience_, return.
O you the virgins nine!
That do our souls incline
To noble discipline!
Nod to this vow of mine.
Come, then, and now inspire
My viol and my lyre
With your eternal fire,
And make me one entire
Composer in your choir.
Then I'll your altars strew
With roses sweet and new;
And ever live a true
Acknowledger of you.
I'll sing no more, nor will I longer write
Of that sweet lady, or that gallant knight.
I'll sing no more of frosts, snows, dews and showers;
No more of groves, meads, springs and wreaths of flowers.
I'll write no more, nor will I tell or sing
Of Cupid and his witty cozening:
I'll sing no more of death, or shall the grave
No more my dirges and my trentalls have.
_Trentalls_, service for the dead.
Who read'st this book that I have writ,
And can'st not mend but carp at it;
By all the Muses! thou shalt be
In ways to greatness, think on this,
_That slippery all ambition is_.
Sweet country life, to such unknown
Whose lives are others', not their own!
But serving courts and cities, be
Less happy, less enjoying thee.
Thou never plough'st the ocean's foam
To seek and bring rough pepper home;
Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove
To bring from thence the scorched clove;
Nor, with the loss of thy lov'd rest,
Bring'st home the ingot from the West.
No, thy ambition's masterpiece
Flies no thought higher than a fleece;
Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear
All scores, and so to end the year:
But walk'st about thine own dear bounds,
Not envying others larger grounds:
For well thou know'st _'tis not th' extent
Of land makes life, but sweet content_.
When now the cock (the ploughman's horn)
Calls forth the lily-wristed morn,
Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go,
Which though well soil'd, yet thou dost know
That the best compost for the lands
Is the wise master's feet and hands.
There at the plough thou find'st thy team
With a hind whistling there to them;
And cheer'st them up by singing how
The kingdom's portion is the plough.
This done, then to th' enamelled meads
Thou go'st, and as thy foot there treads,
Thou see'st a present God-like power
Imprinted in each herb and flower;
And smell'st the breath of great-ey'd kine,
Sweet as the blossoms of the vine.
Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat
Unto the dew-laps up in meat;
And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer,
The heifer, cow, and ox draw near
To make a pleasing pastime there.
These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks
Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox,
And find'st their bellies there as full
Of short sweet grass as backs with wool,
And leav'st them, as they feed and fill,
A shepherd piping on a hill.
For sports, for pageantry and plays
Thou hast thy eves and holidays;
On which the young men and maids meet
To exercise their dancing feet;
Tripping the comely country round,
With daffodils and daisies crown'd.
Thy wakes, thy quintels here thou hast,
Thy May-poles, too, with garlands grac'd;
Thy morris dance, thy Whitsun ale,
Thy shearing feast which never fail;
Thy harvest-home, thy wassail bowl,
That's toss'd up after fox i' th' hole;
Thy mummeries, thy Twelfth-tide kings
And queens, thy Christmas revellings,
Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit,
And no man pays too dear for it.
To these, thou hast thy times to go
And trace the hare i' th' treacherous snow;
Thy witty wiles to draw, and get
The lark into the trammel net;
Thou hast thy cockrood and thy glade
To take the precious pheasant made;
Thy lime-twigs, snares and pit-falls then
To catch the pilfering birds, not men.
O happy life! if that their good
The husbandmen but understood!
Who all the day themselves do please,
And younglings, with such sports as these,
And lying down have nought t' affright
Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night.
_Compost_, preparation.
_Cockrood_, a run for snaring woodcocks.
I dare not ask a kiss,
I dare not beg a smile,
Lest having that, or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be
Only to kiss that air
That lately kissed thee.
When after many lusters thou shalt be
Wrapt up in sear-cloth with thine ancestry;
When of thy ragg'd escutcheons shall be seen
So little left, as if they ne'er had been;
Thou shalt thy name have, and thy fame's best trust,
Here with the generation of my Just.
_Luster_, a period of five years.
Be the mistress of my choice
Clean in manners, clear in voice;
Be she witty more than wise,
Pure enough, though not precise;
Be she showing in her dress
Like a civil wilderness;
That the curious may detect
Order in a sweet neglect;
Be she rolling in her eye,
Tempting all the passers-by;
And each ringlet of her hair
An enchantment, or a snare
For to catch the lookers-on;
But herself held fast by none.
Thais in the night to me.
Be she such as neither will
_Famish me, nor overfill_.
Grow for two ends, it matters not at all,
Be 't for my bridal or my burial.
Crab faces gowns with sundry furs; 'tis known
He keeps the fox fur for to face his own.
Is this a life, to break thy sleep,
To rise as soon as day doth peep?
To tire thy patient ox or ass
By noon, and let thy good days pass,
Not knowing this, that Jove decrees
Some mirth t' adulce man's miseries?
No; 'tis a life to have thine oil
Without extortion from thy soil;
Thy faithful fields to yield thee grain,
Although with some, yet little, pain;
To have thy mind, and nuptial bed,
With fears and cares uncumbered;
A pleasing wife, that by thy side
Lies softly panting like a bride.
This is to live, and to endear
Those minutes Time has lent us here.
Then, while fates suffer, live thou free
As is that air that circles thee,
And crown thy temples too, and let
Thy servant, not thy own self, sweat,
To strut thy barns with sheafs of wheat.
Time steals away like to a stream,
And we glide hence away with them.
_No sound recalls the hours once fled,
Or roses, being withered_;
Nor us, my friend, when we are lost,
Like to a dew or melted frost.
Then live we mirthful while we should,
And turn the iron age to gold.
Let's feast, and frolic, sing, and play,
And thus less last than live our day.
_Whose life with care is overcast,
That man's not said to live, but last;
Nor is't a life, seven years to tell,
But for to live that half seven well;_
And that we'll do, as men who know,
Some few sands spent, we hence must go,
Both to be blended in the urn
From whence there's never a return.
_Adulce_, sweeten.
Thousands each day pass by, which we,
Once past and gone, no more shall see.
This axiom I have often heard,
_Kings ought to be more lov'd than fear'd_.
Or look'd I back unto the times hence flown
To praise those Muses and dislike our own--
Or did I walk those Pæan-gardens through,
To kick the flowers and scorn their odours too--
I might, and justly, be reputed here
One nicely mad or peevishly severe.
But by Apollo! as I worship wit,
Where I have cause to burn perfumes to it;
So, I confess, 'tis somewhat to do well
In our high art, although we can't excel
Like thee, or dare the buskins to unloose
Of thy brave, bold, and sweet Maronian muse.
But since I'm call'd, rare Denham, to be gone,
Take from thy Herrick this conclusion:
'Tis dignity in others, if they be
Crown'd poets, yet live princes under thee;
The while their wreaths and purple robes do shine
Less by their own gems than those beams of thine.
_Pæan-gardens_, gardens sacred to Apollo.
_Nicely_, fastidiously.
It was, and still my care is,
To worship ye, the Lares,
With crowns of greenest parsley
And garlic chives, not scarcely;
For favours here to warm me,
And not by fire to harm me;
For gladding so my hearth here
With inoffensive mirth here;
That while the wassail bowl here
With North-down ale doth troul here,
No syllable doth fall here
To mar the mirth at all here.
For which, O chimney-keepers!
(I dare not call ye sweepers)
So long as I am able
To keep a country table,
Great be my fare, or small cheer,
I'll eat and drink up all here.
_Troul_, pass round.
Women, although they ne'er so goodly make it,
Their fashion is, but to say no, to take it.
_Love is maintain'd by wealth_; when all is spent,
_Adversity then breeds the discontent_.
Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet;
Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a fear'd infection;
Yet, scare-crow-like, I'll walk as one
Neglecting thy derision.
Come, Anthea, know thou this,
_Love at no time idle is_;
Let's be doing, though we play
But at push-pin half the day;
Chains of sweet bents let us make
Captive one, or both, to take:
In which bondage we will lie,
Souls transfusing thus, and die.
_Bents_, grasses.
Nero commanded; but withdrew his eyes
From the beholding death and cruelties.
Hast thou begun an act? ne'er then give o'er:
_No man despairs to do what's done before_.
What offspring other men have got,
The how, where, when, I question not.
These are the children I have left,
Adopted some, none got by theft;
But all are touch'd, like lawful plate,
And no verse illegitimate.
Kings must not oft be seen by public eyes:
_State at a distance adds to dignities_.
Health is no other, as the learned hold,
But a just measure both of heat and cold.
I'll to thee a simnel bring,
'Gainst thou go'st a-mothering:
So that when she blesseth thee,
Half that blessing thou'lt give me.
Give way, give way! now, now my Charles shines here
A public light, in this immensive sphere;
Some stars were fix'd before, but these are dim
Compar'd, in this my ample orb, to him.
Draw in your feeble fires, while that he
Appears but in his meaner majesty.
Where, if such glory flashes from his name,
Which is his shade, who can abide his flame!
_Princes, and such like public lights as these,
Must not be look'd on but at distances:
For, if we gaze on these brave lamps too near,
Our eyes they'll blind, or if not blind, they'll blear._
_Immensive_, immeasurable.
The rose was sick, and smiling died;
And, being to be sanctified,
About the bed there sighing stood
The sweet and flowery sisterhood.
Some hung the head, while some did bring,
To wash her, water from the spring.
Some laid her forth, while others wept,
But all a solemn fast there kept.
The holy sisters, some among,
The sacred dirge and trentall sung.
But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere,
As heaven had spent all perfumes there.
At last, when prayers for the dead
And rites were all accomplished,
They, weeping, spread a lawny loom
And clos'd her up, as in a tomb.
_Trentall_, a service for the dead.
Mine eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain;
And as they thus did entertain
The gentle beams from Julia's sight
To mine eyes levell'd opposite,
O thing admir'd! there did appear
A curious rainbow smiling there;
Which was the covenant that she
No more would drown mine eyes or me.
Though by well warding many blows we've pass'd,
_That stroke most fear'd is which is struck the last_.
Fortune's a blind profuser of her own,
Too much she gives to some, enough to none.
At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play
For sugar-cakes and wine:
Or for a tansy let us pay,
The loss, or thine, or mine.
If thou, my dear, a winner be
At trundling of the ball,
The wager thou shall have, and me,
And my misfortunes all.
But if, my sweetest, I shall get,
Then I desire but this:
That likewise I may pay the bet
And have for all a kiss.
_Stool-ball_, a game of ball played by girls.
_Tansy_, a cake made of eggs, cream, and herbs.
Let us now take time and play,
Love, and live here while we may;
Drink rich wine, and make good cheer,
While we have our being here;
For once dead and laid i' th' grave,
No return from thence we have.
Prat he writes satires, but herein's the fault,
In no one satire there's a mite of salt.
At post and pair, or slam, Tom Tuck would play
This Christmas, but his want wherewith says nay.
Who, railing, drives the lazar from his door,
Instead of alms, sets dogs upon the poor.
The May-pole is up!
Now give me the cup,
I'll drink to the garlands around it;
But first unto those
Whose hands did compose
The glory of flowers that crown'd it.
A health to my girls,
Whose husbands may earls
Or lords be, granting my wishes,
And when that ye wed
To the bridal bed,
Then multiply all like to fishes.
That flow of gallants which approach
To kiss thy hand from out the coach;
That fleet of lackeys which do run
Before thy swift postillion;
Those strong-hoof'd mules which we behold
Rein'd in with purple, pearl, and gold,
And shod with silver, prove to be
The drawers of the axletree.
Thy wife, thy children, and the state
Of Persian looms and antique plate;
All these, and more, shall then afford
No joy to thee, their sickly lord.
Adversity hurts none, but only such
Whom whitest fortune dandled has too much.
Need is no vice at all, though here it be
With men a loathed inconveniency.
Sorrows divided amongst many, less
Discruciate a man in deep distress.
_Discruciate_, torture.
I press'd my Julia's lips, and in the kiss
Her soul and love were palpable in this.
Nothing hard or harsh can prove
Unto those that truly love.
By the weak'st means things mighty are o'erthrown.
_He's lord of thy life who contemns his own_.
I brake thy bracelet 'gainst my will,
And, wretched, I did see
Thee discomposed then, and still
Art discontent with me.
One gem was lost, and I will get
A richer pearl for thee,
Than ever, dearest Silvia, yet
Was drunk to Antony.
Or, for revenge, I'll tell thee what
Thou for the breach shall do;
First crack the strings, and after that
Cleave thou my heart in two.
'Tis said, as Cupid danc'd among
The gods he down the nectar flung,
Which on the white rose being shed
Made it for ever after red.
Men are not born kings, but are men renown'd;
Chose first, confirm'd next, and at last are crown'd.
Preposterous is that order, when we run
To ask our wages ere our work be done.
_Preposterous_, lit. hind part before.
Knew'st thou one month would take thy life away,
Thou'dst weep; but laugh, should it not last a day.
Glory no other thing is, Tully says,
Than a man's frequent fame spoke out with praise.
Those possessions short-liv'd are,
Into the which we come by war.
From the dull confines of the drooping West
To see the day spring from the pregnant East,
Ravish'd in spirit I come, nay, more, I fly
To thee, bless'd place of my nativity!
Thus, thus with hallowed foot I touch the ground,
With thousand blessings by thy fortune crown'd.
O fruitful Genius! that bestowest here
An everlasting plenty, year by year.
O place! O people! Manners! fram'd to please
All nations, customs, kindreds, languages!
I am a free-born Roman; suffer, then,
That I amongst you live a citizen.
London my home is: though by hard fate sent
Into a long and irksome banishment;
Yet since call'd back; henceforward let me be,
O native country, repossess'd by thee!
For, rather than I'll to the West return,
I'll beg of thee first here to have mine urn.
Weak I am grown, and must in short time fall;
Give thou my sacred relics burial.
'Tis not ev'ry day that I
Fitted am to prophesy;
No; but when the spirit fills
The fantastic pannicles
Full of fire, then I write
As the godhead doth indite.
Thus enrag'd, my lines are hurled,
Like the Sybil's, through the world.
Look how next the holy fire
Either slakes, or doth retire;
So the fancy cools, till when
That brave spirit comes again.
_Fantastic pannicles_, brain cells of the imagination.
To mortal men great loads allotted be,
_But of all packs, no pack like poverty_.
A wager who the best shall play,
Of thee or I, the roundelay
That fits the business of the day.
_Chor._ And Lalage the judge shall be,
To give the prize to thee, or me.
A heifer smooth, and black as jet,
In every part alike complete,
And wanton as a kid as yet.
_Chor._ And Lalage, with cow-like eyes,
Shall be disposeress of the prize.
Lay to thy stake a lusty steer
With gilded horns, and burnish'd clear.
_Chor._ Why, then, begin, and let us hear
The soft, the sweet, the mellow note
That gently purls from either's oat.
Each one to make his melody.
_Lal._ The equal umpire shall be I,
Who'll hear, and so judge righteously.
_Chor._ Much time is spent in prate; begin,
And sooner play, the sooner win.
Thou art a man of worthiness;
But hark how I can now express
My love unto my neatherdess.      [_He sings_
_Chor._ A sugar'd note! and sound as sweet
As kine when they at milking meet.
I'll strike thee such a nimble air
That thou shalt say thyself 'tis rare,
And title me without compare.
_Chor._ Lay by a while your pipes, and rest,
Since both have here deserved best.
I'll play thee such another strain
That thou shalt swear my pipe does reign
Over thine oat as sovereign.      [_He sings_
_Chor._ And Lalage shall tell by this,
Whose now the prize and wager is.
And hadst thou wager'd twenty kine,
They were mine own. _Lal._ In love combine.
_Chor._ And lay ye down your pipes together,
As weary, not o'ercome by either.
'Tis not the walls or purple that defends
A prince from foes, but 'tis his fort of friends.
As many laws and lawyers do express
Nought but a kingdom's ill-affectedness;
Even so, those streets and houses do but show
Store of diseases where physicians flow.
Would ye oil of blossoms get?
Take it from my Julia's sweat:
Oil of lilies and of spike?
From her moisture take the like.
Let her breathe, or let her blow,
All rich spices thence will flow.
_Spike_, lavender.
You see this gentle stream that glides,
Shov'd on by quick-succeeding tides;
Try if this sober stream you can
Follow to th' wilder ocean;
And see if there it keeps unspent
In that congesting element.
Next, from that world of waters, then
By pores and caverns back again
Induct that inadult'rate same
Stream to the spring from whence it came.
This with a wonder when ye do,
As easy, and else easier too,
Then may ye recollect the grains
Of my particular remains,
After a thousand lusters hurl'd
By ruffling winds about the world.
_'Tis still observ'd that fame ne'er sings
The order, but the sum of things._
Oft bend the bow, and thou with ease shalt do
What others can't with all their strength put to.
Command the roof, great Genius, and from thence
Into this house pour down thy influence,
That through each room a golden pipe may run
Of living water by thy benison.
Fulfill the larders, and with strengthening bread
Be evermore these bins replenished.
Next, like a bishop consecrate my ground,
That lucky fairies here may dance their round;
And after that, lay down some silver pence
The master's charge and care to recompense.
Charm then the chambers, make the beds for ease,
More than for peevish, pining sicknesses.
Fix the foundation fast, and let the roof
Grow old with time but yet keep weather-proof.
Though clock,
To tell how night draws hence, I've none,
A cock
I have to sing how day draws on.
I have
A maid, my Prew, by good luck sent
To save
That little Fates me gave or lent.
A hen
I keep, which creeking day by day,
Tells when
She goes her long white egg to lay.
A goose
I have, which with a jealous ear
Lets loose
Her tongue to tell that danger's near.
A lamb
I keep, tame, with my morsels fed,
An orphan left him, lately dead.
A cat
I keep that plays about my house,
With eating many a miching mouse.
To these
A Tracy[A] I do keep whereby
I please
The more my rural privacy;
But toys to give my heart some ease;
Where care
None is, slight things do lightly please.
_Creeking_, clucking.
_Miching_, skulking.
In all thy need be thou possess'd
Still with a well-prepared breast;
Nor let the shackles make thee sad;
Thou canst but have what others had.
And this for comfort thou must know
Times that are ill won't still be so.
Clouds will not ever pour down rain;
_A sullen day will clear again_.
First peals of thunder we must hear,
Then lutes and harps shall stroke the ear.
When all birds else do of their music fail,
Money's the still sweet-singing nightingale.
Begin with a kiss,
Go on too with this;
And thus, thus, thus let us smother
Our lips for awhile,
But let's not beguile
Our hope of one for the other.
This play, be assur'd,
Long enough has endur'd,
Since more and more is exacted;
For Love he doth call
For his _uptails all_;
And that's the part to be acted.
And prettily bedabbled so,
Her clothes held up, she showed withal
Her decent legs, clean, long, and small.
I follow'd after to descry
Part of the nak'd sincerity;
But still the envious scene between
Denied the mask I would have seen.
_Decent_, in the Latin sense, comely; _sincerity_, purity.
_Scene_, a curtain or "drop-scene".
_Ph._ Charon! O gentle Charon! let me woo thee
By tears and pity now to come unto me.
_Ch._ What voice so sweet and charming do I hear?
Say what thou art. _Ph._ I prithee first draw near.
_Ch._ A sound I hear, but nothing yet can see;
Speak, where thou art. _Ph._ O Charon pity me!
I am a bird, and though no name I tell,
My warbling note will say I'm Philomel.
_Ch._ What's that to me? I waft nor fish or fowls,
Nor beasts, fond thing, but only human souls.
_Ph._ Alas for me! _Ch._ Shame on thy witching note
That made me thus hoist sail and bring my boat:
But I'll return; what mischief brought thee hither?
_Ph._ A deal of love and much, much grief together.
_Ch._ What's thy request? _Ph._ That since she's now beneath
Who fed my life, I'll follow her in death.
_Ch._ And is that all? I'm gone. _Ph._ By love I pray thee.
_Ch._ Talk not of love; all pray, but few souls pay me.
_Ph._ I'll give thee vows and tears. _Ch._ Can tears pay scores
For mending sails, for patching boat and oars?
_Ph._ I'll beg a penny, or I'll sing so long
Till thou shalt say I've paid thee with a song.
_Ch._ Why then begin; and all the while we make
Our slothful passage o'er the Stygian Lake,
Thou and I'll sing to make these dull shades merry,
Who else with tears would doubtless drown my ferry.
_She's now beneath_, her mother Zeuxippe?
A little saint best fits a little shrine,
A little prop best fits a little vine:
As my small cruse best fits my little wine.
A little seed best fits a little soil,
A little trade best fits a little toil:
As my small jar best fits my little oil.
A little bin best fits a little bread,
A little garland fits a little head:
As my small stuff best fits my little shed.
A little hearth best fits a little fire,
A little chapel fits a little choir:
As my small bell best fits my little spire.
A little stream best fits a little boat,
A little lead best fits a little float:
As my small pipe best fits my little note.
A little meat best fits a little belly,
As sweetly, lady, give me leave to tell ye,
This little pipkin fits this little jelly.
Thrice happy roses, so much grac'd to have
Within the bosom of my love your grave.
Die when ye will, your sepulchre is known,
Your grave her bosom is, the lawn the stone.
Maids' nays are nothing, they are shy
But to desire what they deny.
The gods require the thighs
Of beeves for sacrifice;
Which roasted, we the steam
Must sacrifice to them,
Who though they do not eat,
Yet love the smell of meat.
A gyges' ring they bear about them still,
To be, and not seen when and where they will.
They tread on clouds, and though they sometimes fall,
They fall like dew, but make no noise at all.
So silently they one to th' other come,
As colours steal into the pear or plum,
And air-like, leave no pression to be seen
Where'er they met or parting place has been.
_Gyges' ring_, which made the wearer invisible.
Close keep your lips, if that you mean
To be accounted inside clean:
For if you cleave them we shall see
There in your teeth much leprosy.
O Jupiter, should I speak ill
Of woman-kind, first die I will;
Since that I know, 'mong all the rest
Of creatures, woman is the best.
To gather flowers Sappha went,
And homeward she did bring
Within her lawny continent
The treasure of the spring.
She smiling blush'd, and blushing smil'd,
And sweetly blushing thus,
She look'd as she'd been got with child
By young Favonius.
Her apron gave, as she did pass,
An odour more divine,
More pleasing, too, than ever was
_Continent_, anything that holds, here the bosom of her dress.
White as Zenobia's teeth, the which the girls
Of Rome did wear for their most precious pearls.
_Zenobia_, Queen of Palmyra, conquered by the Romans, A.D. 273.
She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem'd to quench love's fire that there did glow.
She by the river sat, and sitting there,
She wept, and made it deeper by a tear.
Break off delay, since we but read of one
That ever prospered by cunctation.
_Cunctation_, delay: the word is suggested by the name of Fabius
Cunctator, the conqueror of the Carthaginians, addressed by Virg.
Stand forth, brave man, since fate has made thee here
The Hector over aged Exeter,
Who for a long, sad time has weeping stood
Like a poor lady lost in widowhood,
But fears not now to see her safety sold,
As other towns and cities were, for gold
By those ignoble births which shame the stem
That gave progermination unto them:
Whose restless ghosts shall hear their children sing,
"Our sires betrayed their country and their king".
True, if this city seven times rounded was
With rock, and seven times circumflank'd with brass,
Yet if thou wert not, Berkley, loyal proof,
The senators, down tumbling with the roof,
Would into prais'd, but pitied, ruins fall,
Leaving no show where stood the capitol.
But thou art just and itchless, and dost please
Thy Genius with two strengthening buttresses,
Faith and affection, which will never slip
To weaken this thy great dictatorship.
_Progermination_, budding out.
_Itchless_, _i.e._, with no itch for bribes.
Love love begets, then never be
Unsoft to him who's smooth to thee.
Tigers and bears, I've heard some say,
For proffer'd love will love repay:
None are so harsh, but if they find
Softness in others, will be kind;
Affection will affection move,
Then you must like because I love.
Hast thou attempted greatness? then go on:
Back-turning slackens resolution.
Discreet and prudent we that discord call
That either profits, or not hurts at all.
Consult ere thou begin'st; that done, go on
With all wise speed for execution.
consulueris, mature facto opus est," Cat. i.
Whatsoever thing I see,
Rich or poor although it be;
'Tis a mistress unto me.
Be my girl or fair or brown,
Does she smile or does she frown,
Still I write a sweetheart down.
Be she rough or smooth of skin;
When I touch I then begin
For to let affection in.
Be she bald, or does she wear
Locks incurl'd of other hair,
I shall find enchantment there.
Be she whole, or be she rent,
So my fancy be content,
She's to me most excellent.
Be she fat, or be she lean,
I'm a man for ev'ry scene.
Other men's sins we ever bear in mind;
_None sees the fardell of his faults behind_.
_Fardell_, bundle.
If little labour, little are our gains:
Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
By so much, virtue is the less,
By how much, near to singleness.
A wanton and lascivious eye
Betrays the heart's adultery.
What fate decreed, time now has made us see,
A renovation of the west by thee.
That preternatural fever, which did threat
Death to our country, now hath lost his heat,
And, calms succeeding, we perceive no more
Th' unequal pulse to beat, as heretofore.
Something there yet remains for thee to do;
Then reach those ends that thou wast destin'd to.
Go on with Sylla's fortune; let thy fate
Make thee like him, this, that way fortunate:
Apollo's image side with thee to bless
Thy war (discreetly made) with white success.
Meantime thy prophets watch by watch shall pray,
While young Charles fights, and fighting wins the day:
That done, our smooth-paced poems all shall be
Sung in the high doxology of thee.
Then maids shall strew thee, and thy curls from them
Receive with songs a flowery diadem.
_Sylla's fortune_, in allusion to Sylla's surname of _Felix_.
_Doxology_, glorifying.
Burn, or drown me, choose ye whether,
So I may but die together;
Thus to slay me by degrees
Is the height of cruelties.
What needs twenty stabs, when one
Strikes me dead as any stone?
O show mercy then, and be
Kind at once to murder me.
Princes and fav'rites are most dear, while they
By giving and receiving hold the play;
But the relation then of both grows poor,
When these can ask, and kings can give no more.
Examples lead us, and we likely see;
Such as the prince is, will his people be.
Love and the Graces evermore do wait
Upon the man that is a potentate.
Go to feast, as others do.
Are the junkets still at wakes:
Unto which the tribes resort,
Where the business is the sport.
Morris-dancers thou shall see,
Marian, too, in pageantry,
And a mimic to devise
Many grinning properties.
Players there will be, and those
Base in action as in clothes;
Yet with strutting they will please
The incurious villages.
Near the dying of the day
There will be a cudgel-play,
Where a coxcomb will be broke
Ere a good word can be spoke:
But the anger ends all here,
Drenched in ale, or drown'd in beer.
Happy rustics! best content
With the cheapest merriment,
And possess no other fear
Than to want the wake next year.
_Marian_, Maid Marian of the Robin Hood ballads.
_Incurious_, careless, easily pleased.
Fresh strewings allow
To my sepulchre now,
To make my lodging the sweeter;
A staff or a wand
Put then in my hand,
With a penny to pay S. Peter.
Who has not a cross
Must sit with the loss,
And no whit further must venture;
Since the porter he
Will paid have his fee,
Or else not one there must enter.
Who at a dead lift
Can't send for a gift
A pig to the priest for a roaster,
Shall hear his clerk say,
By yea and by nay,
_No penny, no paternoster_.
_S. Peter_, as the gate-ward of heaven.
Nor art thou less esteem'd that I have plac'd,
Amongst mine honour'd, thee almost the last:
In great processions many lead the way
To him who is the triumph of the day,
As these have done to thee who art the one,
One only glory of a million:
In whom the spirit of the gods does dwell,
Firing thy soul, by which thou dost foretell
When this or that vast dynasty must fall
Down to a fillet more imperial;
When this or that horn shall be broke, and when
Others shall spring up in their place again;
When times and seasons and all years must lie
Drowned in the sea of wild eternity;
When the black doomsday books, as yet unseal'd,
Shall by the mighty angel be reveal'd;
And when the trumpet which thou late hast found
Shall call to judgment. Tell us when the sound
Of this or that great April day shall be,
And next the Gospel we will credit thee.
Meantime like earth-worms we will crawl below,
And wonder at those things that thou dost know.
_Horn_, used as a symbol of prosperity.
_The trumpet which thou late hast found_, _i.e._, Alabaster's
_April day_, day of weeping, or perhaps rather of "opening" or
revelation.
Here lies a virgin, and as sweet
As e'er was wrapt in winding sheet.
Her name if next you would have known,
The marble speaks it, Mary Stone:
Who dying in her blooming years,
This stone for name's sake melts to tears.
If, fragrant virgins, you'll but keep
A fast, while jets and marbles weep,
And praying, strew some roses on her,
You'll do my niece abundant honour.
Of both our fortunes good and bad we find
Prosperity more searching of the mind:
Felicity flies o'er the wall and fence,
While misery keeps in with patience.
Time is the bound of things; where'er we go
_Fate gives a meeting, Death's the end of woe_.
By those soft tods of wool
With which the air is full;
By all those tinctures there,
That paint the hemisphere;
By dews and drizzling rain
That swell the golden grain;
By all those sweets that be
I' th' flowery nunnery;
By silent nights, and the
Three forms of Hecate;
By all aspects that bless
The sober sorceress,
While juice she strains, and pith
To make her philters with;
By time that hastens on
Things to perfection;
And by yourself, the best
Conjurement of the rest:
In love with none, but me.
_Tinctures_, colours.
I cannot love as I have lov'd before;
For I'm grown old and, with mine age, grown poor.
_Love must be fed by wealth_: this blood of mine
Must needs wax cold, if wanting bread and wine.
Holy water come and bring;
Cast in salt, for seasoning:
Set the brush for sprinkling:
Sacred spittle bring ye hither;
Meal and it now mix together,
And a little oil to either.
Give the tapers here their light,
Ring the saints'-bell, to affright
Far from hence the evil sprite.
Give me a cell
To dwell,
Where no foot hath
A path:
There will I spend
And end
My wearied years
In tears.
A Master of a house, as I have read,
Must be the first man up, and last in bed.
With the sun rising he must walk his grounds;
See this, view that, and all the other bounds:
Shut every gate; mend every hedge that's torn,
Either with old, or plant therein new thorn;
Tread o'er his glebe, but with such care, that where
He sets his foot, he leaves rich compost there.
I sing thy praise, Iacchus,
Who with thy thyrse dost thwack us:
And yet thou so dost back us
With boldness, that we fear
No Brutus ent'ring here,
Nor Cato the severe.
What though the lictors threat us,
We know they dare not beat us,
So long as thou dost heat us.
When we thy orgies sing,
Each cobbler is a king,
Nor dreads he any thing:
And though he do not rave,
Yet he'll the courage have
To call my Lord Mayor knave;
Besides, too, in a brave,
Although he has no riches,
But walks with dangling breeches
And skirts that want their stitches,
And shows his naked flitches,
Yet he'll be thought or seen
So good as George-a-Green;
And calls his blouze, his queen;
And speaks in language keen.
From cares and troubles free;
And thou shalt hear how we
Will chant new hymns to thee.
_Orgies_, hymns to Bacchus.
_Blouze_, a fat wench.
Puss and her 'prentice both at drawgloves play;
That done, they kiss, and so draw out the day:
At night they draw to supper; then well fed,
They draw their clothes off both, so draw to bed.
_Drawgloves_, the game of talking on the fingers.
Among disasters that dissension brings,
This not the least is, which belongs to kings:
If wars go well, each for a part lays claim;
If ill, then kings, not soldiers, bear the blame.
Kings must not only cherish up the good,
Wrongs, if neglected, vanish in short time,
But heard with anger, we confess the crime.
That do in public places
Drive thence whate'er encumbers
The list'ning to my numbers.
Who do with sweet embraces,
Show they are well contented
With what I have invented.
Who do from sour faces,
And lungs that would infect me,
For evermore protect me.
Near to the well of wit,
And drink your fill of it.
Glory and worship be
To you, sweet maids, thrice three,
Who still inspire me,
And teach me how to sing
Unto the lyric string
My measures ravishing.
Then while I sing your praise,
My priesthood crown with bays
Green, to the end of days.
Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
In things a moderation keep:
_Kings ought to shear, not skin their sheep_.
Let's call for Hymen, if agreed thou art;
_Delays in love but crucify the heart_.
Love's thorny tapers yet neglected lie:
Speak thou the word, they'll kindle by-and-bye.
The nimble hours woo us on to wed,
And Genius waits to have us both to bed.
Behold, for us the naked Graces stay
With maunds of roses for to strew the way:
Besides, the most religious prophet stands
Ready to join, as well our hearts as hands.
Juno yet smiles; but if she chance to chide,
Ill luck 'twill bode to th' bridegroom and the bride.
Tell me, Anthea, dost thou fondly dread
The loss of that we call a maidenhead?
Come, I'll instruct thee. Know, the vestal fire
Is not by marriage quench'd, but flames the higher.
_Maunds_, baskets.
_Fondly_, foolishly.
In this little urn is laid
Prudence Baldwin, once my maid:
From whose happy spark here let
Spring the purple violet.
To sup with thee thou did'st me home invite;
And mad'st a promise that mine appetite
Should meet and tire on such lautitious meat,
The like not Heliogabalus did eat:
And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest,
Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast.
I came, 'tis true, and looked for fowl of price,
And for no less than aromatic wine
Of maiden's-blush, commix'd with jessamine.
Clean was the hearth, the mantel larded jet;
Which wanting Lar, and smoke, hung weeping wet;
At last, i' th' noon of winter, did appear
A ragg'd-soust-neat's-foot with sick vinegar:
And in a burnished flagonet stood by,
Beer small as comfort, dead as charity.
At which amaz'd, and pondering on the food,
How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood;
I curs'd the master, and I damn'd the souce,
And swore I'd got the ague of the house.
Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire,
I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire.
_Lautitious_, sumptuous.
_Maiden's-blush_, the pink-rose.
_Soust_, pickled.
Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing;
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your hearts' desiring.
With the last year's brand
Light the new block, and
For good success in his spending
On your psaltries play,
That sweet luck may
Come while the log is a-teending.
Drink now the strong beer,
Cut the white loaf here;
The while the meat is a-shredding
For the rare mince-pie,
And the plums stand by
To fill the paste that's a-kneading.
_Psaltries_, a kind of guitar.
_Teending_, kindling.
Come guard this night the Christmas-pie,
That the thief, though ne'er so sly,
With his flesh-hooks, don't come nigh
To catch it
From him, who all alone sits there,
Having his eyes still in his ear,
And a deal of nightly fear,
To watch it.
Wash your hands, or else the fire
Will not teend to your desire;
Unwash'd hands, ye maidens, know,
Dead the fire, though ye blow.
Wassail the trees, that they may bear
You many a plum and many a pear:
For more or less fruits they will bring,
As you do give them wassailing.
_'Tis never, or but seldom known,
Power and peace to keep one throne._
Now is your turn, my dearest, to be set
A gem in this eternal coronet:
'Twas rich before, but since your name is down
It sparkles now like Ariadne's crown.
Blaze by this sphere for ever: or this do,
Let me and it shine evermore by you.
Love thou dost, though love says nay.
Speak me fair; for lovers be
Gently kill'd by flattery.
Who will not honour noble numbers, when
Verses out-live the bravest deeds of men?
That happiness does still the longest thrive,
Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.
We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace;
_Desire deferr'd is that it may increase_.
Here I myself might likewise die,
And utterly forgotten lie,
But that eternal poetry
Repullulation gives me here
Unto the thirtieth thousand year,
When all now dead shall reappear.
_Repullulation_, rejuvenescence.
Give me the food that satisfies a guest:
Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast.
Orpheus he went, as poets tell,
To fetch Eurydice from hell;
And had her; but it was upon
This short but strict condition:
Backward he should not look while he
Led her through hell's obscurity:
But ah! it happened, as he made
His passage through that dreadful shade,
Revolve he did his loving eye,
For gentle fear or jealousy;
And looking back, that look did sever
Him and Eurydice for ever.
Sappho, I will choose to go
Where the northern winds do blow
Endless ice and endless snow:
Rather than I once would see
But a winter's face in thee,
To benumb my hopes and me.
For all thy many courtesies to me,
Nothing I have, my Crofts, to send to thee
For the requital, save this only one
Half of my just remuneration.
For since I've travell'd all this realm throughout
To seek and find some few immortals out
To circumspangle this my spacious sphere,
As lamps for everlasting shining here;
And having fix'd thee in mine orb a star,
Amongst the rest, both bright and singular,
The present age will tell the world thou art,
If not to th' whole, yet satisfi'd in part.
As for the rest, being too great a sum
Here to be paid, I'll pay't i' th' world to come.
This day, my Julia, thou must make
For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake:
Knead but the dough, and it will be
To paste of almonds turn'd by thee:
Or kiss it thou but once or twice,
And for the bride-cake there'll be spice.
Let's now take our time
While w'are in our prime,
And old, old age is afar off:
For the evil, evil days
Will come on apace,
Before we can be aware of.
Man may want land to live in; but for all
Nature finds out some place for burial.
'Tis the Chirurgeon's praise, and height of art,
Not to cut off, but cure the vicious part.
Who after his transgression doth repent,
Is half, or altogether innocent.
Consider sorrows, how they are aright:
_Grief, if't be great, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light_.
So look the mornings when the sun
Paints them with fresh vermilion:
So cherries blush, and Kathern pears,
And apricots in youthful years:
So corals look more lovely red,
And rubies lately polished:
So purest diaper doth shine,
Stain'd by the beams of claret wine:
As Julia looks when she doth dress
Her either cheek with bashfulness.
_Kathern pears_, _i.e._, Catharine pears.
_Imparity doth ever discord bring;
The mean the music makes in everything._
_Haste is unhappy; what we rashly do
Is both unlucky, aye, and foolish, too.
Where war with rashness is attempted, there
The soldiers leave the field with equal fear._
Readers, we entreat ye pray
For the soul of Lucia;
That in little time she be
From her purgatory free:
In the interim she desires
That your tears may cool her fires.
Seest thou that cloud that rides in state,
Part ruby-like, part candidate?
It is no other than the bed
Where Venus sleeps half-smothered.
_Candidate_, robed in white.
I saw a fly within a bead
Of amber cleanly buried;
The urn was little, but the room
More rich than Cleopatra's tomb.
Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befalls
Me in mine age, or foreign funerals,
This blessing I will leave thee, ere I go:
Prosper thy basket and therein thy dough.
Feed on the paste of filberts, or else knead
And bake the flour of amber for thy bread.
Balm may thy trees drop, and thy springs run oil,
And everlasting harvest crown thy soil!
These I but wish for; but thyself shall see
The blessing fall in mellow times on thee.
Immortal clothing I put on
So soon as, Julia, I am gone
To mine eternal mansion.
Thou, thou art here, to human sight
Cloth'd all with incorrupted light;
But yet how more admir'dly bright
Wilt thou appear, when thou art set
In thy refulgent thronelet,
That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit!
Does fortune rend thee? Bear with thy hard fate:
_Virtuous instructions ne'er are delicate_.
Say, does she frown? still countermand her threats:
_Virtue best loves those children that she beats_.
If I lie unburied, sir,
These my relics pray inter:
'Tis religion's part to see
Stones or turfs to cover me.
One word more I had to say:
But it skills not; go your way;
He that wants a burial room
_For a stone, has Heaven his tomb_.
This day is yours, great Charles! and in this war
Your fate, and ours, alike victorious are.
In her white stole now Victory does rest
_Ensphered with palm on your triumphant crest_.
Fortune is now your captive; other Kings
_Hold but her hands; you hold both hands and wings_.
By the next kindling of the day,
My Julia, thou shalt see,
Ere Ave-Mary thou canst say
I'll come and visit thee.
Yet ere thou counsel'st with thy glass,
Appear thou to mine eyes
As smooth, and nak'd, as she that was
The prime of paradise.
If blush thou must, then blush thou through
A lawn, that thou mayst look
As purest pearls, or pebbles do
When peeping through a brook.
As lilies shrin'd in crystal, so
Do thou to me appear;
Or damask roses when they grow
To sweet acquaintance there.
'Twas Cæsar's saying: _Kings no less conquerors are
By their wise counsel, than they be by war._
Like those infernal deities which eat
The best of all the sacrificed meat;
And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:
So many kings, and primates too there are,
Who claim the fat and fleshy for their share
And leave their subjects but the starved ware.
In desp'rate cases all, or most, are known
Commanders, few for execution.
I could but see thee yesterday
Stung by a fretful bee;
And I the javelin suck'd away,
And heal'd the wound in thee.
A thousand thorns and briars and stings,
I have in my poor breast;
Yet ne'er can see that salve which brings
My passions any rest.
As love shall help me, I admire
How thou canst sit, and smile
To see me bleed, and not desire
To staunch the blood the while.
If thou, compos'd of gentle mould,
Art so unkind to me;
What dismal stories will be told
Of those that cruel be?
_Admire_, wonder.
All has been plundered from me but my wit:
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.
Milk still your fountains and your springs: for why?
The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.
Thou say'st Love's dart
Hath pricked thy heart;
And thou dost languish too:
If one poor prick
Can make thee sick,
Say, what would many do?
Shall I go to Love and tell,
Thou art all turned icicle?
Shall I say her altars be
Disadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?
O beware! in time submit;
Love has yet no wrathful fit:
If her patience turns to ire,
Love is then consuming fire.
Ay me! I love; give him your hand to kiss
Who both your wooer and your poet is.
Nature has precompos'd us both to love:
Your part's to grant; my scene must be to move.
Dear, can you like, and liking love your poet?
If you say "Aye," blush-guiltiness will show it.
Mine eyes must woo you, though I sigh the while:
_True love is tongueless as a crocodile_.
And you may find in love these different parts--
_Wooers have tongues of ice, but burning hearts_.
Here she lies, in bed of spice,
For her beauty it was such
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins, come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly, o'er the dead.
_Supremest_, last.
Love is a circle, and an endless sphere;
From good to good, revolving here and there.
Beauty's no other but a lovely grace
Of lively colours flowing from the face.
Some salve to every sore we may apply;
Only for my wound there's no remedy.
Yet if my Julia kiss me, there will be
A sovereign balm found out to cure me.
Make haste away, and let one be
A friendly patron unto thee:
Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lie
Torn for the use of pastery:
Or see thy injur'd leaves serve well,
To make loose gowns for mackerel:
Or see the grocers in a trice,
Make hoods of thee to serve out spice.
The readiness of doing doth express
No other but the doer's willingness.
When words we want, Love teacheth to indite;
And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
Two things do make society to stand:
The first commerce is, and the next command.
Gone she is a long, long way,
But she has decreed a day
Back to come, and make no stay:
So we keep, till her return,
Here, her ashes, or her urn.
For all our works a recompense is sure:
_'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t' endure_.
Why so slowly do you move
To the centre of your love?
On your niceness though we wait,
Yet the hours say 'tis late:
_Coyness takes us, to a measure;
But o'eracted deads the pleasure._
Go to bed, and care not when
Cheerful day shall spring again.
One brave captain did command,
By his word, the sun to stand:
One short charm, if you but say,
Will enforce the moon to stay,
Till you warn her hence, away,
T' have your blushes seen by day.
_Niceness_, delicacy.
Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hear
From thee some raptures of the rare Gotiere;
Then if thy voice commingle with the string,
I hear in thee rare Laniere to sing;
Or curious Wilson: tell me, canst thou be
Less than Apollo, that usurp'st such three?
Three, unto whom the whole world give applause;
Yet their three praises praise but one; that's Lawes.
appointed Master of the King's Music in 1626.
Maidens tell me I am old;
Let me in my glass behold
Whether smooth or not I be,
Or if hair remains to me.
Well, or be't or be't not so,
This for certainty I know,
Ill it fits old men to play,
When that Death bids come away.
Thou hast made many houses for the dead;
When my lot calls me to be buried,
For love or pity, prithee let there be
I' th' churchyard made one tenement for me.
Anthea, I am going hence
With some small stock of innocence:
But yet those blessed gates I see
Withstanding entrance unto me.
To pray for me do thou begin,
The porter then will let me in.
Who begs to die for fear of human need,
Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.
I am zealless; prithee pray
For my welfare, Julia,
For I think the gods require
Male perfumes, but female fire.
_Male perfumes_, perfumes of the best kind.
Sweet are my Julia's lips and clean,
As if o'erwashed in Hippocrene.
Twilight no other thing is, poets say,
Than the last part of night and first of day.
Love, love me now, because I place
Thee here among my righteous race:
Wanting both root and earth; but thy
Immortal self shall boldly trust
To live for ever with my Just.
If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year,
And so soon stopt my longer living here;
What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save,
But while he met with his paternal grave!
Though while we living 'bout the world do roam,
We love to rest in peaceful urns at home,
Where we may snug, and close together lie
By the dead bones of our dear ancestry.
'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known:
_Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own_.
Our crosses are no other than the rods,
And our diseases, vultures of the gods:
Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kite
Sent forth by them, our flesh to eat, or bite.
Love brought me to a silent grove
And show'd me there a tree,
Where some had hang'd themselves for love,
And gave a twist to me.
The halter was of silk and gold,
That he reach'd forth unto me;
No otherwise than if he would
By dainty things undo me.
He bade me then that necklace use;
And told me, too, he maketh
A glorious end by such a noose,
His death for love that taketh.
'Twas but a dream; but had I been
There really alone,
My desp'rate fears in love had seen
Mine execution.
Night makes no difference 'twixt the priest and clerk;
Joan as my lady is as good i' th' dark.
The body is the soul's poor house or home,
Whose ribs the laths are, and whose flesh the loam.
Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;
But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!
Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desire
That thou be righteous found, and I the liar.
We blame, nay, we despise her pains
That wets her garden when it rains:
But when the drought has dried the knot,
Then let her use the wat'ring-pot.
We pray for showers, at our need,
To drench, but not to drown our seed.
_Knot_, quaintly shaped flower-bed.
Take mine advice, and go not near
Those faces, sour as vinegar.
For these, and nobler numbers can
Ne'er please the supercilious man.
Stand by the magic of my powerful rhymes
'Gainst all the indignation of the times.
Age shall not wrong thee; or one jot abate
Of thy both great and everlasting fate.
While others perish, here's thy life decreed,
Because begot of my immortal seed.
_Herr._ Come and let's in solemn wise
Both address to sacrifice:
Old religion first commands
That we wash our hearts, and hands.
Is the beast exempt from stain,
Altar clean, no fire profane?
Are the garlands, is the nard
Ready here?
_Jul._              All well prepar'd,
With the wine that must be shed,
'Twixt the horns, upon the head
Of the holy beast we bring
For our trespass-offering.
_Herr._ All is well; now next to these
Put we on pure surplices;
And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roast
With perfumes the holocaust:
And, while we the gods invoke,
Read acceptance by the smoke.
Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre,
Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspire
My fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,
That I may play and sing a hymn to Love.
Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear!
No cowards must his royal ensigns bear.
Where love begins, there dead thy first desire:
_A spark neglected makes a mighty fire_.
Thou, thou that bear'st the sway,
With whom the sea-nymphs play;
And Venus, every way:
When I embrace thy knee,
And make short pray'rs to thee,
In love then prosper me.
This day I go to woo;
This work thou put'st me to.
From shame my face keep free;
From scorn I beg of thee,
Love, to deliver me:
So shall I sing thy praise,
And to thee altars raise,
Unto the end of days.
Let not thy tombstone e'er be laid by me:
Nor let my hearse be wept upon by thee:
But let that instant when thou diest be known
The minute of mine expiration.
One knell be rung for both; and let one grave
To hold us two an endless honour have.
My soul would one day go and seek
For roses, and in Julia's cheek
A richesse of those sweets she found,
As in another Rosamond.
But gathering roses as she was,
Not knowing what would come to pass,
It chanc'd a ringlet of her hair
Caught my poor soul, as in a snare:
Which ever since has been in thrall;
Yet freedom she enjoys withal.
_Richesse_, wealth.
The factions of the great ones call,
To side with them, the commons all.
Tell me, what needs those rich deceits,
These golden toils, and trammel nets,
To take thine hairs when they are known
Already tame, and all thine own?
'Tis I am wild, and more than hairs
Deserve these meshes and those snares.
Set free thy tresses, let them flow
As airs do breathe or winds do blow:
And let such curious net-works be
Less set for them than spread for me.
Love in a shower of blossoms came
Down, and half drown'd me with the same:
The blooms that fell were white and red;
But with such sweets comminglèd,
As whether--this I cannot tell--
My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell:
But true it was, as I roll'd there,
Without a thought of hurt or fear,
Love turn'd himself into a bee,
And with his javelin wounded me:
From which mishap this use I make,
_Where most sweets are, there lies a snake:
Kisses and favours are sweet things;
But those have thorns and these have stings._
Naught are all women: I say no,
Since for one bad, one good I know:
For Clytemnestra most unkind,
Loving Alcestis there we find:
For one Medea that was bad,
A good Penelope was had:
For wanton Lais, then we have
Chaste Lucrece, a wife as grave:
And thus through womankind we see
A good and bad. Sirs, credit me.
'Tis liberty to serve one lord; but he
Who many serves, serves base servility.
Bring the holy crust of bread,
Lay it underneath the head;
'Tis a certain charm to keep
Hags away, while children sleep.
Let the superstitious wife
Near the child's heart lay a knife:
Point be up, and haft be down
(While she gossips in the town);
This, 'mongst other mystic charms,
Keeps the sleeping child from harms.
To house the hag, you must do this:
Commix with meal a little piss
Of him bewitch'd; then forthwith make
A little wafer or a cake;
And this rawly bak'd will bring
The old hag in. No surer thing.
Hang up hooks and shears to scare
Hence the hag that rides the mare,
Till they be all over wet
With the mire and the sweat:
This observ'd, the manes shall be
Of your horses all knot-free.
Down with the rosemary and bays,
Down with the mistletoe;
Instead of holly, now up-raise
The greener box, for show.
The holly hitherto did sway;
Let box now domineer
Until the dancing Easter day,
Or Easter's eve appear.
Then youthful box which now hath grace
Your houses to renew;
Grown old, surrender must his place
Unto the crisped yew.
When yew is out, then birch comes in,
And many flowers beside;
Both of a fresh and fragrant kin
To honour Whitsuntide.
Green rushes, then, and sweetest bents,
With cooler oaken boughs,
Come in for comely ornaments
To re-adorn the house.
Thus times do shift; each thing his turn does hold:
_New things succeed, as former things grow old_.
_Bents_, grasses.
Kindle the Christmas brand, and then
Till sunset let it burn;
Which quench'd, then lay it up again
Till Christmas next return.
Part must be kept wherewith to teend
The Christmas log next year,
And where 'tis safely kept, the fiend
Can do no mischief there.
End now the white loaf and the pie,
And let all sports with Christmas die.
Would I woo, and would I win?
Would I well my work begin?
Would I evermore be crowned
With the end that I propound?
Would I frustrate or prevent
All aspects malevolent?
Thwart all wizards, and with these
Dead all black contingencies:
Place my words and all works else
In most happy parallels?
All will prosper, if so be
I be kiss'd or bless'd by thee.
Put on thy holy filletings, and so
To th' temple with the sober midwife go.
Attended thus, in a most solemn wise,
By those who serve the child-bed mysteries,
Burn first thine incense; next, whenas thou see'st
The candid stole thrown o'er the pious priest,
With reverend curtsies come, and to him bring
Thy free (and not decurted) offering.
All rites well ended, with fair auspice come
(As to the breaking of a bride-cake) home,
Where ceremonious Hymen shall for thee
Provide a second epithalamy.
_She who keeps chastely to her husband's side
Is not for one, but every night his bride;
And stealing still with love and fear to bed,
Brings him not one, but many a maidenhead._
_Decurted_, curtailed.
Before the press scarce one could see
A little-peeping-part of thee;
But since thou'rt printed, thou dost call
To show thy nakedness to all.
My care for thee is now the less,
Having resign'd thy shamefac'dness.
Go with thy faults and fates; yet stay
And take this sentence, then away:
Whom one belov'd will not suffice,
She'll run to all adulteries.
Tears most prevail; with tears, too, thou may'st move
Rocks to relent, and coyest maids to love.
Words beget anger; anger brings forth blows;
Blows make of dearest friends immortal foes.
For which prevention, sociate, let there be
Betwixt us two no more logomachy.
Far better 'twere for either to be mute,
Than for to murder friendship by dispute.
_Logomachy_, contention of words.
Truth is best found out by the time and eyes;
_Falsehood wins credit by uncertainties_.
We credit most our sight; one eye doth please
Our trust far more than ten ear-witnesses.
Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon
This, that, and every base impression.
Look in my book, and herein see
Life endless signed to thee and me.
We o'er the tombs and fates shall fly;
While other generations die.
Should I not put on blacks, when each one here
Comes with his cypress and devotes a tear?
Should I not grieve, my Lawes, when every lute,
Viol, and voice is by thy loss struck mute?
Thy loss, brave man! whose numbers have been hurl'd,
And no less prais'd than spread throughout the world.
Some have thee call'd Amphion; some of us
Nam'd thee Terpander, or sweet Orpheus:
Some this, some that, but all in this agree,
Music had both her birth and death with thee.
_Blacks_, mourning garments.
From me my Silvia ran away,
And running therewithal
A primrose bank did cross her way,
And gave my love a fall.
But trust me now, I dare not say
What I by chance did see;
But such the drap'ry did betray
That fully ravished me.
If thou hast found an honeycomb,
Eat thou not all, but taste on some:
For if thou eat'st it to excess,
That sweetness turns to loathsomeness.
Taste it to temper, then 'twill be
Marrow and manna unto thee.
Here lies Jonson with the rest
Of the poets: but the best.
Reader, would'st thou more have known?
Ask his story, not this stone.
That will speak what this can't tell
Of his glory. So farewell.
Say how, or when
Shall we thy guests
Meet at those lyric feasts
Where we such clusters had,
As made us nobly wild, not mad;
And yet each verse of thine
Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.
Or come again,
Or send to us
Thy wit's great overplus;
But teach us yet
Wisely to husband it,
Lest we that talent spend:
And having once brought to an end
That precious stock; the store
Of such a wit the world should have no more.
_The Sun_, _etc._, famous taverns.
Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours
Selecting here both herbs and flowers;
Of which make garlands here and there
To dress thy silent sepulchre.
Nor do thou fear the want of these
_In everlasting properties_,
Since we fresh strewings will bring hither,
Far faster than the first can wither.
In battles what disasters fall,
The king he bears the blame of all.
Ponder my words, if so that any be
Known guilty here of incivility:
Let what is graceless, discompos'd, and rude,
With sweetness, smoothness, softness, be endu'd.
Teach it to blush, to curtsy, lisp, and show
Demure, but yet full of temptation, too.
_Numbers ne'er tickle, or but lightly please,
Unless they have some wanton carriages._
This if ye do, each piece will here be good,
And graceful made by your neat sisterhood.
I lately fri'd, but now behold
I freeze as fast, and shake for cold.
And in good faith I'd thought it strange
T' have found in me this sudden change;
But that I understood by dreams
These only were but Love's extremes;
Who fires with hope the lover's heart,
And starves with cold the self-same part.
We trust not to the multitude in war,
But to the stout, and those that skilful are.
Man must do well out of a good intent;
Not for the servile fear of punishment.
What! can my Kellam drink his sack
In goblets to the brim,
And see his Robin Herrick lack,
Yet send no bowls to him?
For love or pity to his muse,
That she may flow in verse,
Contemn to recommend a cruse,
But send to her a tierce.
First, may the hand of bounty bring
Into the daily offering
Of full provision such a store,
Till that the cook cries: Bring no more.
Upon your hogsheads never fall
A drought of wine, ale, beer, at all;
But, like full clouds, may they from thence
Diffuse their mighty influence.
Next, let the lord and lady here
Enjoy a Christ'ning year by year;
And this good blessing back them still,
T' have boys, and girls too, as they will.
Then from the porch may many a bride
Unto the holy temple ride:
And thence return, short prayers said,
A wife most richly married.
Last, may the bride and bridegroom be
Untouch'd by cold sterility;
But in their springing blood so play,
As that in lusters few they may,
By laughing too, and lying down,
People a city or a town.
_Lusters_, quinquenniums.
The lictors bundled up their rods; beside,
Knit them with knots with much ado unti'd,
That if, unknitting, men would yet repent,
They might escape the lash of punishment.
_Men are suspicious, prone to discontent:
Subjects still loathe the present government._
Lay by the good a while; a resting field
Will, after ease, a richer harvest yield;
Trees this year bear: next, they their wealth withhold:
_Continual reaping makes a land wax old_.
_Man's disposition is for to requite
An injury, before a benefit:
Thanksgiving is a burden and a pain;
Revenge is pleasing to us, as our gain._
In all our high designments 'twill appear,
_The first event breeds confidence or fear_.
_Hard are the two first stairs unto a crown:
Which got, the third bids him a king come down._
Faith is a thing that's four-square; let it fall
This way or that, it not declines at all.
Praise they that will times past; I joy to see
Myself now live: _this age best pleaseth me_.
Though from without no foes at all we fear,
We shall be wounded by the clothes we wear.
_'Tis but a dog-like madness in bad kings,
For to delight in wounds and murderings:
As some plants prosper best by cuts and blows,
So kings by killing do increase their foes._
_Tears quickly dry, griefs will in time decay:
A clear will come after a cloudy day._
Ask me what hunger is, and I'll reply,
'Tis but a fierce desire of hot and dry.
In this misfortune kings do most excel,
To hear the worst from men when they do well.
Conquer we shall, but we must first contend;
_'Tis not the fight that crowns us, but the end_.
Bind me but to thee with thine hair,
And quickly I shall be
Made by that fetter or that snare
A bondman unto thee.
Or if thou tak'st that bond away,
Then bore me through the ear,
And by the law I ought to stay
For ever with thee here.
Give house-room to the best; _'tis never known
Virtue and pleasure both to dwell in one_.
Pardon my trespass, Silvia; I confess
My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefastness:
None is discreet at all times; no, _not Jove
Himself, at one time, can be wise and love_.
Smooth was the sea, and seem'd to call
Two pretty girls to play withal:
Who paddling there, the sea soon frown'd,
And on a sudden both were drown'd.
What credit can we give to seas,
Who, kissing, kill such saints as these?
Fat be my hind; unlearned be my wife;
Peaceful my night; my day devoid of strife:
To these a comely offspring I desire,
Singing about my everlasting fire.
_Hind_, country servant.
How fierce was I, when I did see
My Julia wash herself in thee!
So lilies thorough crystal look:
So purest pebbles in the brook:
As in the river Julia did,
Half with a lawn of water hid.
Into thy streams myself I threw,
And struggling there, I kiss'd thee too;
And more had done, it is confess'd,
Had not thy waves forbade the rest.
Though frankincense the deities require,
_We must not give all to the hallowed fire_.
Such be our gifts, and such be our expense,
As for ourselves to leave some frankincense.
A roll of parchment Clunn about him bears,
Charg'd with the arms of all his ancestors:
And seems half ravish'd, when he looks upon
That bar, this bend; that fess, this cheveron;
This manch, that moon; this martlet, and that mound;
This counterchange of pearl and diamond.
What joy can Clunn have in that coat, or this,
Whenas his own still out at elbows is?
Love, like a beggar, came to me
With hose and doublet torn:
His shirt bedangling from his knee,
With hat and shoes outworn.
He ask'd an alms; I gave him bread,
And meat too, for his need:
Of which, when he had fully fed,
He wished me all good speed.
Away he went, but as he turn'd
(In faith I know not how)
He touch'd me so, as that I burn['d],
And am tormented now.
Love's silent flames and fires obscure
Then crept into my heart;
And though I saw no bow, I'm sure
His finger was the dart.
I will confess
With cheerfulness,
Love is a thing so likes me,
On me all day,
I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.
I will not, I,
Now blubb'ring, cry,
It, ah! too late repents me,
That I did fall
To love at all,
Since love so much contents me.
No, no, I'll be
In fetters free:
While others they sit wringing
Their hands for pain,
I'll entertain
The wounds of love with singing.
With flowers and wine,
And cakes divine,
To strike me I will tempt thee:
Which done; no more
I'll come before
Thee and thine altars empty.
For brave comportment, wit without offence,
Words fully flowing, yet of influence:
Thou art that man of men, the man alone,
Worthy the public admiration:
Who with thine own eyes read'st what we do write,
And giv'st our numbers euphony and weight;
Tell'st when a verse springs high, how understood
To be, or not, born of the royal blood.
What state above, what symmetry below,
Lines have, or should have, thou the best can'st show.
For which, my Charles, it is my pride to be
Not so much known, as to be lov'd of thee.
Long may I live so, and my wreath of bays
Be less another's laurel than thy praise.
What need we marry women, when
Without their use we may have men,
And such as will in short time be
For murder fit, or mutiny?
As Cadmus once a new way found,
By throwing teeth into the ground;
From which poor seed, and rudely sown,
Sprung up a war-like nation:
So let us iron, silver, gold,
Brass, lead, or tin throw into th' mould;
And we shall see in little space
Rise up of men a fighting race.
If this can be, say then, what need
Have we of women or their seed?
Love is a syrup; and whoe'er we see
Sick and surcharg'd with this satiety,
Shall by this pleasing trespass quickly prove
_There's loathsomeness e'en in the sweets of love_.
Love is a leaven; and a loving kiss
The leaven of a loving sweetheart is.
Physicians say repletion springs
More from the sweet than sour things.
Weep for the dead, for they have lost this light:
And weep for me, lost in an endless night.
Or mourn, or make a marble verse for me,
Who writ for many. Benedicite.
No man such rare parts hath that he can swim,
If favour or occasion help not him.
Lost to the world; lost to myself; alone
Here now I rest under this marble stone:
In depth of silence, heard and seen of none.
I will be short, and having quickly hurl'd
This line about, live thou throughout the world;
Who art a man for all scenes; unto whom,
What's hard to others, nothing's troublesome.
Can'st write the comic, tragic strain, and fall
From these to pen the pleasing pastoral:
Who fli'st at all heights: prose and verse run'st through;
Find'st here a fault, and mend'st the trespass too:
For which I might extol thee, but speak less,
Because thyself art coming to the press:
And then should I in praising thee be slow,
Posterity will pay thee what I owe.
Tell me, young man, or did the Muses bring
Thee less to taste than to drink up their spring,
That none hereafter should be thought, or be
A poet, or a poet-like but thee?
What was thy birth, thy star that makes thee known,
At twice ten years, a prime and public one?
Tell us thy nation, kindred, or the whence
Thou had'st and hast thy mighty influence,
That makes thee lov'd, and of the men desir'd,
And no less prais'd than of the maids admired.
Put on thy laurel then; and in that trim
Be thou Apollo or the type of him:
Or let the unshorn god lend thee his lyre,
And next to him be master of the choir.
Offer thy gift; but first the law commands
Thee, Julia, first, to sanctify thy hands:
Do that, my Julia, which the rites require,
Then boldly give thine incense to the fire.
Handsome you are, and proper you will be
Despite of all your infortunity:
Live long and lovely, but yet grow no less
In that your own prefixed comeliness:
Spend on that stock: and when your life must fall,
Leave others beauty to set up withal.
If hap it must, that I must see thee lie
Absyrtus-like, all torn confusedly:
With solemn tears, and with much grief of heart,
I'll recollect thee, weeping, part by part;
And having wash'd thee, close thee in a chest
With spice; that done, I'll leave thee to thy rest.
Welcome, great Cæsar, welcome now you are
As dearest peace after destructive war:
Welcome as slumbers, or as beds of ease
After our long and peevish sicknesses.
O pomp of glory! Welcome now, and come
To repossess once more your long'd-for home.
A thousand altars smoke: a thousand thighs
Of beeves here ready stand for sacrifice.
Enter and prosper; while our eyes do wait
For an ascendent throughly auspicate:
Under which sign we may the former stone
Lay of our safety's new foundation:
That done, O Cæsar! live and be to us
Our fate, our fortune, and our genius;
To whose free knees we may our temples tie
As to a still protecting deity:
That should you stir, we and our altars too
May, great Augustus, go along with you.
_Chor._ Long live the King! and to accomplish this,
We'll from our own add far more years to his.
And as time past when Cato the severe
Enter'd the circumspacious theatre,
In reverence of his person everyone
Stood as he had been turn'd from flesh to stone;
E'en so my numbers will astonished be
If but looked on; struck dead, if scann'd by thee.
Tell that brave man, fain thou would'st have access
To kiss his hands, but that for fearfulness;
Or else because th'art like a modest bride,
Ready to blush to death, should he but chide.
When first I find those numbers thou dost write,
To be most soft, terse, sweet, and perpolite:
Next, when I see thee tow'ring in the sky,
In an expansion no less large than high;
Then, in that compass, sailing here and there,
And with circumgyration everywhere;
Following with love and active heat thy game,
And then at last to truss the epigram;
I must confess, distinction none I see
Between Domitian's Martial then, and thee.
But this I know, should Jupiter again
Descend from heaven to reconverse with men;
The Roman language full, and superfine,
If Jove would speak, he would accept of thine.
_Perpolite_, well polished.
Now thou art dead, no eye shall ever see,
For shape and service, spaniel like to thee.
This shall my love do, give thy sad death one
Tear, that deserves of me a million.
Drowning, drowning, I espy
Coming from my Julia's eye:
'Tis some solace in our smart,
To have friends to bear a part:
I have none; but must be sure
Th' inundation to endure.
Shall not times hereafter tell
This for no mean miracle?
When the waters by their fall
Threaten'd ruin unto all,
Yet the deluge here was known
Of a world to drown but one.
Let kings and rulers learn this line from me:
_Where power is weak, unsafe is majesty_.
Thou see'st me, Lucia, this year droop;
Three zodiacs filled more, I shall stoop;
Let crutches then provided be
To shore up my debility.
Then, while thou laugh'st, I'll sighing cry,
"A ruin, underpropp'd, am I".
Don will I then my beadsman's gown,
And when so feeble I am grown,
As my weak shoulders cannot bear
The burden of a grasshopper,
Yet with the bench of aged sires,
When I and they keep termly fires,
With my weak voice I'll sing, or say,
Some odes I made of Lucia:
Then will I heave my wither'd hand
To Jove the mighty, for to stand
Thy faithful friend, and to pour down
Upon thee many a benison.
_Zodiacs_, used as symbols of the astronomical year.
_Beadsman's_, almshouseman's.
Holy waters hither bring
For the sacred sprinkling:
Baptise me and thee, and so
Let us to the altar go,
And, ere we our rites commence,
Wash our hands in innocence.
Then I'll be the Rex Sacrorum,
Case is a lawyer, that ne'er pleads alone,
But when he hears the like confusion,
As when the disagreeing Commons throw
About their House, their clamorous Aye or No:
Then Case, as loud as any serjeant there,
Cries out: My lord, my lord, the case is clear.
But when all's hush'd, Case, than a fish more mute,
Bestirs his hand, but starves in hand the suit.
I a dirge will pen to thee;
Thou a trentall make for me:
That the monks and friars together,
Here may sing the rest of either:
Next, I'm sure, the nuns will have
Candlemas to grace the grave.
_Trentall_, services for the dead.
The person crowns the place; your lot doth fall
Last, yet to be with these a principal.
Howe'er it fortuned; know for truth, I meant
You a fore-leader in this testament.
This stone can tell the story of my life,
What was my birth, to whom I was a wife:
In teeming years, how soon my sun was set.
Where now I rest, these may be known by jet.
For other things, my many children be
The best and truest chronicles of me.
Grow up in beauty, as thou dost begin,
And be of all admired, Tomasin.
Down with the rosemary, and so
Down with the bays and mistletoe;
Down with the holly, ivy, all,
Wherewith ye dressed the Christmas Hall:
That so the superstitious find
No one least branch there left behind:
For look, how many leaves there be
Neglected, there (maids, trust to me)
So many goblins you shall see.
He that will live of all cares dispossess'd,
Must shun the bad, aye, and suspect the best.
Welcome to this my college, and though late
Thou'st got a place here (standing candidate)
It matters not, since thou art chosen one
Here of my great and good foundation.
_Lacon._ For a kiss or two, confess,
What doth cause this pensiveness,
Thou most lovely neat-herdess?
Why so lonely on the hill?
Why thy pipe by thee so still,
That erewhile was heard so shrill?
Tell me, do thy kine now fail
To full fill the milking-pail?
Say, what is't that thou dost ail?
_Thyr._ None of these; but out, alas!
A mischance is come to pass,
And I'll tell thee what it was:
See, mine eyes are weeping-ripe.
_Lacon._ Tell, and I'll lay down my pipe.
_Thyr._ I have lost my lovely steer,
That to me was far more dear
Than these kine which I milk here:
Broad of forehead, large of eye,
Party-colour'd like a pie;
Smooth in each limb as a die;
Clear of hoof, and clear of horn:
Sharply pointed as a thorn,
With a neck by yoke unworn;
From the which hung down by strings,
Balls of cowslips, daisy rings,
Interplac'd with ribbonings:
Faultless every way for shape;
Not a straw could him escape;
Ever gamesome as an ape,
But yet harmless as a sheep.
Pardon, Lacon, if I weep;
_Tears will spring where woes are deep_.
Now, ay me! ay me! Last night
Came a mad dog and did bite,
Aye, and kill'd my dear delight.
_Lacon._ Alack, for grief!
_Thyr._ But I'll be brief.
Hence I must, for time doth call
Me, and my sad playmates all,
To his ev'ning funeral.
Live long, Lacon, so adieu!
_Lacon._ Mournful maid, farewell to you;
_Earth afford ye flowers to strew_.
Look upon Sappho's lip, and you will swear
There is a love-like leaven rising there.
Your cup,
But not spill wine;
For if you
'Tis an ill sign;
You are cloy'd here,
If so, no
But avoid here.
_Care keeps the conquest; 'tis no less renown
To keep a city than to win a town._
Men must have bounds how far to walk; for we
Are made far worse by lawless liberty.
It is noon and past with me:
In a while it will strike one;
Then, Bianca, I am gone.
Some effusions let me have
Offer'd on my holy grave;
Then, Bianca, let me rest
With my face towards the East.
As is your name, so is your comely face
Touch'd everywhere with such diffused grace,
As that in all that admirable round
There is not one least solecism found;
And as that part, so every portion else
Keeps line for line with beauty's parallels.
I must
Not trust
Here to any;
Bereav'd,
Deceiv'd
By so many:
As one
By my losses;
With my crosses;
Yet still
I will
Not be grieving,
Since thence
And hence
Comes relieving.
But this
In our mourning;
And sad
Are a-turning:
And he
See dejected,
We may
See erected.
'Tis still observ'd those men most valiant are,
That are most modest ere they come to war.
Why should we covet much, whenas we know
W'ave more to bear our charge than way to go?
Brisk methinks I am, and fine
When I drink my cap'ring wine:
Then to love I do incline,
When I drink my wanton wine:
And I wish all maidens mine,
When I drink my sprightly wine:
Well I sup and well I dine,
When I drink my frolic wine;
But I languish, lower, and pine,
When I want my fragrant wine.
_Kings must not use the axe for each offence:
Princes cure some faults by their patience._
_Despair takes heart, when there's no hope to speed:
The coward then takes arms and does the deed._
Let's strive to be the best; the gods, we know it,
Pillars and men, hate an indifferent poet.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
_Ans._ Like and dislike ye.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
_Ans._ Stroke ye to strike ye.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
_Ans._ Love will befool ye.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
Ans. Heat ye to cool ye.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
_Ans._ Love gifts will send ye.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
_Ans._ Stock ye to spend ye.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
_Ans._ Love will fulfil ye.
I bring ye love: _Quest._ What will love do?
_Ans._ Kiss ye to kill ye.
Go on, brave Hopton, to effectuate that
Which we, and times to come, shall wonder at.
Lift up thy sword; next, suffer it to fall,
And by that one blow set an end to all.
How well contented in this private grange
Spend I my life, that's subject unto change:
Under whose roof with moss-work wrought, there I
Kiss my brown wife and black posterity.
_Grange_, a farmstead.
When to a house I come, and see
The Genius wasteful, more than free:
The servants thumbless, yet to eat
With lawless tooth the flour of wheat:
The sons to suck the milk of kine,
More than the teats of discipline:
The daughters wild and loose in dress,
Their cheeks unstained with shamefac'dness:
The husband drunk, the wife to be
A bawd to incivility;
I must confess, I there descry,
A house spread through with leprosy.
_Thumbless_, lazy: cp. painful thumb, _supra_.
This rule of manners I will teach my guests:
To come with their own bellies unto feasts;
Not to eat equal portions, but to rise
Farced with the food that may themselves suffice.
_Farced_, stuffed.
Anthea laugh'd, and fearing lest excess
Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness,
She with a dainty blush rebuk'd her face,
And call'd each line back to his rule and space.
Be not dismayed though crosses cast thee down;
Thy fall is but the rising to a crown.
_Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt;
Nothing's so hard but search will find it out._
On with thy work, though thou be'st hardly press'd:
_Labour is held up by the hope of rest_.
When flowing garments I behold
Inspir'd with purple, pearl and gold,
I think no other, but I see
In them a glorious leprosy
That does infect and make the rent
More mortal in the vestiment.
_As flowery vestures do descry
The wearer's rich immodesty:
So plain and simple clothes do show
Where virtue walks, not those that flow._
_To an old sore a long cure must go on:
Great faults require great satisfaction._
You ask me what I do, and how I live?
And, noble friend, this answer I must give:
Drooping, I draw on to the vaults of death,
O'er which you'll walk, when I am laid beneath.
Shall I a daily beggar be,
For love's sake asking alms of thee?
Still shall I crave, and never get
A hope of my desired bit?
Ah, cruel maids! I'll go my way,
Whereas, perchance, my fortunes may
Find out a threshold or a door
That may far sooner speed the poor:
Where thrice we knock, and none will hear,
Cold comfort still I'm sure lives there.
Made by the coiners--illegitimate.
My many cares and much distress
Has made me like a wilderness;
Or, discompos'd, I'm like a rude
And all confused multitude:
Out of my comely manners worn,
And, as in means, in mind all torn.
Methought I saw, as I did dream in bed,
A crawling vine about Anacreon's head.
Flushed was his face; his hairs with oil did shine;
And, as he spake, his mouth ran o'er with wine.
Tippled he was, and tippling lisped withal;
And lisping reeled, and reeling like to fall.
A young enchantress close by him did stand,
Tapping his plump thighs with a myrtle wand:
She smil'd; he kiss'd; and kissing, cull'd her too,
And being cup-shot, more he could not do.
For which, methought, in pretty anger she
Snatched off his crown, and gave the wreath to me;
Since when, methinks, my brains about do swim,
And I am wild and wanton like to him.
Happily I had a sight
Of my dearest dear last night;
Make her this day smile on me,
And I'll roses give to thee.
The bound, almost, now of my book I see,
But yet no end of these therein, or me:
Here we begin new life, while thousands quite
Are lost, and theirs, in everlasting night.
Then did I live when I did see
Perilla smile on none but me.
But, ah! by stars malignant crossed,
The life I got I quickly lost;
But yet a way there doth remain
For me embalm'd to live again,
And that's to love me; in which state
I'll live as one regenerate.
Man may at first transgress, but next do well:
_Vice doth in some but lodge a while, not dwell_.
Let others to the printing press run fast;
Since after death comes glory, I'll not haste.
What's got by justice is established sure:
_No kingdoms got by rapine long endure_.
What needs complaints,
When she a place
Has with the race
Of saints?
In endless mirth,
She thinks not on
What's said or done
In earth.
She sees no tears,
Or any tone
Of thy deep groan
She hears:
Nor does she mind,
Or think on't now,
That ever thou
Wast kind;
But chang'd above,
She likes not there.
As she did here,
Thy love.
Forbear, therefore,
And lull asleep
Thy woes, and weep
No more.
Partly work and partly play
Ye must on S. Distaff's day:
From the plough soon free your team,
Then come home and fodder them.
If the maids a-spinning go,
Burn the flax and fire the tow;
Scorch their plackets, but beware
That ye singe no maidenhair.
Bring in pails of water, then,
Let the maids bewash the men.
Give S. Distaff all the right,
Then bid Christmas sport good-night;
And next morrow everyone
To his own vocation.
_Plackets_, petticoats.
In the hope of ease to come,
Let's endure one martyrdom.
I send, I send here my supremest kiss
To thee, my silver-footed Thamesis.
No more shall I reiterate thy Strand,
Whereon so many stately structures stand:
Nor in the summer's sweeter evenings go
To bathe in thee, as thousand others do;
No more shall I along thy crystal glide
In barge with boughs and rushes beautifi'd,
With soft-smooth virgins for our chaste disport,
Never again shall I with finny oar
Put from, or draw unto the faithful shore:
And landing here, or safely landing there,
Make way to my beloved Westminster,
Or to the golden Cheapside, where the earth
Of Julia Herrick gave to me my birth.
May all clean nymphs and curious water-dames
With swan-like state float up and down thy streams:
No drought upon thy wanton waters fall
To make them lean and languishing at all.
No ruffling winds come hither to disease
Thy pure and silver-wristed Naiades.
Keep up your state, ye streams; and as ye spring,
Never make sick your banks by surfeiting.
Grow young with tides, and though I see ye never,
Receive this vow, so fare ye well for ever.
_Reiterate_, retread.
Those ends in war the best contentment bring,
_Whose peace is made up with a pardoning_.
_Great cities seldom rest; if there be none
T' invade from far, they'll find worse foes at home._
_'Twixt truth and error there's this difference known;
Error is fruitful, truth is only one._
_Things are uncertain, and the more we get,
The more on icy pavements we are set._
_Studies themselves will languish and decay,
When either price or praise is ta'en away._
Dread not the shackles: on with thine intent;
_Good wits get more fame by their punishment_.
Now, now the mirth comes
With the cake full of plums,
Where bean's the king of the sport here;
Beside we must know,
The pea also
Must revel, as queen, in the court here.
Begin then to choose,
This night as ye use,
Who shall for the present delight here,
Be a king by the lot,
And who shall not
Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here.
Which known, let us make
Joy-sops with the cake;
And let not a man then be seen here,
Who unurg'd will not drink
To the base from the brink
A health to the king and the queen here.
Next crown the bowl full
With gentle lamb's wool:
Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,
With store of ale too;
And thus ye must do
To make the wassail a swinger.
Give then to the king
And queen wassailing:
And though with ale ye be whet here,
Yet part ye from hence,
As free from offence
As when ye innocent met here.
Give me a man that is not dull
When all the world with rifts is full;
But unamaz'd dares clearly sing,
Whenas the roof's a-tottering:
And, though it falls, continues still
Tickling the cittern with his quill.
_Cittern_, a kind of lute; _quill_, the plectrum for striking it.
Know when to speak; for many times it brings
Danger to give the best advice to kings.
Let moderation on thy passions wait;
Who loves too much, too much the lov'd will hate.
_Still take advice; though counsels, when they fly
At random, sometimes hit most happily._
_Conformity gives comeliness to things:
And equal shares exclude all murmurings._
Who violates the customs, hurts the health,
Not of one man, but all the commonwealth.
'Tis much among the filthy to be clean;
_Our heat of youth can hardly keep the mean_.
Like will to like, each creature loves his kind;
Chaste words proceed still from a bashful mind.
Among these tempests great and manifold
My ship has here one only anchor-hold;
That is my hope, which if that slip, I'm one
Wildered in this vast wat'ry region.
'Tis no discomfort in the world to fall,
When the great crack not crushes one, but all.
The twilight is no other thing, we say,
Than night now gone, and yet not sprung the day.
He who wears blacks, and mourns not for the dead,
Does but deride the party buried.
_Blacks_, mourning garments.
No grief is grown so desperate, but the ill
Is half way cured if the party will.
If wholesome diet can recure a man,
What need of physic or physician?
Stripes, justly given, yerk us with their fall;
But causeless whipping smarts the most of all.
Along, come along,
Let's meet in a throng
Here of tinkers;
And quaff up a bowl
As big as a cowl
To beer drinkers.
The pole of the hop
Place in the aleshop
To bethwack us,
If ever we think
So much as to drink
Who frolic will be
For little cost, he
Must not vary
From beer-broth at all,
So much as to call
The only comfort of my life
Is, that I never yet had wife;
Nor will hereafter; since I know
Who weds, o'er-buys his weal with woe
Wash clean the vessel, lest ye sour
Whatever liquor in ye pour.
Sick is Anthea, sickly is the spring,
The primrose sick, and sickly everything;
The while my dear Anthea does but droop,
The tulips, lilies, daffodils do stoop:
But when again she's got her healthful hour,
Each bending then will rise a proper flower.
Now, if you love me, tell me,
For as I will not sell ye,
So not one cross to buy thee
I'll give, if thou deny me.
Since shed or cottage I have none,
I sing the more, that thou hast one
To whose glad threshold, and free door,
I may a poet come, though poor,
And eat with thee a savoury bit,
Paying but common thanks for it.
Yet should I chance, my Wicks, to see
An over-leaven look in thee,
To sour the bread, and turn the beer
To an exalted vinegar:
Or should'st thou prize me as a dish
Of thrice-boiled worts, or third-day's fish;
I'd rather hungry go and come,
Than to thy house be burdensome;
Yet, in my depth of grief, I'd be
One that should drop his beads for thee.
_Worts_, cabbages.
_Who may do most, does least: the bravest will
Show mercy there, where they have power to kill._
Die ere long, I'm sure, I shall;
After leaves, the tree must fall.
For truth I may this sentence tell,
_No man dies ill, that liveth well_.
Who plants an olive, but to eat the oil?
_Reward, we know, is the chief end of toil_.
This is my comfort when she's most unkind:
She can but spoil me of my means, not mind.
I have my laurel chaplet on my head
If, 'mongst these many numbers to be read,
But one by you be hugg'd and cherished.
Peruse my measures thoroughly, and where
Your judgment finds a guilty poem, there
Be you a judge; but not a judge severe.
The mean pass by, or over, none contemn;
The good applaud; the peccant less condemn,
Since absolution you can give to them.
Stand forth, brave man, here to the public sight;
And in my book now claim a twofold right:
The first as doctor, and the last as knight.
This I'll tell ye by the way:
Maidens, when ye leavens lay,
Cross your dough, and your dispatch
Will be better for your batch.
In the morning when ye rise,
Wash your hands and cleanse your eyes.
Next be sure ye have a care
To disperse the water far;
For as far as that doth light,
So far keeps the evil sprite.
If ye fear to be affrighted
When ye are by chance benighted,
In your pocket for a trust
Carry nothing but a crust:
For that holy piece of bread
Charms the danger and the dread.
_That prince must govern with a gentle hand
Who will have love comply with his command._
_Her._ My dearest love, since thou wilt go,
And leave me here behind thee,
For love or pity let me know
The place where I may find thee.
_Ama._ In country meadows pearl'd with dew,
And set about with lilies,
There, filling maunds with cowslips, you
May find your Amaryllis.
_Her._ What have the meads to do with thee,
Or with thy youthful hours?
Live thou at Court, where thou mayst be
The queen of men, not flowers.
Let country wenches make 'em fine
With posies, since 'tis fitter
For thee with richest gems to shine,
And like the stars to glitter.
_Ama._ You set too high a rate upon
A shepherdess so homely.
_Her._ Believe it, dearest, there's not one
I' th' Court that's half so comely.
I prithee stay. _Ama._ I must away;
Let's kiss first, then we'll sever.
_Ambo._ And though we bid adieu to-day,
We shall not part for ever.
_Maunds_, baskets.
Help me, Julia, for to pray,
Matins sing, or matins say:
This, I know, the fiend will fly
Far away, if thou be'st by.
Bring the holy water hither,
Let us wash and pray together;
When our beads are thus united,
Then the foe will fly affrighted.
_Beads_, prayers.
Roses, you can never die,
Since the place wherein ye lie,
Heat and moisture mix'd are so
As to make ye ever grow.
When to thy porch I come and ravish'd see
The state of poets there attending thee,
Those bards and I, all in a chorus sing:
We are thy prophets, Porter, thou our king.
When times are troubled, then forbear; but speak
When a clear day out of a cloud does break.
The power of princes rests in the consent
Of only those who are obedient:
Which if away, proud sceptres then will lie
Low, and of thrones the ancient majesty.
_No man so well a kingdom rules as he
Who hath himself obeyed the sovereignty._
Trap of a player turn'd a priest now is:
Behold a sudden metamorphosis.
If tithe-pigs fail, then will he shift the scene,
And from a priest turn player once again.
Whether I was myself, or else did see
Out of myself that glorious hierarchy;
Or whether those, in orders rare, or these
Made up one state of sixty Venuses;
Or whether fairies, syrens, nymphs they were,
Or muses on their mountain sitting there;
Or some enchanted place, I do not know,
Or Sharon, where eternal roses grow.
This I am sure: I ravished stood, as one
Confus'd in utter admiration.
Methought I saw them stir, and gently move,
And look as all were capable of love;
And in their motion smelt much like to flowers
Inspir'd by th' sunbeams after dews and showers.
There did I see the reverend rectress stand,
Who with her eye's gleam, or a glance of hand,
Those spirits raised; and with like precepts then,
As with a magic, laid them all again.
_A happy realm! When no compulsive law,
Or fear of it, but love keeps all in awe._
Live you, great mistress of your arts, and be
A nursing mother so to majesty,
As those your ladies may in time be seen,
For grace and carriage, everyone a queen.
One birth their parents gave them; but their new,
And better being, they receive from you.
_Man's former birth is graceless; but the state
Of life comes in, when he's regenerate._
Thou say'st I'm dull; if edgeless so I be,
I'll whet my lips, and sharpen love on thee.
Let me not live if I not love:
Since I as yet did never prove
Where pleasures met, at last do find
All pleasures meet in womankind.
That love 'twixt men does ever longest last
Where war and peace the dice by turns do cast.
Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all
Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.
When Chub brings in his harvest, still he cries,
"Aha, my boys! here's meat for Christmas pies!"
Soon after he for beer so scores his wheat,
That at the tide he has not bread to eat.
Where pleasures rule a kingdom, never there
Is sober virtue seen to move her sphere.
A wearied pilgrim, I have wandered here
Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year;
Long I have lasted in this world, 'tis true,
But yet those years that I have lived, but few.
Who by his grey hairs doth his lusters tell,
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well.
One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he
Of all those threescore, has not liv'd half three.
_He lives, who lives to virtue; men who cast
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last._
_Luster_, five years.
Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be
A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee.
Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please:
How will it drop pure honey speaking these!
Why dost thou wound and break my heart,
As if we should for ever part?
Hast thou not heard an oath from me,
After a day, or two, or three,
I would come back and live with thee?
Take, if thou dost distrust that vow,
This second protestation now.
Upon thy cheek that spangled tear,
Which sits as dew of roses there,
That tear shall scarce be dried before
I'll kiss the threshold of thy door.
Then weep not, sweet; but thus much know,
I'm half return'd before I go.
I will no longer kiss,
I can no longer stay;
The way of all flesh is
That I must go this day.
Since longer I can't live,
My frolic youths, adieu;
My lamp to you I'll give,
And all my troubles too.
Nor think that thou in this my book art worst,
Because not plac'd here with the midst, or first.
Since fame that sides with these, or goes before
Those, that must live with thee for evermore;
That fame, and fame's rear'd pillar, thou shalt see
In the next sheet, brave man, to follow thee.
Fix on that column then, and never fall,
Held up by Fame's eternal pedestal.
Alas! I can't, for tell me, how
Can I be gamesome, aged now?
Besides, ye see me daily grow
Here, winter-like, to frost and snow;
And I, ere long, my girls, shall see
Ye quake for cold to look on me.
_Truth by her own simplicity is known,
Falsehood by varnish and vermilion._
I have been wanton and too bold, I fear,
To chafe o'ermuch the virgin's cheek or ear.
Beg for my pardon, Julia: _he doth win
Grace with the gods who's sorry for his sin_.
That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come
And go with me to choose my burial room:
My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies,
Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes.
One ear tingles; some there be
That are snarling now at me:
Be they those that Homer bit,
I will give them thanks for it.
_Kings must be dauntless; subjects will contemn
Those who want hearts and wear a diadem._
Wanton wenches, do not bring
For my hairs black colouring:
For my locks, girls, let 'em be
Grey or white, all's one to me.
What others have with cheapness seen and ease
In varnish'd maps, by th' help of compasses,
Or read in volumes and those books with all
Their large narrations incanonical,
Thou hast beheld those seas and countries far,
And tell'st to us what once they were, and are.
So that with bold truth thou can'st now relate
This kingdom's fortune, and that empire's fate:
Can'st talk to us of Sharon, where a spring
Of roses have an endless flourishing;
Of Sion, Sinai, Nebo, and with them
Make known to us the new Jerusalem;
The Mount of Olives, Calvary, and where
Is, and hast seen, thy Saviour's sepulchre.
So that the man that will but lay his ears
As inapostate to the thing he hears,
Shall by his hearing quickly come to see
The truth of travels less in books than thee.
_Large_, exaggerated.
_Incanonical_, untrustworthy.
Rare is the voice itself: but when we sing
To th' lute or viol, then 'tis ravishing.
If kings and kingdoms once distracted be,
The sword of war must try the sovereignty
_That prince who may do nothing but what's just,
Rules but by leave, and takes his crown on trust._
All are not ill plots that do sometimes fail;
Nor those false vows which ofttimes don't prevail.
What is't that wastes a prince? example shows,
'Tis flattery spends a king, more than his foes.
Virtue's clean conclave is sobriety.
_Conclave_, guard.
The body's salt the soul is; which when gone,
The flesh soon sucks in putrefaction.
Against diseases here the strongest fence
Is the defensive virtue, abstinence.
When fear admits no hope of safety, then
Although our suffering meet with no relief,
_An equal mind is the best sauce for grief_.
I have a leaden, thou a shaft of gold;
Thou kill'st with heat, and I strike dead with cold.
Let's try of us who shall the first expire;
Or thou by frost, or I by quenchless fire:
_Extremes are fatal where they once do strike,
And bring to th' heart destruction both alike_.
Whatever men for loyalty pretend,
_'Tis wisdom's part to doubt a faithful friend_.
After thy labour take thine ease,
Here with the sweet Pierides.
But if so be that men will not
Give thee the laurel crown for lot;
Be yet assur'd, thou shall have one
Not subject to corruption.
I'll write no more of love; but now repent
Of all those times that I in it have spent.
I'll write no more of life; but wish 'twas ended,
And that my dust was to the earth commended.
Go thou forth, my book, though late:
Yet be timely fortunate.
It may chance good luck may send
Thee a kinsman, or a friend,
That may harbour thee, when I
With my fates neglected lie.
If thou know'st not where to dwell,
See, the fire's by: farewell.
Part of the work remains; one part is past:
And here my ship rides, having anchor cast.
My wearied bark, O let it now be crown'd!
The haven reach'd to which I first was bound.
The work is done: young men and maidens, set
Upon my curls the myrtle coronet
Washed with sweet ointments: thus at last I come
To suffer in the Muses' martyrdom;
But with this comfort, if my blood be shed,
The Muses will wear blacks when I am dead.
_Blacks_, mourning garments.
Fame's pillar here, at last, we set,
Outduring  marble,  brass,  or  jet.
Charm'd   and   enchanted  so
As  to   withstand  the  blow
Of o v e r t h r o w;
Nor shall  the  seas,
Or    o u t r a g e s
Of  storms   o'erbear
What    we    uprear.
Tho'  kingdoms  fall,
This   pillar   never   shall
Decline  or  waste  at   all;
But  stand  for   ever  by  his  own
Firm  and   well-fix'd   foundation.
To his book's end this last line he'd have placed:
_Jocund his muse was, but his life was chaste_.
Wherein (amongst other things)
he sings the Birth of his CHRIST;
and sighes for his _Saviours_ suffering
Ἴδμεν ψεύδεα πολλὰ λέγειν ἐτύμοισιν ὁμοῖα.
Ἴδμεν δ', εὖτ' ἐθέλωμεν, ἀληθέα μυθήσασθαι.
Look how our foul days do exceed our fair;
And as our bad, more than our good works are,
E'en so those lines, pen'd by my wanton wit,
Treble the number of these good I've writ.
Things precious are least numerous: men are prone
To do ten bad for one good action.
For those my unbaptised rhymes,
Writ in my wild unhallowed times;
For every sentence, clause, and word,
That's not inlaid with Thee, my Lord,
Forgive me, God, and blot each line
Out of my book that is not Thine.
But if, 'mongst all, thou find'st here one
Worthy Thy benediction;
That one of all the rest shall be
The glory of my work and me.
Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind;
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mix'd in that watery theatre;
And taste thou them as saltless there
As in their channel first they were.
Tell me the people that do keep
Within the kingdoms of the deep;
Or fetch me back that cloud again
Beshiver'd into seeds of rain;
Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears
Of corn, when summer shakes his ears;
Show me that world of stars, and whence
They noiseless spill their influence:
This if thou canst, then show me Him
That rides the glorious cherubim.
God is above the sphere of our esteem,
And is the best known, not defining Him.
God is not only said to be
God hath two wings which He doth ever move;
The one is mercy, and the next is love:
Under the first the sinners ever trust;
And with the last He still directs the just.
God when He's angry here with anyone,
His wrath is free from perturbation;
And when we think His looks are sour and grim,
The alteration is in us, not Him.
'Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend
Him, as He is, is labour without end.
Prayers and praises are those spotless two
Lambs, by the law, which God requires as due.
God ne'er afflicts us more than our desert,
Though He may seem to overact His part:
Sometimes He strikes us more than flesh can bear;
But yet still less than grace can suffer here.
Three fatal sisters wait upon each sin;
First, fear and shame without, then guilt within.
Suffer thy legs, but not thy tongue to walk:
God, the Most Wise, is sparing of His talk.
True mirth resides not in the smiling skin:
The sweetest solace is to act no sin.
God loads and unloads, thus His work begins,
To load with blessings and unload from sins.
God's boundless mercy is, to sinful man,
Like to the ever-wealthy ocean:
Which though it sends forth thousand streams, 'tis ne'er
Known, or else seen, to be the emptier;
And though it takes all in, 'tis yet no more
Full, and fill'd full, than when full fill'd before.
God, He rejects all prayers that are slight
And want their poise: words ought to have their weight.
_Verse._ My God, I'm wounded by my sin,
And sore without, and sick within.
_Ver. Chor._ I come to Thee, in hope to find
Salve for my body and my mind.
_Verse._ In Gilead though no balm be found
To ease this smart or cure this wound,
_Ver. Chor._ Yet, Lord, I know there is with Thee
All saving health, and help for me.
_Verse._ Then reach Thou forth that hand of Thine,
That pours in oil, as well as wine,
_Ver. Chor._ And let it work, for I'll endure
The utmost smart, so Thou wilt cure.
God is all fore-part; for, we never see
Any part backward in the Deity.
God is not only merciful to call
Men to repent, but when He strikes withal.
God scourgeth some severely, some He spares;
But all in smart have less or greater shares.
God's rod doth watch while men do sleep, and then
The rod doth sleep, while vigilant are men.
God, when for sin He makes His children smart,
His own He acts not, but another's part;
But when by stripes He saves them, then 'tis known
He comes to play the part that is His own.
God, as He is most holy known,
So He is said to be most one.
Afflictions they most profitable are
To the beholder and the sufferer:
Bettering them both, but by a double strain,
The first by patience, and the last by pain.
Do with me, God, as Thou didst deal with John,
Who writ that heavenly Revelation.
Let me, like him, first cracks of thunder hear,
Then let the harps enchantments stroke mine ear:
Here give me thorns, there, in Thy kingdom, set
Upon my head the golden coronet;
There give me day; but here my dreadful night:
My sackcloth here; but there my stole of white.
God has His whips here to a twofold end:
The bad to punish, and the good t' amend.
If all transgressions here should have their pay,
What need there then be of a reckoning day?
If God should punish no sin here of men,
His providence who would not question then?
Those saints which God loves best,
The devil tempts not least.
My God! look on me with Thine eye
Of pity, not of scrutiny;
For if Thou dost, Thou then shalt see
Nothing but loathsome sores in me.
O then, for mercy's sake, behold
These my eruptions manifold,
And heal me with Thy look or touch;
But if Thou wilt not deign so much,
Because I'm odious in Thy sight,
Speak but the word, and cure me quite.
God hears us when we pray, but yet defers
His gifts, to exercise petitioners;
And though a while He makes requesters stay,
With princely hand He'll recompense delay.
God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent,
To make, not mar her, by this punishment;
So where He gives the bitter pills, be sure
'Tis not to poison, but to make thee pure.
God pardons those who do through frailty sin,
But never those that persevere therein.
In numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy birth, O JESU!
Thou pretty baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for Thy princely port here,
Hadst for Thy place
Of birth a base
Out-stable for Thy court here.
Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,
As Gospel tells,
Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.
But we with silks, not crewels,
And lily-work will dress Thee;
And as we dispossess Thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for Thee
Of ivory,
And plaister'd round with amber.
But we will entertain Thee
With glories to await here,
Upon Thy princely state here;
And more for love than pity,
From year to year,
We'll make Thee, here,
A freeborn of our city.
_Crewels_, worsteds.
In the old Scripture I have often read,
The calf without meal ne'er was offered;
To figure to us nothing more than this,
Without the heart lip-labour nothing is.
In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part,
Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
But for to teach us, all the grace is there,
When we obey, by acting what we hear.
When once the sin has fully acted been,
Then is the horror of the trespass seen.
Time was upon
The wing, to fly away;
And I call'd on
Him but awhile to stay;
But he'd be gone,
For ought that I could say.
He held out then
A writing, as he went;
And ask'd me, when
False man would be content
To pay again
What God and Nature lent.
An hour-glass,
In which were sands but few,
As he did pass,
He show'd, and told me, too,
Mine end near was;
And so away he flew.
If war or want shall make me grow so poor,
As for to beg my bread from door to door;
Lord! let me never act that beggar's part,
Who hath Thee in his mouth, not in his heart:
He who asks alms in that so sacred Name,
Without due reverence, plays the cheater's game.
Thou hast promis'd, Lord, to be
With me in my misery;
Suffer me to be so bold
As to speak, Lord, say and hold.
In the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drown'd in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When his potion and his pill
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill;
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the passing bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When, God knows, I'm toss'd about,
Either with despair, or doubt;
Yet before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the judgment is reveal'd,
And that open'd which was seal'd,
When to Thee I have appeal'd,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
Thanksgiving for a former, doth invite
God to bestow a second benefit.
Bellman of night, if I about shall go
For to deny my Master, do thou crow.
Thou stop'dst St. Peter in the midst of sin;
Stay me, by crowing, ere I do begin:
Better it is, premonish'd for to shun
A sin, than fall to weeping when 'tis done.
Adverse and prosperous fortunes both work on
Here, for the righteous man's salvation;
Be he oppos'd, or be he not withstood,
All serve to th' augmentation of his good.
Afflictions bring us joy in times to come,
When sins, by stripes, to us grow wearisome.
I'll come, I'll creep, though Thou dost threat,
Humbly unto Thy mercy-seat:
When I am there, this then I'll do,
Give Thee a dart, and dagger too;
Next, when I have my faults confessed,
Naked I'll show a sighing breast;
Which if that can't Thy pity woo,
Then let Thy justice do the rest
And strike it through.
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words or meat;
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen's small;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unclipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine,
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that be
There placed by Thee;
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand,
That soils my land;
And giv'st me for my bushel sown,
Twice ten for one.
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each year,
The while the conduits of my kine
Run cream for wine.
All these, and better Thou dost send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart;
Which, fired with incense, I resign,
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
_Unflead_, lit. unflay'd.
_Purslain_, an herb.
Make, make me Thine, my gracious God,
Or with Thy staff, or with Thy rod;
And be the blow, too, what it will,
Lord, I will kiss it, though it kill:
Beat me, bruise me, rack me, rend me,
Yet, in torments, I'll commend Thee;
Examine me with fire, and prove me
To the full, yet I will love Thee;
Nor shall Thou give so deep a wound
But I as patient will be found.
Lord, do not beat me,
Since I do sob and cry,
And swoon away to die,
Ere Thou dost threat me.
Lord, do not scourge me,
If I by lies and oaths
Have soil'd myself or clothes,
But rather purge me.
Happy's that man to whom God gives
A stock of goods, whereby he lives
Near to the wishes of his heart:
No man is blest through every part.
Can I not come to Thee, my God, for these
So very many meeting hindrances,
That slack my pace, but yet not make me stay?
Who slowly goes, rids, in the end, his way.
Clear Thou my paths, or shorten Thou my miles,
Remove the bars, or lift me o'er the stiles;
Since rough the way is, help me when I call,
And take me up; or else prevent the fall.
I ken my home, and it affords some ease
To see far off the smoking villages.
Fain would I rest, yet covet not to die
For fear of future biting penury:
No, no, my God, Thou know'st my wishes be
To leave this life, not loving it, but Thee.
_Rids way_, gets over the ground.
Thou bid'st me come; I cannot come; for why?
Thou dwell'st aloft, and I want wings to fly.
To mount my soul, she must have pinions given;
For 'tis no easy way from earth to heaven.
Thou bid'st me come away,
And I'll no longer stay
Than for to shed some tears
For faults of former years,
And to repent some crimes
Done in the present times:
And next, to take a bit
Of bread, and wine with it:
To don my robes of love,
Fit for the place above;
To gird my loins about
With charity throughout;
And so to travel hence
With feet of innocence:
These done, I'll only cry
God mercy, and so die.
God will have all, or none; serve Him, or fall
Down before Baal, Bel, or Belial:
Either be hot or cold: God doth despise,
Abhor, and spew out all neutralities.
Whatever comes, let's be content withal:
Among God's blessings there is no one small.
Through all the night
Thou dost me fright,
And hold'st mine eyes from sleeping;
And day by day,
My cup can say
My wine is mix'd with weeping.
Thou dost my bread
With ashes knead
Each evening and each morrow;
Do see and hear
The coming in of sorrow.
Thy scourge of steel,
Ah me! I feel
Upon me beating ever:
While my sick heart
With dismal smart
Is disacquainted never.
Long, long, I'm sure,
This can't endure,
But in short time 'twill please Thee,
My gentle God,
To burn the rod,
Or strike so as to ease me.
Abundant plagues I late have had,
Yet none of these have made me sad:
For why? My Saviour with the sense
Of suff'ring gives me patience.
O years! and age! farewell:
Where I do know
Infinity to dwell.
And these mine eyes shall see
All times, how they
Are lost i' th' sea
Of vast eternity.
Where never moon shall sway
The stars; but she
And night shall be
Drown'd in one endless day.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower
Unto thy little Saviour;
And tell Him, by that bud now blown,
He is the Rose of Sharon known.
When thou hast said so, stick it there
Upon His bib or stomacher;
And tell Him, for good handsel too,
That thou hast brought a whistle new,
Made of a clean strait oaten reed,
To charm His cries at time of need.
Tell Him, for coral, thou hast none,
But if thou hadst, He should have one;
But poor thou art, and known to be
Even as moneyless as He.
Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
From those mellifluous lips of His;
Then never take a second on,
To spoil the first impression.
_Handsel_, earnest money.
Let others look for pearl and gold,
Tissues, or tabbies manifold:
One only lock of that sweet hay
Whereon the blessed baby lay,
Or one poor swaddling-clout, shall be
The richest New-Year's gift to me.
_Tabbies_, shot silks.
If anything delight me for to print
My book, 'tis this: that Thou, my God, art in't.
How am I bound to Two! God, who doth give
The mind; the king, the means whereby I live.
Where God is merry, there write down thy fears:
What He with laughter speaks, hear thou with tears.
Give me honours! what are these,
But the pleasing hindrances?
Stiles, and stops, and stays that come
In the way 'twixt me and home;
Clear the walk, and then shall I
To my heaven less run than fly.
To a love-feast we both invited are:
The figur'd damask, or pure diaper,
Over the golden altar now is spread,
With bread, and wine, and vessels furnished;
The sacred towel and the holy ewer
Are ready by, to make the guests all pure:
Let's go, my Alma; yet, ere we receive,
Fit, fit it is we have our parasceve.
Who to that sweet bread unprepar'd doth come,
Better be starv'd, than but to taste one crumb.
_Parasceve_, preparation.
God gives not only corn for need,
But likewise sup'rabundant seed;
Bread for our service, bread for show,
Meat for our meals, and fragments too:
He gives not poorly, taking some
Between the finger and the thumb;
But for our glut and for our store,
Fine flour press'd down, and running o'er.
Although we cannot turn the fervent fit
Of sin, we must strive 'gainst the stream of it;
And howsoe'er we have the conquest miss'd,
'Tis for our glory that we did resist.
Christ, He requires still, wheresoe'er He comes
To feed or lodge, to have the best of rooms:
Give Him the choice; grant Him the nobler part
Of all the house: the best of all's the heart.
God could have made all rich, or all men poor;
But why He did not, let me tell wherefore:
Had all been rich, where then had patience been?
Had all been poor, who had His bounty seen?
To seek of God more than we well can find,
Argues a strong distemper of the mind.
Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford,
Instead of that, a sweet and gentle word:
_God crowns our goodness wheresoe'er He sees,
On our part, wanting all abilities_.
Can I not sin, but thou wilt be
My private protonotary?
Can I not woo thee to pass by
A short and sweet iniquity?
I'll cast a mist and cloud upon
My delicate transgression
So utter dark as that no eye
Shall see the hugg'd impiety;
Gifts blind the wise, and bribes do please
And wind all other witnesses;
And wilt not thou with gold be ti'd
To lay thy pen and ink aside?
That in the mirk and tongueless night
Wanton I may, and thou not write?
It will not be. And, therefore, now,
For times to come I'll make this vow,
From aberrations to live free;
So I'll not fear the Judge or thee.
_Protonotary_, once the title of the chief clerk in the Courts of
Lord, I confess, that Thou alone art able
To purify this my Augean stable:
Be the seas water, and the land all soap,
Yet if Thy blood not wash me, there's no hope.
God is all sufferance here; here He doth show
No arrow nockt, only a stringless bow:
His arrows fly, and all His stones are hurl'd
Against the wicked in another world.
_Nockt_, placed ready for shooting.
I dreamt, last night, Thou didst transfuse
Oil from Thy jar into my cruse;
And pouring still Thy wealthy store,
The vessel full did then run o'er;
Methought I did Thy bounty chide
To see the waste; but 'twas replied
By Thee, dear God, God gives man seed
Ofttimes for waste, as for his need.
Then I could say that house is bare
That has not bread and some to spare.
God's bounty, that ebbs less and less
As men do wane in thankfulness.
Night hath no wings to him that cannot sleep,
And time seems then not for to fly, but creep;
Slowly her chariot drives, as if that she
Had broke her wheel, or crack'd her axletree.
Just so it is with me, who, list'ning, pray
The winds to blow the tedious night away,
That I might see the cheerful, peeping day.
Sick is my heart! O Saviour! do Thou please
To make my bed soft in my sicknesses:
Lighten my candle, so that I beneath
Sleep not for ever in the vaults of death;
Let me Thy voice betimes i' th' morning hear:
Call, and I'll come; say Thou the when, and where.
Draw me but first, and after Thee I'll run
And make no one stop till my race be done.
I do believe that die I must,
And be return'd from out my dust:
I do believe that when I rise,
Christ I shall see, with these same eyes:
I do believe that I must come,
With others, to the dreadful doom:
I do believe the bad must go
From thence, to everlasting woe:
I do believe the good, and I,
Shall live with Him eternally:
I do believe I shall inherit
Heaven, by Christ's mercies, not my merit.
I do believe the One in Three,
And Three in perfect unity:
Lastly, that JESUS is a deed
Of gift from God: and here's my creed.
Temptations hurt not, though they have access:
Satan o'ercomes none, but by willingness.
When a man's faith is frozen up, as dead;
Then is the lamp and oil extinguished.
Sorrows our portion are: ere hence we go,
Crosses we must have; or, hereafter woe.
A man's transgressions God does then remit,
When man He makes a penitent for it.
O thou, the wonder of all days!
O paragon, and pearl of praise!
O virgin-martyr, ever blest
Above the rest
Of all the maiden train! We come,
And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.
Thus, thus, and thus we compass round
Thy harmless and unhaunted ground;
And as we sing thy dirge, we will
The daffodil
And other flowers lay upon
The altar of our love, thy stone.
Thou wonder of all maids, liest here.
Of daughters all the dearest dear;
The eye of virgins; nay, the queen
Of this smooth green,
And all sweet meads; from whence we get
The primrose and the violet.
Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy,
By thy sad loss, our liberty:
His was the bond and cov'nant, yet
Thou paid'st the debt:
Lamented maid! he won the day,
But for the conquest thou didst pay.
Thy father brought with him along
The olive branch and victor's song:
He slew the Ammonites, we know,
But to thy woe;
And in the purchase of our peace,
The cure was worse than the disease.
For which obedient zeal of thine,
We offer here, before thy shrine,
Our sighs for storax, tears for wine;
And to make fine
And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will, here,
Four times bestrew thee ev'ry year.
Receive, for this thy praise, our tears:
Receive this offering of our hairs:
Receive these crystal vials fill'd
With tears distill'd
From teeming eyes; to these we bring,
Each maid, her silver filleting,
To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls,
These laces, ribbons, and these falls,
These veils, wherewith we use to hide
The bashful bride,
When we conduct her to her groom:
And all we lay upon thy tomb.
No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;
No more, at yearly festivals
We cowslip balls
Or chains of columbines shall make
For this or that occasion's sake.
No, no; our maiden pleasures be
Wrapp'd in the winding-sheet with thee:
'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave:
Or, if we have
One seed of life left, 'tis to keep
A Lent for thee, to fast and weep.
Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice,
And make this place all paradise:
May sweets grow here: and smoke from hence
Fat frankincense:
Let balm and cassia send their scent
From out thy maiden-monument.
May no wolf howl, or screech-owl stir
A wing about thy sepulchre!
No boisterous winds, or storms, come hither
To starve or wither
Thy soft sweet earth! but, like a spring,
Love keep it ever flourishing.
May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with flow'rs:
May virgins, when they come to mourn,
Male-incense burn
Upon thine altar! then return,
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.
_Cauls_, nets for the hair.
_Falls_, trimmings hanging loosely.
_Male-incense_, incense in globular drops.
What though my harp and viol be
Both hung upon the willow tree?
What though my bed be now my grave,
And for my house I darkness have?
What though my healthful days are fled,
And I lie number'd with the dead?
Yet I have hope, by Thy great power,
To spring; though now a wither'd flower.
_Shame checks our first attempts_; but then 'tis prov'd
_Sins first dislik'd are after that belov'd_.
Sin leads the way, but as it goes, it feels
The following plague still treading on his heels.
God, when He takes my goods and chattels hence,
Gives me a portion, giving patience:
He patience gives, He gives Himself to me.
What here we hope for, we shall once inherit;
By faith we all walk here, not by the Spirit.
Humble we must be, if to heaven we go:
High is the roof there; but the gate is low:
Whene'er thou speak'st, look with a lowly eye:
Grace is increased by humility.
Our present tears here, not our present laughter,
Are but the handsels of our joys hereafter.
_Handsels_, earnest money, foretaste.
After true sorrow for our sins, our strife
Must last with Satan to the end of life.
If Thy smart rod
Here did not make me sorry,
I should not be
In Thy eternal glory.
But since
Thou didst convince
My sins by gently striking;
Add still to those
First stripes new blows,
According to Thy liking.
Or scourging tear me;
That thus from vices driven,
I may from hell
Fly up to dwell
With Thee and Thine in heaven.
What God gives, and what we take,
'Tis a gift for Christ, His sake:
Be the meal of beans and peas,
God be thanked for those and these:
Have we flesh, or have we fish,
All are fragments from His dish.
He His Church save, and the king;
And our peace here, like a spring,
Make it ever flourishing.
Honour thy parents; but good manners call
Thee to adore thy God the first of all.
Here a little child I stand
Heaving up my either hand;
Cold as paddocks though they be,
Here I lift them up to Thee,
For a benison to fall
On our meat and on us all. Amen.
_Paddocks_, frogs.
_Chor._ What sweeter music can we bring,
Than a carol for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the voice! awake the string!
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything
Awake! the while the active finger
Runs division with the singer.
And give the honour to this day
That sees December turn'd to May.
The why and wherefore all things here
Seem like the spring-time of the year.
Smile like a field beset with corn?
Or smell like to a mead new shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?
The cause, why things thus fragrant be:
'Tis He is born, whose quick'ning birth
Gives life and lustre, public mirth,
To heaven and the under-earth.
_Chor._ We see Him come, and know Him ours,
Who, with His sunshine and His showers,
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
And fit it is we find a room
To welcome Him.
Of all the house here is the heart,
_Chor._ Which we will give Him; and bequeath
This holly and this ivy wreath,
To do Him honour; who's our King,
And Lord of all this revelling.
_The musical part was composed by M. Henry Lawes._
And not with lutes to fill the room.
And have a care no fire goes out,
But 'cense the porch and place throughout.
The storax fries; and ye may see
How heart and hand do all agree
To make things sweet. _Chor._ Yet all less sweet than He.
And tell us then, whenas thou seest
His gently-gliding, dove-like eyes,
And hear'st His whimpering and His cries;
How can'st thou this Babe circumcise?
For, now unless ye see Him bleed,
Which makes the bapti'm, 'tis decreed
The birth is fruitless. _Chor._ Then the work God speed.
Spring tulips up through all the year;
And from His sacred blood, here shed,
May roses grow to crown His own dear head.
_Chor._ Back, back again; each thing is done
With zeal alike, as 'twas begun;
Now singing, homeward let us carry
The Babe unto His mother Mary;
And when we have the Child commended
To her warm bosom, then our rites are ended.
With anything unhallowed here;
No jot of leaven must be found
Conceal'd in this most holy ground.
Leave that without, then enter in;
_Chor._ But let no Christmas mirth begin
Before ye purge and circumcise
Your hearts, and hands, lips, ears, and eyes.
That all things sweet and clean may be:
For here's a Babe that, like a bride,
Will blush to death if ought be spi'd
Ill-scenting, or unpurifi'd.
_Chor._ The room is 'cens'd: help, help t' invoke
Heaven to come down, the while we choke
The temple with a cloud of smoke.
Of Him, who's Lord of Heaven and Earth:
Because the pretty Babe does bleed.
Poor pitied Child! who from Thy stall
Bring'st, in Thy blood, a balm that shall
Be the best New-Year's gift to all.
His praise, so let us bless the King.
_Chor._ Long may He live till He hath told
His New-Years trebled to His old:
And when that's done, to re-aspire
A new-born Phœnix from His own chaste fire.
When I shall sin, pardon my trespass here;
For once in hell, none knows remission there.
Sin once reached up to God's eternal sphere,
And was committed, not remitted there.
Evil no nature hath; the loss of good
Is that which gives to sin a livelihood.
_The Flourish of Music; then followed the Song._
Where is the Babe but lately sprung?
Lies he the lily-banks among?
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.
Him in the morning's blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find him out.
_Star._ No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest
A Princely Babe in's mother's breast.
_Chor._ He's seen, He's seen! why then a round,
Let's kiss the sweet and holy ground;
And all rejoice that we have found
_A King before conception crown'd_.
Unto our pretty Twelfth-tide King,
Each one his several offering;
_Chor._ And when night comes, we'll give Him wassailing;
And that His treble honours may be seen,
We'll choose Him King, and make His mother Queen.
With golden censers, and with incense, here
Before Thy virgin-altar I appear,
To pay Thee that I owe, since what I see
In, or without, all, all belongs to Thee.
Where shall I now begin to make, for one
Least loan of Thine, half restitution?
Alas! I cannot pay a jot; therefore
I'll kiss the tally, and confess the score.
Ten thousand talents lent me, Thou dost write;
'Tis true, my God, but I can't pay one mite.
_Tally_, the record of his score or debt.
I'll hope no more
For things that will not come;
And if they do, they prove but cumbersome.
Wealth brings much woe;
And, since it fortunes so,
'Tis better to be poor
Than so t' abound
As to be drown'd
Or overwhelm'd with store.
Pale care, avaunt!
I'll learn to be content
With that small stock Thy bounty gave or lent.
What may conduce
To my most healthful use,
Almighty God, me grant;
But that, or this,
That hurtful is,
Deny Thy suppliant.
Gold I have none, but I present my need,
O Thou, that crown'st the will, where wants the deed.
Where rams are wanting, or large bullocks' thighs,
There a poor lamb's a plenteous sacrifice.
Take then his vows, who, if he had it, would
Devote to Thee both incense, myrrh and gold
Upon an altar rear'd by him, and crown'd
Both with the ruby, pearl, and diamond.
Permit mine eyes to see
Part, or the whole of Thee,
O happy place!
Where all have grace,
And garlands shar'd,
For their reward;
Where each chaste soul
In long white stole,
And palms in hand,
Do ravish'd stand;
So in a ring,
The praises sing
That fill the Throne;
While harps and viols then
To voices say, Amen.
Last night I drew up mine account,
And found my debits to amount
To such a height, as for to tell
How I should pay 's impossible.
Well, this I'll do: my mighty score
Thy mercy-seat I'll lay before;
But therewithal I'll bring the band
Which, in full force, did daring stand
Till my Redeemer, on the tree,
Made void for millions, as for me.
Then, if thou bidst me pay, or go
Unto the prison, I'll say, no;
Christ having paid, I nothing owe:
For, this is sure, the debt is dead
By law, the bond once cancelled.
_Score_, debt or reckoning.
_Daring_, frightening.
God makes not good men wantons, but doth bring
Them to the field, and, there, to skirmishing.
With trials those, with terrors these He proves,
And hazards those most whom the most He loves;
For Sceva, darts; for Cocles, dangers; thus
He finds a fire for mighty Mutius;
Death for stout Cato; and besides all these,
A poison, too, He has for Socrates;
Torments for high Attilius; and, with want,
Brings in Fabricius for a combatant:
He never brings them once to th' push of pikes.
Play their offensive and defensive parts,
Till they be hid o'er with a wood of darts.
When man is punish'd, he is plagued still,
Not for the fault of nature, but of will.
Open thy gates
To him, who weeping waits,
And might come in,
But that held back by sin.
Let mercy be
So kind to set me free,
And I will straight
Come in, or force the gate.
All I have lost that could be rapt from me;
And fare it well: yet, Herrick, if so be
Thy dearest Saviour renders thee but one
Smile, that one smile's full restitution.
Pardon me, God, once more I Thee entreat,
That I have placed Thee in so mean a seat
Where round about Thou seest but all things vain,
Uncircumcis'd, unseason'd and profane.
But as Heaven's public and immortal eye
Looks on the filth, but is not soil'd thereby,
So Thou, my God, may'st on this impure look,
But take no tincture from my sinful book:
Let but one beam of glory on it shine,
And that will make me and my work divine.
Lord, I am like to mistletoe,
Which has no root, and cannot grow
Or prosper but by that same tree
It clings about; so I by Thee.
What need I then to fear at all,
So long as I about Thee crawl?
But if that tree should fall and die,
Tumble shall heav'n, and down will I.
I would to God that mine old age might have
Before my last, but here a living grave,
Some one poor almshouse; there to lie, or stir
Ghostlike, as in my meaner sepulchre;
A little piggin and a pipkin by,
To hold things fitting my necessity,
Which rightly used, both in their time and place,
Might me excite to fore and after-grace.
Thy Cross, my Christ, fix'd 'fore mine eyes should be,
Not to adore that, but to worship Thee.
So, here the remnant of my days I'd spend,
Reading Thy Bible, and my Book; so end.
_Piggin_, a small wooden vessel.
When we 'gainst Satan stoutly fight, the more
He tears and tugs us than he did before;
Neglecting once to cast a frown on those
Whom ease makes his without the help of blows.
Hell is no other but a soundless pit,
Where no one beam of comfort peeps in it.
When I a ship see on the seas,
Cuff'd with those wat'ry savages,
And therewithal behold it hath
In all that way no beaten path,
Then, with a wonder, I confess
Thou art our way i' th' wilderness;
And while we blunder in the dark,
Thou art our candle there, or spark.
The less our sorrows here and suff'rings cease,
The more our crowns of glory there increase.
Hell is the place where whipping-cheer abounds,
But no one jailer there to wash the wounds.
Along the dark and silent night,
With my lantern and my light,
And the tinkling of my bell,
Thus I walk, and this I tell:
Death and dreadfulness call on
To the gen'ral session,
To whose dismal bar we there
All accounts must come to clear.
Scores of sins w'ave made here many,
Wip'd out few, God knows, if any.
Rise, ye debtors, then, and fall
To make payment while I call.
Ponder this, when I am gone;
By the clock 'tis almost one.
When winds and seas do rage
And threaten to undo me,
Thou dost, their wrath assuage
If I but call unto Thee.
A mighty storm last night
Did seek my soul to swallow,
But by the peep of light
A gentle calm did follow.
What need I then despair,
Though ills stand round about me;
Since mischiefs neither dare
To bark or bite without Thee?
Come pity us, all ye who see
Our harps hung on the willow tree:
Come pity us, ye passers-by
Who see or hear poor widows cry:
Come pity us; and bring your ears
And eyes to pity widows' tears.
_Chor._ And when you are come hither
Then we will keep
A fast, and weep
Our eyes out altogether.
For Tabitha, who dead lies here,
Clean washed, and laid out for the bier,
O modest matrons, weep and wail!
For now the corn and wine must fail:
The basket and the bin of bread,
Wherewith so many souls were fed,
_Chor._ Stand empty here for ever:
And ah! the poor
At thy worn door
Shall be relieved never.
Woe worth the time, woe worth the day
That 'reaved us of thee, Tabitha!
For we have lost with thee the meal,
The bits, the morsels, and the deal
Of gentle paste and yielding dough
That thou on widows did'st bestow.
_Chor._ All's gone, and death hath taken
Away from us
Our maundy; thus
Thy widows stand forsaken.
Ah, Dorcas, Dorcas! now adieu
We bid the cruse and pannier too:
Ay, and the flesh, for and the fish
Doled to us in that lordly dish.
We take our leaves now of the loom
From whence the housewives' cloth did come:
_Chor._ The web affords now nothing;
Thou being dead,
The worsted thread
Is cut, that made us clothing.
Farewell the flax and reaming wool
With which thy house was plentiful;
Farewell the coats, the garments, and
The sheets, the rugs, made by thy hand;
Farewell thy fire and thy light
That ne'er went out by day or night:
_Chor._ No, or thy zeal so speedy,
That found a way
By peep of day,
To feed and cloth the needy.
But, ah, alas! the almond bough
And olive branch is withered now.
The wine press now is ta'en from us,
The saffron and the calamus.
The spice and spikenard hence is gone,
The storax and the cinnamon.
_Chor._ The carol of our gladness
Has taken wing,
And our late spring
Of mirth is turned to sadness.
How wise wast thou in all thy ways!
How worthy of respect and praise!
How matron-like didst thou go dressed!
How soberly above the rest
Of those that prank it with their plumes,
And jet it with their choice perfumes!
_Chor._ Thy vestures were not flowing:
Nor did the street
Accuse thy feet
Of mincing in their going.
And though thou here li'st dead, we see
A deal of beauty yet in thee.
How sweetly shows thy smiling face,
Thy lips with all-diffused grace!
Thy hands, though cold, yet spotless white,
And comely as the chrysolite!
_Chor._ Thy belly like a hill is,
Or as a neat
Clean heap of wheat,
All set about with lilies.
Sleep with thy beauties here, while we
Will show these garments made by thee;
These were the coats, in these are read
The monuments of Dorcas dead.
These were thy acts, and thou shall have
These hung as honours o'er thy grave;
_Chor._ And after us, distressed,
Thy very tomb
Would cry out, Thou art blessed.
_Maundy_, the alms given on Thursday in Holy Week.
_Reaming_, drawing out into threads.
_Calamus_, a fragrant plant, the sweet flag.
_Chrysolite_, the topaz.
Rapine has yet took nought from me;
But if it please my God I be
Brought at the last to th' utmost bit,
God make me thankful still for it.
I have been grateful for my store:
Let me say grace when there's no more.
That little pretty bleeding part
Of foreskin send to me:
And I'll return a bleeding heart
For New-Year's gift to Thee.
Rich is the gem that Thou did'st send,
Mine's faulty too and small;
But yet this gift Thou wilt commend
Because I send Thee all.
Let not that day God's friends and servants scare;
The bench is then their place, and not the bar.
The sup'rabundance of my store,
That is the portion of the poor:
Wheat, barley, rye, or oats; what is't
But He takes toll of? all the grist.
Two raiments have I: Christ then makes
This law; that He and I part stakes.
Or have I two loaves, then I use
The poor to cut, and I to choose.
In this world, the isle of dreams,
While we sit by sorrow's streams,
Tears and terrors are our themes
But when once from hence we fly,
More and more approaching nigh
Unto young Eternity
In that whiter island, where
Things are evermore sincere;
Candour here, and lustre there
There no monstrous fancies shall
Out of hell an horror call,
To create, or cause at all,
There in calm and cooling sleep
We our eyes shall never steep;
But eternal watch shall keep,
Pleasures, such as shall pursue
Me immortalised, and you;
And fresh joys, as never to
Have ending.
I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum:
Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my JESU, I'll take all.
God! to my little meal and oil
Add but a bit of flesh to boil:
And Thou my pipkinet shalt see,
Give a wave-off'ring unto Thee.
God He refuseth no man, but makes way
For all that now come or hereafter may.
God's grace deserves here to be daily fed
That, thus increased, it might be perfected.
To him who longs unto his Christ to go,
Celerity even itself is slow.
God had but one Son free from sin; but none
Of all His sons free from correction.
God, as He's potent, so He's likewise known
To give us more than hope can fix upon.
Science in God is known to be
A substance, not a quality.
Christ, I have read, did to His chaplains say,
Sending them forth, Salute no man by th' way:
Not that He taught His ministers to be
Unsmooth or sour to all civility,
But to instruct them to avoid all snares
Manners are good; but till His errand ends,
Salute we must nor strangers, kin, or friends.
Lasciviousness is known to be
The sister to saturity.
God from our eyes all tears hereafter wipes,
And gives His children kisses then, not stripes.
In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be,
Unless God gives the benedicite.
God is His name of nature; but that word
Implies His power when He's called the Lord.
God hides from man the reck'ning day, that he
May fear it ever for uncertainty;
That being ignorant of that one, he may
Expect the coming of it every day.
Angels are called gods; yet of them, none
Are gods but by participation:
As just men are entitled gods, yet none
Are gods of them but by adoption.
The longer thread of life we spin,
The more occasion still to sin.
The tears of saints more sweet by far
Than all the songs of sinners are.
That manna, which God on His people cast,
Fitted itself to ev'ry feeder's taste.
True rev'rence is, as Cassiodore doth prove,
The fear of God commix'd with cleanly love.
Mercy, the wise Athenians held to be
Not an affection, but a deity.
After this life, the wages shall
Not shared alike be unto all.
God tempteth no one, as St. Austin saith,
For any ill, but for the proof of faith;
Unto temptation God exposeth some,
But none of purpose to be overcome.
God's hands are round and smooth, that gifts may fall
Freely from them and hold none back at all.
Labour we must, and labour hard
I' th' forum here, or vineyard.
The time the bridegroom stays from hence
Is but the time of penitence.
Roaring is nothing but a weeping part
Forced from the mighty dolour of the heart.
_He that is hurt seeks help_: sin is the wound;
The salve for this i' th' Eucharist is found.
God in His own day will be then severe
To punish great sins, who small faults whipt here.
The mountains of the Scriptures are, some say,
Moses, and Jesus, called Joshua:
The prophets, mountains of the Old are meant,
Th' apostles, mounts of the New Testament.
A prayer that is said alone
Starves, having no companion.
Great things ask for when thou dost pray,
And those great are which ne'er decay.
Pray not for silver, rust eats this;
Ask not for gold, which metal is;
Nor yet for houses, which are here
But earth: _such vows ne'er reach God's ear_.
Christ was not sad, i' th' garden, for His own
Passion, but for His sheep's dispersion.
God, who's in heaven, will hear from thence;
If not to th' sound, yet to the sense.
God, as the learned Damascene doth write,
A sea of substance is, indefinite.
_The learned Damascene_, _i.e._, St. John of Damascus.
He that ascended in a cloud, shall come
In clouds descending to the public doom.
The same who crowns the conqueror, will be
A coadjutor in the agony.
Heaven is most fair; but fairer He
That made that fairest canopy.
In God there's nothing, but 'tis known to be
Even God Himself, in perfect entity.
God can do all things, save but what are known
For to imply a contradiction.
Christ, when He hung the dreadful cross upon,
Had, as it were, a dereliction
In this regard, in those great terrors He
Had no one beam from God's sweet majesty.
_Dereliction_, abandonment.
Jehovah, as Boëtius saith,
No number of the plural hath.
God then confounds man's face when He not bears
The vows of those who are petitioners.
The shame of man's face is no more
Than prayers repell'd, says Cassiodore.
Jacob God's beggar was; and so we wait,
Though ne'er so rich, all beggars at His gate.
The bad among the good are here mix'd ever;
The good without the bad are here plac'd never.
_Sin no existence; nature none it hath,
Or good at all_, as learned Aquinas saith.
The repetition of the name made known
No other than Christ's full affection.
God on our youth bestows but little ease;
But on our age most sweet indulgences.
God is so potent, as His power can
Draw out of bad a sovereign good to man.
Paradise is, as from the learn'd I gather,
_A choir of bless'd souls circling in the Father_.
One part thereof left still unfinished,
To make them thereby mindful of their own
City's most sad and dire destruction.
God did forbid the Israelites to bring
An ass unto Him for an offering,
Only, by this dull creature, to express
His detestation to all slothfulness.
The Virgin Mother stood at distance, there,
From her Son's cross, not shedding once a tear,
Because the law forbad to sit and cry
For those who did as malefactors die.
So she, to keep her mighty woes in awe,
Tortured her love not to transgress the law.
Observe we may, how Mary Joses then,
And th' other Mary, Mary Magdalen,
Sat by the grave; and sadly sitting there,
Shed for their Master many a bitter tear;
But 'twas not till their dearest Lord was dead
And then to weep they both were licensed.
Those tapers which we set upon the grave
In fun'ral pomp, but this importance have:
That souls departed are not put out quite;
But as they walked here in their vestures white,
So live in heaven in everlasting light.
One birth our Saviour had; the like none yet
Was, or will be a second like to it.
To work a wonder, God would have her shown
At once a bud and yet a rose full-blown.
As sunbeams pierce the glass, and streaming in,
No crack or schism leave i' th' subtle skin:
So the Divine Hand worked and brake no thread,
But, in a mother, kept a maidenhead.
God, in the holy tongue, they call
The place that filleth all in all.
God's said to leave this place, and for to come
Nearer to that place than to other some,
Of local motion, in no least respect,
But only by impression of effect.
God is Jehovah call'd: which name of His
Implies or Essence, or the He that Is.
God's evident, and may be said to be
Present with just men, to the verity;
But with the wicked if He doth comply,
'Tis, as St. Bernard saith, but seemingly.
God's said to dwell there, wheresoever He
Puts down some prints of His high Majesty;
As when to man He comes, and there doth place
His Holy Spirit, or doth plant His Grace.
The Virgin Mary was, as I have read,
The House of God, by Christ inhabited;
Into the which He entered, but, the door
Once shut, was never to be open'd more.
God's undivided, One in Persons Three,
And Three in inconfused unity.
Original of Essence there is none,
And though the Father be the first of Three,
'Tis but by order, not by entity.
So long, it seem'd, as Mary's faith was small,
Christ did her woman, not her Mary call;
But no more woman, being strong in faith,
But Mary call'd then, as St. Ambrose saith.
Placed north and south for these clean purposes;
That man's uncomely froth might not molest
God's ways and walks, which lie still east and west.
Sabbaths are threefold, as St. Austin says:
The first of time, or Sabbath here of days;
The second is a conscience trespass-free;
The last the Sabbath of Eternity.
Noah the first was, as tradition says,
That did ordain the fast of forty days.
There is no evil that we do commit,
But hath th' extraction of some good from it:
As when we sin, God, the great Chemist, thence
Draws out th' elixir of true penitence.
God is more here than in another place,
Not by His essence, but commerce of grace.
God hath this world for many made, 'tis true:
But He hath made the World to Come for few.
God gives to none so absolute an ease
As not to know or feel some grievances.
Paul, he began ill, but he ended well;
Judas began well, but he foully fell:
In godliness not the beginnings so
Much as the ends are to be look'd unto.
These temporal goods God, the most wise, commends
To th' good and bad in common for two ends:
First, that these goods none here may o'er-esteem
Because the wicked do partake of them;
Next, that these ills none cowardly may shun,
Being, oft here, the just man's portion.
The fire of hell this strange condition hath,
To burn, not shine, as learned Basil saith.
Speak, did the blood of Abel cry
To God for vengeance? Yes, say I,
Ev'n as the sprinkled blood called on
God for an expiation.
The blood of Abel was a thing
Of such a rev'rend reckoning,
As that the old world thought it fit
Especially to swear by it.
One man repentant is of more esteem
With God, than one that never sinned 'gainst Him.
The doctors, in the Talmud, say,
That in this world one only day
In true repentance spent will be
More worth than heaven's eternity.
God's present everywhere, but most of all
Present by union hypostatical:
God, He is there, where's nothing else, schools say,
And nothing else is there where He's away.
_Hypostatical_, personal.
For each one body that i' th' earth is sown,
There's an uprising but of one for one;
But for each grain that in the ground is thrown,
Threescore or fourscore spring up thence for one:
So that the wonder is not half so great
Of ours as is the rising of the wheat.
Justly our dearest Saviour may abhor us,
Who hath more suffered by us far, than for us.
Sinners confounded are a twofold way,
Either as when, the learned schoolmen say,
Men's sins destroyed are when they repent,
Or when, for sins, men suffer punishment.
No man is tempted so but may o'ercome,
If that he has a will to masterdom.
God doth embrace the good with love; and gains
The good by mercy, as the bad by pains.
God bought man here with His heart's blood expense;
And man sold God here for base thirty pence.
Christ never did so great a work but there
His human nature did in part appear;
Or ne'er so mean a piece but men might see
Therein some beams of His Divinity:
So that in all He did there did combine
His human nature and His part divine.
Predestination is the cause alone
Of many standing, but of fall to none.
Art thou not destin'd? then with haste go on
To make thy fair predestination:
If thou can'st change thy life, God then will please
To change, or call back, His past sentences.
Sin never slew a soul unless there went
Along with it some tempting blandishment.
Sin is an act so free, that if we shall
Say 'tis not free, 'tis then no sin at all.
Sin is the cause of death; and sin's alone
The cause of God's predestination:
And from God's prescience of man's sin doth flow
Our destination to eternal woe.
God's prescience makes none sinful; but th' offence
Of man's the chief cause of God's prescience.
To all our wounds here, whatsoe'er they be,
Christ is the one sufficient remedy.
Christ took our nature on Him, not that He
'Bove all things loved it for the purity:
No, but He dress'd Him with our human trim,
Because our flesh stood most in need of Him.
Heaven is not given for our good works here;
Yet it is given to the labourer.
God has four keys, which He reserves alone:
The first of rain; the key of hell next known;
With the third key He opes and shuts the womb;
And with the fourth key he unlocks the tomb.
There's no constraint to do amiss,
Whereas but one enforcement is.
Give unto all, lest he, whom thou deni'st,
May chance to be no other man but Christ.
One only fire has hell; but yet it shall
Not after one sort there excruciate all:
But look, how each transgressor onward went
Boldly in sin, shall feel more punishment.
Is this a fast, to keep
The larder lean?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg'd to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour?
No; 'tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin;
And that's to keep thy Lent.
By hours we all live here; in Heaven is known
No spring of time, or time's succession.
Be those few hours, which I have yet to spend,
Blest with the meditation of my end:
Though they be few in number, I'm content:
If otherwise, I stand indifferent.
Nor makes it matter Nestor's years to tell,
If man lives long and if he live not well.
A multitude of days still heaped on,
Seldom brings order, but confusion.
Might I make choice, long life should be withstood;
Nor would I care how short it were, if good:
Which to effect, let ev'ry passing-bell
Possess my thoughts, "Next comes my doleful knell":
And when the night persuades me to my bed,
I'll think I'm going to be buried.
So shall the blankets which come over me
Present those turfs which once must cover me:
And with as firm behaviour I will meet
The sheet I sleep in as my winding-sheet.
When sleep shall bathe his body in mine eyes,
I will believe that then my body dies:
And if I chance to wake and rise thereon,
I'll have in mind my resurrection,
Which must produce me to that General Doom,
To which the peasant, so the prince, must come,
To hear the Judge give sentence on the throne,
Without the least hope of affection.
Tears, at that day, shall make but weak defence,
When hell and horror fright the conscience.
Let me, though late, yet at the last, begin
To shun the least temptation to a sin;
Though to be tempted be no sin, until
Man to th' alluring object gives his will.
Such let my life assure me, when my breath
Goes thieving from me, I am safe in death;
Which is the height of comfort: when I fall,
I rise triumphant in my funeral.
_Affection_, partiality.
Those garments lasting evermore,
Are works of mercy to the poor,
Which neither tettar, time, or moth
Shall fray that silk or fret this cloth.
Come to me, God; but do not come
In power; or come Thou in that state
When Thou Thy laws did'st promulgate,
Whenas the mountain quaked for dread,
And sullen clouds bound up his head.
No; lay Thy stately terrors by
To talk with me familiarly;
For if Thy thunder-claps I hear,
I shall less swoon than die for fear.
Speak Thou of love and I'll reply
Or sing of mercy and I'll suit
To it my viol and my lute;
Thus let Thy lips but love distil,
Then come, my God, and hap what will.
_Mountain_, orig. ed. _mountains_.
When once the soul has lost her way,
O then how restless does she stray!
And having not her God for light,
How does she err in endless night!
In doing justice God shall then be known,
Who showing mercy here, few prized, or none.
We merit all we suffer, and by far
More stripes than God lays on the sufferer.
God suffers not His saints and servants dear
To have continual pain or pleasure here;
But look how night succeeds the day, so He
Gives them by turns their grief and jollity.
God is all-present to whate'er we do,
And as all-present, so all-filling too.
That there's a God we all do know,
But what God is we cannot show.
Tell me, rich man, for what intent
Thou load'st with gold thy vestiment?
Whenas the poor cry out: To us
Belongs all gold superfluous.
God has a right hand, but is quite bereft
Of that which we do nominate the left.
Two instruments belong unto our God:
The one a staff is and the next a rod;
That if the twig should chance too much to smart,
The staff might come to play the friendly part.
God still rewards us more than our desert;
But when He strikes, He quarter-acts His part.
Confession twofold is, as Austin says,
The first of sin is, and the next of praise.
If ill it goes with thee, thy faults confess:
If well, then chant God's praise with cheerfulness.
God is then said for to descend, when He
Doth here on earth some thing of novity;
As when in human nature He works more
Than ever yet the like was done before.
Good and great God! how should I fear
To come to Thee if Christ not there!
Could I but think He would not be
Present to plead my cause for me,
To hell I'd rather run than I
Would see Thy face and He not by.
Though Thou be'st all that active love
Which heats those ravished souls above;
And though all joys spring from the glance
Of Thy most winning countenance;
Yet sour and grim Thou'dst seem to me
If through my Christ I saw not Thee.
That Christ did die, the pagan saith;
But that He rose, that's Christians' faith.
We are co-heirs with Christ; nor shall His own
Heirship be less by our adoption.
The number here of heirs shall from the state
Of His great birthright nothing derogate.
God hates the dual number, being known
The luckless number of division;
And when He bless'd each sev'ral day whereon
He did His curious operation,
'Tis never read there, as the fathers say,
God bless'd His work done on the second day;
Wherefore two prayers ought not to be said,
Or by ourselves, or from the pulpit read.
God's said our hearts to harden then,
Whenas His grace not supples men.
Before man's fall the rose was born,
St. Ambrose says, without the thorn;
But for man's fault then was the thorn
Without the fragrant rose-bud born;
But ne'er the rose without the thorn.
God doth not promise here to man that He
Will free him quickly from his misery;
But in His own time, and when He thinks fit,
Then He will give a happy end to it.
The strength of baptism that's within,
It saves the soul by drowning sin.
Gold serves for tribute to the king,
The frankincense for God's off'ring.
God, who me gives a will for to repent,
Will add a power to keep me innocent;
That I shall ne'er that trespass recommit
When I have done true penance here for it.
When well we speak and nothing do that's good,
We not divide the hoof, but chew the cud;
But when good words by good works have their proof,
We then both chew the cud and cleave the hoof.
Thy former coming was to cure
My soul's most desp'rate calenture;
Thy second advent, that must be
To heal my earth's infirmity.
_Calenture_, delirium caused by excessive heat.
As my little pot doth boil,
We will keep this level-coil,
That a wave and I will bring
To my God a heave-offering.
_Level-coil_, the old Christmas game of changing chairs; to "keep
God can't be wrathful: but we may conclude
Wrathful He may be by similitude:
God's wrathful said to be, when He doth do
That without wrath which wrath doth force us to.
In God's commands ne'er ask the reason why;
Let thy obedience be the best reply.
If I have played the truant, or have here
Failed in my part, oh! Thou that art my dear,
My mild, my loving tutor, Lord and God!
Correct my errors gently with Thy rod.
I know that faults will many here be found,
But where sin swells there let Thy grace abound.
The work is done; now let my laurel be
Given by none but by Thyself to me:
That done, with honour Thou dost me create
Thy poet, and Thy prophet Laureate.
Put off Thy robe of purple, then go on
To the sad place of execution:
Thine hour is come, and the tormentor stands
Ready to pierce Thy tender feet and hands.
Long before this, the base, the dull, the rude,
Th' inconstant and unpurged multitude
Yawn for Thy coming; some ere this time cry,
How He defers, how loath He is to die!
Amongst this scum, the soldier with his spear
And that sour fellow with his vinegar,
His sponge, and stick, do ask why Thou dost stay;
So do the scurf and bran too. Go Thy way,
Thy way, Thou guiltless man, and satisfy
By Thine approach each their beholding eye.
Not as a thief shalt Thou ascend the mount,
But like a person of some high account;
The Cross shall be Thy stage, and Thou shalt there
The spacious field have for Thy theatre.
Thou art that Roscius and that marked-out man
That must this day act the tragedian
To wonder and affrightment: Thou art He
Whom all the flux of nations comes to see,
Not those poor thieves that act their parts with Thee;
Those act without regard, when once a king
And God, as Thou art, comes to suffering.
No, no; this scene from Thee takes life, and sense,
And soul, and spirit, plot and excellence.
Why then, begin, great King! ascend Thy throne,
And thence proceed to act Thy Passion
To such an height, to such a period raised,
As hell, and earth, and heav'n may stand amazed.
God and good angels guide Thee; and so bless
Thee in Thy several parts of bitterness,
That those who see Thee nail'd unto the tree
May, though they scorn Thee, praise and pity Thee.
And we, Thy lovers, while we see Thee keep
The laws of action, will both sigh and weep,
And bring our spices to embalm Thee dead;
That done, we'll see Thee sweetly buried.
_Scurf and bran_, the rabble.
When Thou wast taken, Lord, I oft have read,
All Thy disciples Thee forsook and fled.
Let their example not a pattern be
For me to fly, but now to follow Thee.
If Thou be'st taken, God forbid
I fly from Thee, as others did:
But if Thou wilt so honour me
As to accept my company,
I'll follow Thee, hap hap what shall,
Both to the judge and judgment hall:
And, if I see Thee posted there,
To be all-flayed with whipping-cheer,
I'll take my share; or else, my God,
Thy stripes I'll kiss, or burn the rod.
Have, have ye no regard, all ye
Who pass this way, to pity Me,
Who am a man of misery!
A man both bruis'd, and broke, and one
Who suffers not here for Mine own,
But for My friends' transgression!
Ah! Sion's daughters, do not fear
The cross, the cords, the nails, the spear,
The myrrh, the gall, the vinegar;
For Christ, your loving Saviour, hath
Drunk up the wine of God's fierce wrath;
Only there's left a little froth,
Less for to taste than for to show
What bitter cups had been your due,
Had He not drank them up for you.
When I behold Thee, almost slain,
With one and all parts full of pain:
When I Thy gentle heart do see
Pierced through and dropping blood for me,
I'll call, and cry out, thanks to Thee.
_Vers._ But yet it wounds my soul to think
That for my sin Thou, Thou must drink,
Even Thou alone, the bitter cup
Of fury and of vengeance up.
_Chor._ Lord, I'll not see Thee to drink all
The vinegar, the myrrh, the gall:
_Vers. Chor._ But I will sip a little wine;
Which done, Lord, say: The rest is Mine.
This   crosstree   here
Doth    Jesus     bear,
Who   sweet'ned   first
The   death   accurs'd.
Here all things ready are, make haste, make haste away;
For long this  work will be,  and very short  this day.
Why then,  go on to  act:  here's  wonders to be  done
Before the last  least sand of  Thy ninth  hour be run;
Or ere dark  clouds do dull  or dead the mid-day's sun.
Act  when   Thou  wilt,
Blood  will  be  spilt;
Pure  balm, that  shall
Bring  health  to  all.
Why     then,     begin
To    pour   first   in
Some   drops  of  wine,
Instead    of    brine,
To   search  the  wound
So     long    unsound:
And,  when that's done,
Let    oil   next   run
To   cure   the    sore
Sin     made    before.
And   O!  dear  Christ,
E'en   as  Thou  di'st,
Look   down,  and   see
Us   weep   for   Thee.
And  tho', love  knows,
Thy    dreadful    woes
We     cannot     ease,
Yet  do   Thou  please,
Who     mercy      art,
T'  accept  each  heart
That    gladly    would
Help   if   it   could.
Beneath   this    tree,
This    honour    have,
To   make   my   grave.
Hail, holy and all-honour'd tomb,
By no ill haunted; here I come,
With shoes put off, to tread thy room.
I'll not profane by soil of sin
Thy door as I do enter in;
For I have washed both hand and heart,
This, that, and every other part,
So that I dare, with far less fear
Than full affection, enter here.
Thus, thus I come to kiss Thy stone
With a warm lip and solemn one:
And as I kiss I'll here and there
Dress Thee with flow'ry diaper.
How sweet this place is! as from hence
Flowed all Panchaia's frankincense;
Or rich Arabia did commix,
Here, all her rare aromatics.
Let me live ever here, and stir
No one step from this sepulchre.
Ravish'd I am! and down I lie
Confused in this brave ecstasy.
Here let me rest; and let me have
This for my heaven that was Thy grave:
And, coveting no higher sphere,
I'll my eternity spend here.
_Panchaia_, a fabulous spice island in the Erythrean Sea.
To join with them who here confer
Gifts to my Saviour's sepulchre,
Devotion bids me hither bring
Somewhat for my thank-offering.
Lo! thus I bring a virgin flower,
To dress my Maiden Saviour.
Hence they have borne my Lord; behold! the stone
Is rolled away and my sweet Saviour's gone.
Tell me, white angel, what is now become
Of Him we lately sealed up in this tomb?
Is He, from hence, gone to the shades beneath,
To vanquish hell as here He conquered death?
If so, I'll thither follow without fear,
And live in hell if that my Christ stays there.
Of all the good things whatsoe'er we do,
God is the ΑΡΧΗ, and the ΤΕΛΟΣ too.
Whose head, befringed with bescattered tresses,
Shows like Apollo's when the morn he dresses,[B]
Or like Aurora when with pearl she sets
Her long, dishevell'd, rose-crown'd trammelets:
Her forehead smooth, full, polish'd, bright and high
Bears in itself a graceful majesty,
Under the which two crawling eyebrows twine
Like to the tendrils of a flatt'ring vine,
Under whose shade two starry sparkling eyes
Are beautifi'd with fair fring'd canopies.
Her comely nose, with uniformal grace,
Like purest white, stands in the middle place,
Parting the pair, as we may well suppose.
Each cheek resembling still a damask rose,
Which like a garden manifestly show
How roses, lilies, and carnations grow,
Which sweetly mixed both with white and red,
Like rose leaves, white and red, seem[C] mingled.
Then nature for a sweet allurement sets
Two smelling, swelling, bashful cherrylets,
The which with ruby redness being tipp'd,
Do speak a virgin, merry, cherry-lipp'd.
Over the which a neat, sweet skin is drawn,
Which makes them show like roses under lawn:
These be the ruby portals, and divine,
Which ope themselves to show a holy shrine
Whose breath is rich perfume, that to the sense
Smells like the burn'd Sabean frankincense:
In which the tongue, though but a member small,
Stands guarded with a rosy-hilly wall;
And her white teeth, which in the gums are set
Like pearl and gold, make one rich cabinet.
Next doth her chin with dimpled beauty strive
For his white, plump, and smooth prerogative;
At whose fair top, to please the sight, there grows
The fairest[D] image of a blushing rose,
Mov'd by the chin, whose motion causeth this,
That both her lips do part, do meet, do kiss;
Her ears, which like two labyrinths are plac'd
Moving a question whether that by them
The gem is grac'd, or they grac'd by the gem.
But the foundation of the architect
Is the swan-staining, fair, rare, stately neck
Which with ambitious humbleness stands under,
Bearing aloft this rich, round world of wonder.
Her breast, a place for beauty's throne most fit,
Bears up two globes where love and pleasure sit,
Which, headed with two rich, round rubies, show
Like wanton rosebuds growing out of snow;
And in the milky valley that's between
Sits Cupid, kissing of his mother queen,
Fingering the paps that feel like sieved silk,
And press'd a little they will weep pure milk.
Then comes the belly, seated next below,
Like a fair mountain in Riphean snow,
Where Nature, in a whiteness without spot,
Hath in the middle tied a Gordian knot.
Now love invites me to survey her thighs,
Swelling in likeness like two crystal skies,
Which to the knees by Nature fastened on,
Derive their ever well 'greed motion.
Her legs with two clear calves, like silver tri'd,
Kindly swell up with little pretty pride,
Leaving a distance for the comely[E] small
To beautify the leg and foot withal.
Then lowly, yet most lovely stand the feet,
Round, short and clear, like pounded spices sweet,
And whatsoever thing they tread upon
They make it scent like bruised cinnamon.
The lovely shoulders now allure the eye
To see two tablets of pure ivory
From which two arms like branches seem to spread
With tender rind[F] and silver coloured,
With little hands and fingers long and small
To grace a lute, a viol, virginal.
In length each finger doth his next excel,
Each richly headed with a pearly shell.
Thus every part in contrariety
Meet in the whole and make a harmony,
As divers strings do singly disagree,
But form'd by number make sweet melody.
Ere I go hence and be no more
Seen to the world, I'll give the score
I owe unto a female child,
And that is this, a verse enstyled
My daughter's dowry; having which,
I'll leave thee then completely rich.
Instead of gold, pearl, rubies, bonds
Long forfeit, pawned diamonds
Or antique pledges, house or land,
I give thee this that shall withstand
The blow of ruin and of chance.
These hurt not thine inheritance,
For 'tis fee simple and no rent
Thou fortune ow'st for tenement.
However after times will praise,
This portion, my prophetic bays,
Cannot deliver up to th' rust,
Yet I keep peaceful in my dust.
As for thy birth and better seeds
(Those which must grow to virtuous deeds),
Thou didst derive from that old stem
(Love and mercy cherish them),
Which like a vestal virgin ply
With holy fire lest that it die.
Grow up with milder laws to know
At what time to say aye or no;
Let manners teach thee where to be
More comely flowing, where less free.
These bring thy husband, like to those
Old coins and medals we expose
To th' show, but never part with. Next,
As in a more conspicuous text,
Thy forehead, let therein be sign'd
The maiden candour of thy mind;
And under it two chaste-born spies
To bar out bold adulteries,
For through these optics fly the darts
Of lust which set on fire our hearts.
On either side of these quick ears
There must be plac'd, for seasoned fears
Which sweeten love, yet ne'er come nigh
The plague of wilder jealousy.
Then let each cheek of thine entice
His soul as to a bed of spice
Where he may roll and lose his sense,
As in a bed of frankincense.
A lip enkindled with that coal
With which love chafes and warms the soul,
Bring to him next, and in it show
Love's cherries from such fires grow
And have their harvest, which must stand
The gathering of the lip, not hand;
Then unto these be it thy care
To clothe thy words in gentle air,
That smooth as oil, sweet, soft and clean
As is the childish bloom of bean,
They may fall down and stroke, as the
Beams of the sun the peaceful sea.
With hands as smooth as mercy's bring
Him for his better cherishing,
That when thou dost his neck ensnare,
Or with thy wrist, or flattering hair,
He may, a prisoner, there descry
Bondage more loved than liberty.
A nature so well formed, so wrought
To calm and tempest, let be brought
With thee, that should he but incline
To roughness, clasp him like a vine,
Or like as wool meets steel, give way
Unto the passion, not to stay;
Wrath, if resisted, over-boils,
If not, it dies or else recoils.
And lastly, see you bring to him
Somewhat peculiar to each limb;
And I charge thee to be known
By n'other face but by thine own.
Let it in love's name be kept sleek,
Yet to be found when he shall seek
It, and not instead of saint
Give up his worth unto the paint;
For, trust me, girl, she over-does
Who by a double proxy woos.
But lest I should forget his bed,
Be sure thou bring a maidenhead.
That is a margarite, which lost,
Thou bring'st unto his bed a frost
Or a cold poison, which his blood
Benumbs like the forgetful flood.
The want of earrings' bravery
For public eyes; take only these
Ne'er travelled for beyond the seas;
They're nobly home-bred, yet have price
Beyond the far-fet merchandise:
Obedience, wise distrust, peace, shy
Distance and sweet urbanity;
Safe modesty, lov'd patience, fear
Of offending, temperance, dear
Constancy, bashfulness and all
The virtues less or cardinal,
Take with my blessing, and go forth
And now if there a man be found
That looks for such prepared ground,
Let him, but with indifferent skill,
So good a soil bestock and till;
He may ere long have such a wife
Nourish in's breast a tree of life.
I have beheld two lovers in a night
Hatched o'er with moonshine from their stolen delight
(When this to that, and that to this, had given
Or while that each from other's breath did drink
Health to the rose, the violet, or pink),
Call'd on the sudden by the jealous mother,
Some stricter mistress or suspicious other,
Urging divorcement (worse than death to these)
By the soon jingling of some sleepy keys,
Part with a hasty kiss; and in that show
How stay they would, yet forced they are to go.
Even such are we, and in our parting do
No otherwise than as those former two
Natures like ours, we who have spent our time
Both from the morning to the evening chime.
Nay, till the bellman of the night had tolled
Past noon of night, yet wear the hours not old
Nor dulled with iron sleep, but have outworn
The fresh and fairest nourish of the morn
With flame and rapture; drinking to the odd
Number of nine which makes us full with God,
And in that mystic frenzy we have hurled,
As with a tempest, nature through the world,
And in a whirlwind twirl'd her home, aghast
At that which in her ecstasy had past;
Thus crowned with rosebuds, sack, thou mad'st me fly
Like fire-drakes, yet didst me no harm thereby.
O thou almighty nature, who didst give
True heat wherewith humanity doth live
Beyond its stinted circle, giving food,
White fame and resurrection to the good;
Shoring them up 'bove ruin till the doom,
The general April of the world doth come
That makes all equal. Many thousands should,
Were't not for thee, have crumbled into mould,
And with their serecloths rotted, not to show
Whether the world such spirits had or no,
Whereas by thee those and a million since,
Nor fate, nor envy, can their fames convince.
Homer, Musæus, Ovid, Maro, more
Of those godful prophets long before
Held their eternal fires, and ours of late
(Thy mercy helping) shall resist strong fate,
Nor stoop to the centre, but survive as long
As fame or rumour hath or trump or tongue;
But unto me be only hoarse, since now
(Heaven and my soul bear record of my vow)
I my desires screw from thee, and direct
Them and my thoughts to that sublim'd respect
And conscience unto priesthood; 'tis not need
(The scarecrow unto mankind) that doth breed
Wiser conclusions in me, since I know
I've more to bear my charge than way to go,
Or had I not, I'd stop the spreading itch
Of craving more, so in conceit be rich;
But 'tis the God of Nature who intends
And shapes my function for more glorious ends.
Kiss, so depart, yet stay a while to see
The lines of sorrow that lie drawn in me
In speech, in picture; no otherwise than when,
Judgment and death denounced 'gainst guilty men,
Each takes a weeping farewell, racked in mind
With joys before and pleasures left behind;
Shaking the head, whilst each to each doth mourn,
With thought they go whence they must ne'er return.
So with like looks, as once the ministrel
Cast, leading his Eurydice through hell,
I strike thy love, and greedily pursue
Thee with mine eyes or in or out of view.
So looked the Grecian orator when sent
From's native country into banishment,
Throwing his eyeballs backward to survey
The smoke of his beloved Attica;
So Tully looked when from the breasts of Rome
The sad soul went, not with his love, but doom,
Shooting his eyedarts 'gainst it to surprise
It, or to draw the city to his eyes.
Such is my parting with thee, and to prove
There was not varnish only in my love,
But substance, lo! receive this pearly tear
Frozen with grief and place it in thine ear.
Then part in name of peace, and softly on
With numerous feet to hoofy Helicon;
And when thou art upon that forked hill
Amongst the thrice three sacred virgins, fill
A full-brimm'd bowl of fury and of rage,
And quaff it to the prophets of our age;
When drunk with rapture curse the blind and lame,
Base ballad-mongers who usurp thy name
And foul thy altar; charm some into frogs,
Some to be rats, and others to be hogs;
Into the loathsom'st shapes thou canst devise
To make fools hate them, only by disguise;
Thus with a kiss of warmth and love I part
Not so, but that some relic in my heart
Shall stand for ever, though I do address
Chiefly myself to what I must profess.
Know yet, rare soul, when my diviner muse
Shall want a handmaid (as she oft will use),
Be ready, thou for me, to wait upon her,
Though as a servant, yet a maid of honour.
The crown of duty is our duty: well
Doing's the fruit of doing well. Farewell.
_Shoring_, copies _soaring_.
Fly hence, pale care, no more remember
Past sorrows with the fled December,
But let each pleasant cheek appear
Smooth as the childhood of the year,
And sing a carol here.
'Twas brave, 'twas brave, could we command the hand
Of youth's swift watch to stand
As you have done your day;
Then should we not decay.
But all we wither, and our light
Is spilt in everlasting night,
Whenas your sight
Shows like the heavens above the moon,
Like an eternal noon
That sees no setting sun.
Keep up those flames, and though you shroud
Awhile your forehead in a cloud,
Do it like the sun to write
In the air a greater text of light;
Welcome to all our vows,
And since you pay
To us this day
So long desir'd,
See we have fir'd
Our holy spikenard, and there's none
But brings his stick of cinnamon,
His eager eye or smoother smile,
And lays it gently on the pile,
Which thus enkindled, we invoke
Your name amidst the sacred smoke.
_Chorus._ Come then, great Lord.
And see our altar burn
With love of your return,
And not a man here but consumes
His soul to glad you in perfumes.
You may vow I'll not forget
To pay the debt
Which to thy memory stands as due
As faith can seal it you;
Take then tribute of my tears,
So long as I have fears
To prompt me I shall ever
Languish and look, but thy return see never.
Oh then to lessen my despair
Print thy lips into the air,
So by this
Means I may kiss thy kiss
Whenas some kind
Shall hither waft it, and in lieu
My lips shall send a 1000 back to you.
Go hence away, and in thy parting know
'Tis not my voice but Heaven's that bids thee go;
Spring hence thy faith, nor think it ill desert
I find in thee that makes me thus to part.
But voice of fame, and voice of Heaven have thundered
We both were lost, if both of us not sundered.
Fold now thine arms, and in thy last look rear
One sigh of love, and cool it with a tear.
Since part we must, let's kiss; that done, retire
With as cold frost as erst we met with fire;
With such white vows as fate can ne'er dissever,
But truth knit fast; and so, farewell for ever.
Apollo sings, his harp resounds: give room,
For now behold the golden pomp is come,
Thy pomp of plays which thousands come to see
With admiration both of them and thee.
O volume! worthy, leaf by leaf and cover,
To be with juice of cedar wash'd all over;
Here words with lines and lines with scenes consent
To raise an act to full astonishment;
Here melting numbers, words of power to move
Young men to swoon and maids to die for love.
_Love lies a-bleeding_ here, _Evadne_, there
Swells with brave rage, yet comely everywhere;
Here's _A mad lover_, there that high design
Of _King and no King_, and the rare plot thine.
So that whene'er we circumvolve our eyes,
Such rich, such fresh, such sweet varieties
Ravish our spirits, that entranc'd we see
None writes love's passion in the world like thee.
_The musical part being set by Mr. Henry Lawes._
_Euc._ Charon, O Charon, draw thy boat to th' shore,
And to thy many take in one soul more.
_Cha._ Who calls? who calls? _Euc._ One overwhelm'd with ruth;
Have pity either on my tears or youth,
And take me in who am in deep distress;
But first cast off thy wonted churlishness.
_Cha._ I will be gentle as that air which yields
A breath of balm along the Elysian fields.
Speak, what art thou? _Euc_. One once that had a lover,
Than which thyself ne'er wafted sweeter over.
He was---- _Cha._ Say what? _Euc._ Ah me, my woes are deep.
_Cha._ Prithee relate, while I give ear and weep.
_Euc._ He was a Hastings; and that one name has
In it all good that is, and ever was.
He was my life, my love, my joy, but died
Some hours before I should have been his bride.
_Chorus._ Thus, thus the gods celestial still decree,
For human joy contingent misery.
_Euc._ The hallowed tapers all prepared were,
And Hymen call'd to bless the rites. _Cha._ Stop there.
_Euc._ Great are my woes. _Cha._ And great must that grief be
That makes grim Charon thus to pity thee.
But now come in. _Euc._ More let me yet relate.
_Cha._ I cannot stay; more souls for waftage wait
And I must hence. _Euc._ Yet let me thus much know,
Departing hence, where good and bad souls go?
Where, dress'd with garlands, there they walk the ground
Whose blessed youth with endless flowers is crown'd.
But such as have been drown'd in this wild sea,
For those is kept the Gulf of Hecate,
Where with their own contagion they are fed,
And there do punish and are punished.
This known, the rest of thy sad story tell
When on the flood that nine times circles hell.
_Chorus._ We sail along to visit mortals never;
But there to live where love shall last for ever.
No trust to metals nor to marbles, when
These have their fate and wear away as men;
Times, titles, trophies may be lost and spent,
But virtue rears the eternal monument.
What more than these can tombs or tombstones pay?
But here's the sunset of a tedious day:
These two asleep are: I'll but be undress'd
And so to bed: pray wish us all good rest.
"So soon as each his dangling locks hath crown'd
With Rosie Chaplets, Lilies, Pansies red,
Soft Saffron Circles to perfume the head";
"Unto the Prince of Shades, whom once his Pen
"crown'd with sacred Bays
And flatt'ring _joy, we'll have to_ recite their plays,
_Shakespeare and Beamond_, Swans to whom _the Spheres_
Listen while they _call back the former year[s]
To teach the truth of scenes_, and more for thee,
There yet remains, _brave soul_, than thou can'st see,"
"To be of that high Hierarchy where none
But brave souls take illumination
Immediately from heaven; but hark the cock," etc.;
Nocte latent mendæ vitioque ignoscitur omni,
Horaque formosam quamlibet illa facit.
Crede mihi, mores distant a carmine nostri:
Vita verecunda est, Musa jocosa, mihi.
O fortunatos nimium sua si bona norint
Lucretia toto
Sis licet usque die: Laida nocte volo.
"He knew the cause of every maladye,
Were it of hoot or cold, or moyste, or drye,
And where engendered and of what humour".
Fleres si scires unum tua tempora mensem:
Rides, cum non sit forsitan una dies.
"And though they sweep their hearths no less
Than maids were wont to do,
Yet who of late for cleanliness
Finds sixpence in her shoe?"
reminiscences of Horace, II. _Od._ x. 17, and ix.
"A boat! a boat! haste to the ferry!
For we go over to be merry,
To laugh and quaff, and drink old sherry".
"Charon! O Charon! the wafter of all souls to bliss or bane!
Who calls the ferryman of Hell?
Come near and say who lives in bliss and who in pain.
Those that die well eternal bliss shall follow.
Those that die ill their own black deeds shall swallow.
Shall thy black barge those guilty spirits row
That kill themselves for love? Oh, no! oh, no!
My cordage cracks when such foul sins draw near,
No wind blows fair, nor I my boat can steer.
What spirits pass and in Elysium reign?
Those harmless souls that love and are beloved again.
That soul that lives in love and fain would die to win,
Shall he go free? Oh, no! it is too foul a sin.
He must not come aboard, I dare not row,
Storms of despair my boat will overblow.
Suus cuique attributus est error,
Sed non videmus manticae quod in tergo est,
_Rich compost._ Cp. the same thought in 662.
Suetonius: Boni pastoris est tondere oves, non deglubere. Herrick
He that unburied lies wants not his hearse,
For unto him a tomb's the universe".
perfecisse.
At Volusi annales Paduam morientur ad ipsam,
Et laxas scombris saepe dabunt tunicas.
Λέγουσιν αἱ γυναῖκες
Ἀνακρέων γέρων εἶ κ.τ.λ.
With a significant variation--"Ill it fits"--for μᾶλλον πρέπει.
Militiae species amor est: discedite segnes!
Non sunt haec timidis signa tuenda viris.
E minimo maximus ignis erit.
Sic nisi vitaris quicquid renovabit amorem,
Flamma redardescet quae modo nulla fuit.
Ὠναξ, ᾧ δαμάλης Ἔρως
καὶ Νύμφαι κυανώπιδες
πορφυρέη τ' Ἀφροδίτη
συμπαίζουσιν ... γουνοῦμαί σε, κ.τ.λ.
Lex haec carminibus data est jocosis,
Ne possint, nisi pruriant, juvare.
Prisca juvent alios: ego me nunc denique natum
Gratulor; haec aetas moribus apta meis.
Sit mihi verna satur: sit non doctissima conjux:
Sit nox cum somno, sit sine lite dies, etc.
Primos passa toros et adhuc placanda marito
Merserat in nitidos se Cleopatra lacus,
Dum fugit amplexus: sed prodidit unda latentem,
Lucebat, totis cum tegeretur aquis.
Condita sic puro numerantur lilia vitro,
Sic prohibet tenuis gemma latere rosas,
Insilui mersusque vadis luctantia carpsi
Basia: perspicuae plus vetuistis aquae.
Quamvis thura deos irataque numina placent,
Non tamen accensis omnia danda focis.
χρῆν γὰρ ἀλλοθέν ποθεν βροτοὺς
παῖδας τεκνοῦσθαι, θῆλυ δ' οὐκ εἶναι γένος·
χοὒτως ἂν οὐκ ἦν οὐδὲν ἀνθρώποις κακόν.
_When Cato, the severe, entered the circumspacious theatre._ The
allusion is to the visit of Cato to the games of Flora, given by
whereupon the moralist obligingly retired, amidst applause.
Vos, tamen, o nostri, ne festinate, libelli:
Si post fata venit gloria, non propero.
_Golden Cheapside._ My friend, Mr. Herbert Horne, in his
"Of Twelfth-Tide cakes, of Peas and Beans,
Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,
Whenas ye choose your King and Queen".
_Nisa._ I have the pea and must be queen.
_Mel._ I the bean, and king. I must command."
"Have I not blest thee? Then go forth, nor fear
Or spice, or fish, or fire, or close-stools here";
fortunatum isti putant, Uxorem nunquam habui.
church-warden. He was buried in the Abbey, 1673.
Pars superest caepti, pars est exhausta laboris:
Hic teneat nostras anchora jacta rates.
fessae date serta carinæ:
Contigimus portum, quo mihi cursus erat.
Finis adest operi: palmam date, grata juventus,
Sertaque odoratae myrtea ferte comae.
turbatur. _Enchir. ad Laurent._ 33: Cum irasci dicitur Deus, non
significatur perturbatio, qualis est in animo irascentis hominis.
attributed rather to George Herbert than to Herrick.
'When I lie within my bed,' etc."
Another of her midnight orisons was the poem beginning:--
"Every night Thou dost me fright,
And keep mine eyes from sleeping," etc.
The last couplet, it should be noted, is misquoted from No. 56.
_Will show these garments._ So Acts ix. 39.
quotations were made at first hand.
dereliquisti? "Why hast Thou forsaken me?" Herrick took it from
reference to Leo of Modena, _Degli Riti Hebraici_, Part I.
"Well, I can quaff, I see,
To th' number five
Or nine"
occupant of Dean Court and the magnate of the parish.
Both Mr. Hazlitt and Dr. Grosart have slightly misrepresented the
selection in the previous edition.
_Hesperides_ was published in 1648, and the editions of _Witts
In the Notes to the present edition I have drawn attention to all
for Richard Harper, and are to be sold | at his shop, at the
"Deep-skilled Geographers, whose art and skill
Do traverse all the world, and with their quill
Declare the strangeness of each several clime,
The nature, situation, and the time
Of being inhabited, yet all their art
And deep informèd skill could not impart
In what set climate of this Orb or Isle,
The King of Fairies kept, whose honoured style
Is here inclosed, with the sincere description
Of his abode, his nature, and the region
In which he rules: read, and thou shalt find
Delightful mirth, fit to content thy mind.
May the contents thereof thy palate suit,
With its mellifluous and pleasing fruit:
For nought can more be sweetened to my mind
Than that this Pamphlet thy contentment find;
Which if it shall, my labour is sufficed,
In being by your liking highly prized.
"Yours to his power,
"First a cobweb shirt, more thin
Than ever spider since could spin.
Changed to the whiteness of the snow,
By the stormy winds that blow
In the vast and frozen air,
No shirt half so fine, so fair;
A rich waistcoat they did bring,
Made of the Trout-fly's gilded wing:
At which his Elveship 'gan to fret
The wearing it would make him sweat
Even with its weight: he needs would wear
A waistcoat made of downy hair
New shaven off an Eunuch's chin,
That pleased him well, 'twas wondrous thin.
The outside of his doublet was
Made of the four-leaved, true-loved grass,
Changed into so fine a gloss,
With the oil of crispy moss:
It made a rainbow in the night
Which gave a lustre passing light.
On every seam there was a lace
Drawn by the unctuous snail's slow pace,
To which the finest, purest, silver thread
Compared, did look like dull pale lead.
His breeches of the Fleece was wrought,
Which from Colchos Jason brought:
Spun into so fine a yarn
No mortal wight might it discern,
Weaved by Arachne on her loom,
Just before she had her doom.
A rich Mantle he did wear,
Made of tinsel gossamer.
Beflowered over with a few
Diamond stars of morning dew:
Dyed crimson in a maiden's blush,
Lined with humble-bees' lost plush.
His cap was all of ladies' love,
So wondrous light, that it did move
If any humming gnat or fly
Buzzed the air in passing by,
About his neck a wreath of pearl,
Dropped from the eyes of some poor girl,
Pinched, because she had forgot
To leave clean water in the pot."
"Now they, the Elves, within a trice,
Prepared a feast less great than nice,
Where you may imagine first,
The Elves prepare to quench his thirst,
In pure seed pearl of infant dew
Brought and sweetened with a blue
And pregnant violet; which done,
His killing eyes begin to run
Quite o'er the table, where he spies
The horns of watered butterflies,
Of which he eats, but with a little
Neat cool allay of cuckoo's spittle.
Next this the red-cap worm that's shut
Within the concave of a nut.
Moles' eyes he tastes, then adders' ears;
To these for sauce the slain stags' tears,
A bloated earwig, and the pith
Of sugared rush he glads him with.
Then he takes a little moth,
Late fatted in a scarlet cloth,
A spinner's ham, the beards of mice,
Nits carbonadoed, a device
Before unknown; the blood of fleas,
Which gave his Elveship's stomach ease.
The unctuous dew-laps of a snail,
The broke heart of a nightingale
O'ercome in music, with the sag
And well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag.
Conserves of atoms, and the mites,
The silk-worm's sperm, and the delights
Of all that ever yet hath blest
Fairy-land: so ends his feast."
On the next page is printed: "Orpheus. Thrice excelling, for the
Herrick's Christian name, and of the poems in the issues of the
In the 1667 issue the paragraph about the Pole runs: "Where the
Charles II.,
Cotton, Charles, the elder, II. 119.
A Bachelor I will, I. 14.
A crystal vial Cupid brought, II. 24.
A funeral stone, I. 35.
A golden fly one show'd to me, I. 233.
A gyges ring they bear about them still, II. 61.
A just man's like a rock that turns the wrath, I. 190.
A little mushroom table spread, I. 148.
A little saint best fits a little shrine, II. 59.
A long life's-day I've taken pains, II. 11.
A man prepar'd against all ills to come, I. 160.
A man's transgressions God does then remit, II. 196.
A master of a house, as I have read, II. 73.
A prayer that is said alone, II. 226.
A roll of parchment Clunn about him bears, II. 117.
A sweet disorder in the dress, I. 32.
A wanton and lascivious eye, II. 66.
A way enchased with glass and beads, I. 111.
A wearied pilgrim, I have wandered here, II. 157.
A willow garland thou didst send, I. 201.
About the sweet bag of a bee, I. 36.
Abundant plagues I late have had, II. 188.
Adverse and prosperous fortunes both work on, II. 182.
Adversity hurts none but only such, II. 47.
Afflictions bring us joy in time to come, II. 182.
Afflictions they most profitable are, II. 174.
After the feast, my Shapcot, see, I. 204.
After the rare arch-poet, Jonson, died, I. 188.
After this life, the wages shall, II. 225.
After thy labour take thine ease, II. 163.
After true sorrow for our sins, our strife, II. 201.
Against diseases here the strongest fence, II. 162.
Ah, cruel love! must I endure, I. 90.
Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why, I. 229.
Ah, me! I love; give him your hand to kiss, II. 91.
Ah, my Anthea! Must my heart still break, I. 27.
Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve to see, I. 8.
Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly, I. 165.
Alas! I can't, for tell me how, II. 159.
All are not ill plots that do sometimes fail, II. 162.
All has been plundered from me but my wit, II. 90.
All I have lost that could be rapt from me, II. 212.
All things are open to these two events, I. 227.
All things decay with time: the forest sees, I. 25.
All things o'er-ruled are here, by chance, I. 248.
All things subjected are to fate, II. 7.
Along the dark and silent night, II. 214.
Although our sufferings meet with no relief, II. 163.
Although we cannot turn the fervent fit, II. 192.
Am I despised because you say, I. 75.
Among disasters that dissension brings, II. 75.
Among the myrtles as I walk'd, I. 132.
Among these tempests great and manifold, II. 147.
Among thy fancies tell me this, I. 162.
And as time past when Cato, the severe, II. 124.
And, cruel maid, because I see, I. 72.
And must we part, because some say, I. 57.
Angels are called gods; yet of them none, II. 224.
Anthea bade me tie her shoe, I. 14.
Anthea, I am going hence, II. 95.
Anthea laugh'd, and fearing lest excess, II. 137.
Apollo sings, his harp resounds: give room, II. 269.
Art quickens nature; care will make a face, I. 120.
Art thou not destin'd? then with haste go on, II. 237.
As gilliflowers do but stay, I. 156.
As in our clothes, so likewise he who looks, I. 254.
As is your name, so is your comely face, II. 133.
As Julia once a-slumbering lay, I. 86.
As lately I a garland bound, I. 119.
As many laws and lawyers do express, II. 53.
As my little pot doth boil, II. 248.
As oft as night is banish'd by the morn, I. 29.
As shows the air when with a rainbow grac'd, I. 47.
As sunbeams pierce the glass, and streaming in, II. 231.
As thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let, I. 244.
As wearied pilgrims, once possessed, II. 16.
Ask me what hunger is, and I'll reply, II. 115.
Ask me why I do not sing, I. 164.
Ask me why I send you here, II. 6.
At draw-gloves we'll play, I. 122.
At my homely country seat, I. 191.
At post and pair, or slam, Tom Tuck would play, II. 46.
At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play, II. 45.
Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt, II. 137.
Away enchased with glass and beads, I. 111.
Away with silks, away with lawn, I. 193.
Bacchus, let me drink no more, I. 153.
Bad are the times. And worse than they are we, I. 198.
Be bold, my book, nor be abash'd, or fear, II. 11.
Be not dismayed, though crosses cast thee down. II. 137.
Be not proud, but now incline, I. 120.
Be the mistress of my choice, II. 36.
Be those few hours, which I have yet to spend, II. 241.
Beauty no other thing is than a beam, I. 39.
Beauty's no other but a lovely grace, II. 92.
Before man's fall the rose was born, II. 246.
Before the press scarce one could see, II. 107.
Begin to charm, and as thou strok'st mine ears, I. 81.
Begin with a kiss, II. 57.
Begin with Jove; then is the work half-done, I. 159.
Bellman of night if I about shall go, II. 182.
Besides us two, i' th' temple here's not one, I. 210.
Bid me to live, and I will live, I. 135.
Bind me but to thee with thine hair, II. 115.
Blessings in abundance come, I. 155.
Born I was to be old, I. 247.
Born I was to meet with age, I. 240.
Both you two have, I. 138.
Break off delay, since we but read of one, II. 63.
Breathe, Julia, breathe, and I'll protest, I. 84.
Bright tulips, we do know, I. 231.
Bring me my rosebuds, drawer, come, II. 6.
Bring the holy crust of bread, II. 103.
Brisk methinks I am, and fine, II. 134.
Burn or drown me, choose ye whether, II. 67.
But born, and like a short delight, I. 84.
By dream I saw one of the three, I. 192.
By hours we all live here; in Heaven is known, II. 240.
By so much virtue is the less, II. 66.
By the next kindling of the day, II. 88.
By the weak'st means things mighty are o'erthrown, II. 48.
By those soft tods of wool, II. 71.
By time and counsel do the best we can, I. 150.
Can I not come to Thee, my God, for these, II. 186.
Can I not sin, but thou wilt be, II. 193.
Care keeps the conquest; 'tis no less renown, II. 132.
Case is a lawyer that ne'er pleads alone, II. 127.
Charm me asleep, and melt me so, I. 117.
Charms that call down the moon from out her sphere, I. 122.
Charon, O Charon, draw thy boat to th' shore, II. 270.
Charon! O gentle Charon! let me woo thee, II. 58.
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, I. 21.
Choose me your valentine, I. 36.
Christ, He requires still, wheresoe'er He comes, II. 192.
Christ, I have read, did to His chaplains say, II. 223.
Christ never did so great a work but there, II. 237.
Christ took our nature on Him, not that He, II. 238.
Christ was not sad, i' the garden, for His own, II. 227.
Christ, when He hung the dreadful cross upon, II. 228.
Clear are her eyes, I. 243.
Close keep your lips, if that you mean, II. 61.
Come, and let's in solemn wise, II. 99.
Come, Anthea, know thou this, II. 41.
Come, Anthea, let us two, II. 68.
Come, blitheful neat-herds, let us lay, II. 51.
Come, bring with a noise, II. 79.
Come, bring your sampler, and with art, I. 10.
Come down and dance ye in the toil, I. 9.
Come, guard this night the Christmas-pie, II. 80.
Come, leave this loathed country life, and then, I. 214.
Come, pity us, all ye who see, II., 216.
Come, sit we by the fire's side, II. 20.
Come, sit we under yonder tree, II. 15.
Come, skilful Lupo, now, and take, I. 46.
Come, sons of summer, by whose toil, I. 125.
Come, then, and like two doves with silv'ry wings, II. 2.
Come thou not near those men who are like bread, I. 5.
Come thou, who art the wine and wit, I. 238.
Come to me God; but do not come, II. 242.
Come with the spring-time forth, fair maid, and be, I. 176.
Command the roof, great Genius, and from thence, II. 55.
Confession twofold is, as Austine says, II. 244.
Conformity gives comeliness to things, II. 147.
Conformity was ever known, I. 28.
Conquer we shall, but we must first contend, II. 115.
Consider sorrows, how they are aright, II. 84.
Consult ere thou begin'st, that done, go on, II. 65.
Crab faces gowns with sundry furs; 'tis known, II. 37.
Cupid, as he lay among, I. 59.
Cynthius, pluck ye by the ear, I. 62.
Dark and dull night, fly hence away, II. 203.
Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute, I. 154.
Dean Bourne, farewell; I never look to see, I. 33.
Dear Perenna, prithee come, I. 110.
Dear, though to part it be a hell, I. 39.
Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near, II. 20.
Despair takes heart, when there's no hope to speed, II. 135.
Dew sat on Julia's hair, I. 226.
Did I or love, or could I others draw, I. 253.
Die ere long, I'm sure I shall, II. 151.
Discreet and prudent we that discord call, II. 64.
Display thy breasts my Julia--Here let me, I. 119.
Do with me, God, as Thou didst deal with John, II. 174.
Does fortune rend thee? Bear with thy hard fate, II. 87.
Down with the rosemary and bays, II. 104.
Down with the rosemary, and so, II. 129.
Dread not the shackles: on with thine intent, II. 144.
Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may, II. 31.
Droop, droop no more, or hang the head, I. 6.
Drowning, drowning, I espy, II. 126.
Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's rain, I. 131.
Dull to myself, and almost dead to these, II. 13.
Each must in virtue strive for to excel, I. 151.
Eaten I have; and though I had good cheer, I. 248.
Empires of kings are now, and ever were, I. 202.
End now the white loaf and the pie, II. 105.
Ere I go hence, and be no more, II. 260.
Every time seems short to be, I. 202.
Evil no nature hath; the loss of good, II. 207.
Examples lead us, and we likely see, II. 68.
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, I. 175.
Fair and foul days trip cross and pile; the fair, I. 237.
Fair daffodils, we weep to see, I. 156.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, I. 220.
Fair was the dawn; and but e'en now the skies, I. 99.
Faith is a thing that's four-square; let it fall, II. 114.
Fame's pillar here, at last, we set, II. 165.
Farewell, thou thing, time past so known, so dear, I. 53.
Fat be my hind; unlearned be my wife, II. 116.
Fight thou with shafts of silver and o'ercome, I. 23.
Fill me a mighty bowl, II. 30.
Fill me my wine in crystal; thus, and thus, I. 234.
First, April, she with mellow showers, I. 26.
First, for effusions due unto the dead, I. 26.
First, for your shape, the curious cannot show, I. 237.
First, may the hand of bounty bring, II. 112.
First offer incense, then thy field and meads, I. 180.
Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appear, II. 27.
Fly hence, pale care, no more remember, II. 267.
Fly me not, though I be grey, I. 244.
Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee, I. 124.
Fold now thine arms and hang the head, I. 56.
Fools are they who never know, I. 119.
For a kiss or two, confess, II. 130.
For all our works a recompense is sure, II. 93.
For all thy many courtesies to me, II. 83.
For being comely, consonant, and free, II. 8.
For civil, clean, and circumcised wit, I. 244.
For each one body that i' th' earth is sown, II. 236.
For my embalming, Julia, do but this, I. 161.
For my neighbour, I'll not know, I. 103.
For my part, I never care, I. 100.
For one so rarely tun'd to fit all parts, I. 152.
For punishment in war it will suffice, I. 165.
For sport my Julia threw a lace, I. 145.
For those, my unbaptised rhymes, II. 169.
For truth I may this sentence tell, II. 151.
Fortune did never favour one, I. 240.
Fortune no higher project can devise, I. 246.
Fortune's a blind profuser of her own, II. 45.
Fresh strewings allow, II. 69.
Frolic virgins once these were, I. 190.
From me my Sylvia ran away, II. 109.
From noise of scare-fires rest ye free, I. 151.
From the dull confines of the drooping West, II. 150.
From the temple to your home, II. 21.
From this bleeding hand of mine, I. 108.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, I. 102.
Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn, I. 82.
Give house-room to the best; 'tis never known, II. 116.
Give if thou canst an alms; if not, afford, II. 193.
Give me a cell, II. 73.
Give me a man that is not dull, II. 146.
Give me honours! what are these, II. 191.
Give me one kiss, I. 246.
Give me that man that dares bestride, I. 35.
Give me the food that satisfies a guest, II. 82.
Give me wine, and give me meat, II. 18.
Give unto all, lest he, whom thou deni'st, II. 239.
Give Want her welcome if she comes; we find. II. 12.
Give way, and be ye ravish'd by the sun, I. 246.
Give way, give way now; now my Charles shines here, II. 43.
Give way, give way, ye gates and win, I. 223.
Glide, gentle streams, and bear, I. 51.
Glory be to the graces! II. 76.
Glory no other thing is, Tullie says, II. 50.
Go, happy rose, and interwove, I. 121.
Go hence, and with this parting kiss, I. 217.
Go hence away, and in thy parting know, II. 269.
Go I must; when I am gone, I. 250.
Go, perjured man; and if thou e'er return, I. 59.
Go on, brave Hopton, to effectuate that, II. 136.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower, II. 189.
Go thou forth, my book, though late, II. 164.
Go, woo young Charles no more to look, II. 13.
God as He is most holy known, II. 174.
God, as He's potent, so He's likewise known, II. 222.
God, as the learned Damascene doth write, II. 227.
God bought man here with His heart's blood expense, II. 237.
God can do all things, save but what are known, II. 228.
God can't be wrathful; but we may conclude, II. 248.
God could have made all rich, or all men poor, II. 192.
God did forbid the Israelites to bring, II. 230.
God doth not promise here to man that He, II. 247.
God from our eyes, all tears hereafter wipes, II. 223.
God gives not only corn for need, II. 191.
God gives to none so absolute an ease, II. 234.
God had but one Son free from sin; but none, II. 222.
God has a right hand, but is quite bereft, II. 244.
God has four keys, which He reserves alone, II. 239.
God has His whips here to a twofold end, II. 175.
God hates the dual numbers, being known, II. 246.
God hath this world for many made, 'tis true, II. 234.
God hath two wings which He doth ever move, II. 171.
God, He refuseth no man, but makes way, II. 222.
God, He rejects all prayers that are slight, II. 173.
God hears us when we pray, but yet defers, II. 176.
God hides from man the reck'ning day, that he, II. 224.
God in His own day will be then severe, II. 226.
God, in the holy tongue, they call, II. 231.
God is above the sphere of our esteem, II. 170.
God is all forepart; for, we never see, II. 173.
God is all present to whate'er we do, II. 243.
God is all sufferance here, here He doth show, II. 194.
God is His name of nature; but that word, II. 223.
God is Jehovah called: which name of His, II. 232.
God is more here than in another place, II. 234.
God is not only merciful to call, II. 173.
God is not only said to be, II. 170.
God is so potent, as His power can, II. 229.
God is then said for to descend, when He, II. 245.
God loads and unloads, thus His work begins, II. 172.
God makes not good men wantons, but doth bring, II. 211.
God ne'er afflicts us more than our desert, II. 171.
God on our youth bestows but little ease, II. 229.
God pardons those who do through frailty sin, II. 176.
God scourgeth some severely, some He spares, II. 174.
God still rewards us more than our desert, II. 244.
God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent, II. 176.
God suffers not His saints and servants dear, II. 243.
God tempteth no one, as St. Aug'stine saith, II. 225.
God then confounds man's face when He not hears, II. 228.
God! to my little meal and oil, II. 221.
God, when for sin He makes His children smart, II. 174.
God, when He's angry here with anyone, II. 171.
God, when He takes my goods and chattels hence, II. 200.
God, who me gives a will for to repent, II. 247.
God, who's in heaven, will hear from thence, II. 227.
God will have all or none; serve Him, or fall, II. 187.
God's boundless mercy is, to sinful man, II. 172.
God's bounty, that ebbs less and less, II. 194.
God's evident, and may be said to be, II. 232.
God's grace deserves here to be daily fed, II. 222.
God's hands are round and smooth, that gifts may fall, II. 225.
God's prescience makes none sinful; but th' offence, II. 238.
God's present everywhere, but most of all, II. 236.
God's rod doth watch while men do sleep, and then, II. 74.
God's said our hearts to harden then, II. 246.
God's said to dwell there, wheresoever He, II. 232.
God's said to leave this place, and for to come, II. 231.
God's undivided, One in Persons Three, II. 232.
Goddess, I begin an art, I. 245.
Goddess, I do love a girl, I. 171.
Goddess of youth, and lady of the spring, I. 133.
Gold I have none, but I present my need, II. 209.
Gold I've none, for use or show, I. 109.
Gold serves for tribute to the king, II. 247.
Gone she is a long, long way, II. 93.
Good and great God! how should I fear, II. 245.
Good-day, Mirtello. And to you no less, I. 105.
Good morrow to the day so fair, I. 195.
Good precepts we must firmly hold, I. 235.
Good princes must be pray'd for; for the bad, I. 37.
Good speed, for I this day, I. 107.
Good things that come, of course, for less do please. I. 154.
Great cities seldom rest; if there be none, II. 144.
Great men by small means oft are overthrown, I. 227.
Grow for two ends, it matters not at all, II. 37.
Grow up in beauty, as thou dost begin, II. 129.
Hail holy and all-honoured tomb, II. 254.
Handsome you are, and proper you will be, II. 123.
Hang up hooks and shears to scare, II. 104.
Happily I had a sight, II. 140.
Happy's that man to whom God gives, II. 185.
Hard are the two first stairs unto a crown, II. 114.
Hast thou attempted greatness? then go on, II. 64.
Hast thou begun an act? ne'er then give o'er, II. 42.
Haste is unhappy: what we rashly do, II. 85.
Have, have ye no regard, all ye, II. 251.
Have I not blest thee? Then go forth, nor fear, I. 193.
Have ye beheld (with much delight), I. 203.
He that ascended in a cloud shall come, II. 227.
He that is hurt seeks help: sin is the wound, II. 226.
He that may sin, sins least: leave to transgress, I. 136.
He that will live of all cares dispossess'd, II. 129.
He that will not love must be, I. 127.
He who commends the vanquished, speaks the power, I. 252.
He who has suffered shipwreck fears to sail, II. 11.
He who wears blacks and mourns not for the dead, II. 148.
Health is no other, as the learned hold, II. 42.
Health is the first good lent to men, I. 50.
Hear, ye virgins, and I'll teach, I. 151.
Heaven is most fair; but fairer He, II. 227.
Heaven is not given for our good works here, II. 239.
Hell is no other but a soundless pit, II. 214.
Hell is the place where whipping-cheer abounds, II. 214.
Help me! help me! now I call, I. 10.
Help me, Julia, for to pray, II. 154.
Hence a blessed soul is fled, II. 9.
Hence, hence, profane, and none appear, II. 205.
Hence, hence, profane! soft silence let us have, I. 109.
Hence they have borne my Lord; behold! the stone, II. 255.
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, II. 17.
Here a little child I stand, II. 202.
Here a pretty baby lies, II. 26.
Here a solemn fast we keep, I. 212.
Here down my wearied limbs I'll lay, I. 153.
Here, here I live with what my board, I. 251.
Here I myself might likewise die, II. 82.
Here lies a virgin, and as sweet, II. 71.
Here lies Jonson with the rest, II. 109.
Here she lies, a pretty bud, I. 154.
Here she lies in bed of spice, II. 91.
Here we are all by day; by night we're hurl'd, I. 23.
Here we securely live and eat, I. 248.
Holyrood, come forth and shield, I. 222.
Holy water come and bring, II. 73.
Holy waters hither bring, II. 127.
Honour thy parents; but good manners call, II. 202.
Honour to you who sit, II. 76.
How am I bound to Two! God who doth give, II. 190.
How am I ravish'd! when I do but see, I. 174.
How can I choose but love and follow her, I. 227.
How dull and dead are books that cannot show, I. 177.
How fierce was I, when I did see, II. 117.
How long, Perenna, wilt thou see, I. 222.
How love came in I do not know, I. 27.
How rich a man is all desire to know, I. 161.
How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art, I. 34.
How well contented in this private grange, II. 136.
Humble we must be, if to heaven we go, II. 200.
I a dirge will pen to thee, II. 128.
I am holy while I stand, II. 30.
I am of all bereft, I. 216.
I am sieve-like, and can hold, I. 146.
I am zealless; prithee pray, II. 95.
I ask'd my Lucia but a kiss, II. 10.
I asked thee oft what poets thou hast read, I. 80.
I begin to wane in sight, I. 226.
I brake thy bracelet 'gainst my will, II. 48.
I bring ye love. What will love do? II. 135.
I burn, I burn; and beg of you, I. 60.
I call, I call: who do ye call? I. 139.
I can but name thee, and methinks I call, I. 163.
I cannot love as I have lov'd before, II. 72.
I cannot pipe as I was wont to do, II. 2.
I cannot suffer; and in this my part, I. 210.
I could but see thee yesterday, II. 89.
I could never love indeed, I. 228.
I could wish you all who love, I. 147.
I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come, II. 221.
I dare not ask a kiss, II. 35.
I dislik'd but even now, I. 194.
I do believe that die I must, II. 195.
I do love I know not what, II. 7.
I do not love, nor can it be, I. 194.
I do not love to wed, I. 200.
I dreamed we both were in a bed, I. 22.
I dreamt the roses one time went, I. 7.
I dreamt, last night, Thou didst transfuse, II. 194.
I fear no earthly powers, I. 78.
I freeze, I freeze, and nothing dwells, I. 8.
I have a leaden, thou a shaft of gold, II. 163.
I have been wanton and too bold, I fear, II. 160.
I have beheld two lovers in a night, II. 263.
I have lost, and lately, these, I. 17.
I have my laurel chaplet on my head, II. 151.
I heard ye could cool heat, and came, I. 196.
I held Love's head while it did ache, I. 236.
I lately fri'd, but now behold, II. 111.
I make no haste to have my numbers read, II. 19.
I played with Love, as with the foe, I. 255.
I press'd my Julia's lips, and in the kiss, II. 48.
I saw a fly within a bead, II. 86.
I saw about her spotless wrist, I. 78.
I saw a cherry weep, and why? I. 12.
I send, I send here my supremest kiss, II. 143.
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, I. 3.
I sing thy praise, Iacchus, II. 74.
I, who have favour'd many, come to be, I. 179.
I will be short, and having quickly hurl'd, II. 121.
I will no longer kiss, II. 159.
I would to God that mine old age might have, II. 213.
I'll come, I'll creep, though Thou dost threat, II. 182.
I'll come to thee in all those shapes, I. 70.
I'll do my best to win when e'er I woo, I. 36.
I'll get me hence, II. 13.
I'll sing no more, nor will I longer write, II. 32.
I'll to thee a simnel bring, II. 43.
I'll write, because I'll give, I. 37.
I'll write no more of love; but now repent, II. 164.
I'm free from thee; and thou no more shalt bear, I. 18.
I'm sick of love, O let me lie, I. 197.
I've paid thee what I promis'd; that's not all, I. 209.
If accusation only can draw blood, I. 244.
If after rude and boisterous seas, I. 117.
If all transgressions here should have their pay, II. 175.
If anything delight me for to print, II. 190.
If, dear Anthea, my hard fate it be, I. 11.
If hap it must, that I must see thee lie, II. 123.
If I dare write to you, my lord, who are, I. 235.
If I have played the truant, or have here, II. 249.
If I kiss Anthea's breast, I. 71.
If I lie unburied, sir, II. 87.
If kings and kingdoms once distracted be, II. 161.
If little labour, little are our gains, II. 66.
If meat the gods give, I the steam, I. 24.
If men can say that beauty dies, I. 256.
If 'mongst my many poems I can see, I. 76.
If nature do deny, II. 26.
If nine times you your bridegroom kiss, II. 6.
If so be a toad be laid, II. 8.
If that my fate has now fulfil'd my year, II. 96.
If thou ask me, dear, wherefore, I. 234.
If thou be'st taken, God forbid, II. 251.
If thou hast found a honey comb, II. 109.
If war or want shall make me grow so poor, II. 179.
If well the dice run, let's applaud the cast, II. 18.
If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right, I. 154.
If when these lyrics, Cæsar, you shall hear, I. 133.
If wholesome diet can re-cure a man, II. 148.
If ye fear to be affrighted, II. 152.
If ye will with Mab find grace, I. 252.
Immortal clothing I put on, II. 86.
Imparity doth ever discord bring, II. 85.
In a dream, Love bade me go, II. 20.
In all our high designments 'twill appear, II. 114.
In all thy need be thou possess'd, II. 57.
In battles what disasters fall, II. 111.
In desp'rate cases all, or most, are known, II. 89.
In doing justice God shall then be known, II. 243.
In God's commands ne'er ask the reason why, II. 248.
In God there's nothing, but 'tis known to be, II. 227.
In holy meetings there a man may be, I. 203.
In man ambition is the common'st thing, I. 23.
In numbers, and but these a few, II. 176.
In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, II. 178.
In sober mornings, do not thou rehearse, I. 5.
In the hope of ease to come, II. 143.
In the hour of my distress, II. 180.
In the morning when ye rise, II. 152.
In the old Scripture I have often read, II. 178.
In things a moderation keep, II. 77.
In this little urn is laid, II. 78.
In this little vault she lies, I. 61.
In this misfortune kings do most excel, II. 115.
In this world, the isle of dreams, II. 220.
In time of life I graced ye with my verse, I. 173.
In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be, II. 223.
In ways to greatness, think on this, II. 33.
Instead of orient pearls of jet, I. 15.
Instruct me now what love will do, II. 155.
Is this a fast, to keep, II. 240.
Is this a life, to break thy sleep, II. 37.
It is sufficient if we pray, I. 71.
It was, and still my care is, II. 40.
Jacob God's beggar was; and so we wait, II. 228.
Jealous girls these sometimes were, I. 234.
Jehovah, as Boëtius saith, II. 228.
Jove may afford us thousands of reliefs, I. 192.
Judith has cast her old skin and got new, I. 177.
Julia and I did lately sit, I. 20.
Julia, if I chance to die, I. 23.
Julia was careless, and withal, I. 13.
Julia, when thy Herrick dies, I. 233.
Justly our dearest Saviour may abhor us, II. 236.
Kindle the Christmas brand, and then, II. 105.
Kings must be dauntless; subjects will contemn, II. 160.
Kings must not oft be seen by public eyes, II. 42.
Kings must not only cherish up the good, II. 75.
Kings must not use the axe for each offence, II. 135.
Knew'st thou one month would take thy life away, II. 49.
Know when to speak for many times it brings, II. 146.
Labour we must, and labour hard, II. 225.
Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be, I. 20.
Lasciviousness is known to be, II. 223.
Last night I drew up mine account, II. 210.
Lay by the good a while; a resting field, II. 113.
Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, I. 192.
Let all chaste matrons when they chance to see, I. 70.
Let but thy voice engender with the string, I. 127.
Let fair or foul my mistress be, II. 5.
Let kings and rulers learn this line from me, II. 126.
Let kings command and do the best they may, I. 174.
Let me be warm, let me be fully fed, I. 36.
Let me not live if I do not love, II. 157.
Let me sleep this night away, I. 251.
Let moderation on thy passions wait, II. 146.
Let not that day God's friends and servants scare, II. 220.
Let not thy tombstone e'er be lain by me, II. 101.
Let others look for pearl or gold, II. 190.
Let others to the printing press run fast, II. 141.
Let the superstitious wife, II. 103.
Let there be patrons, patrons like to thee, I. 49.
Let us now take time and play, II. 46.
Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed, I. 6.
Let's be jocund while we may, II. 26.
Let's call for Hymen if agreed thou art, II. 77.
Let's live in haste; use pleasures while we may, I. 213.
Let's live with that small pittance that we have, II. 12.
Let's now take our time, II. 84.
Let's strive to be the best: the gods, we know it, II. 135.
Life of my life, take not so soon thy flight, I. 88.
Life is the body's light, which once declining, II. 5.
Like those infernal deities which eat, II. 88.
Like to a bride, come forth my book, at last, I. 92.
Like to the income must be our expense, I. 147.
Like will to like, each creature loves his kind, II. 147.
Lilies will languish; violets look ill, I. 49.
Little you are, for woman's sake be proud, II. 11.
Live by thy muse thou shalt, when others die, II. 9.
Live, live with me, and thou shalt see, I. 240.
Live with a thrifty, not a needy fate, I. 13.
Look how our foul days do exceed our fair, II. 169.
Look how the rainbow doth appear, I. 175.
Look in my book, and herein see, II. 108.
Look upon Sappho's lip, and you will swear, II. 131.
Lord do not beat me, II. 185.
Lord, I am like to mistletoe, II. 213.
Lord, I confess that Thou alone art able, II. 194.
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell, II. 183.
Lost to the world; lost to myself alone, II. 121.
Loth to depart, but yet at last each one, I. 176.
Love and myself, believe me, on a day, I. 19.
Love and the graces evermore do wait, II. 68.
Love bade me ask a gift, I. 124.
Love brought me to a silent grove, II. 97.
Love he that will, it best likes me, I. 195.
Love in a shower of blossoms came, II. 102.
Love is a circle, and an endless sphere, II. 91.
Love is a circle that doth restless move, I. 13.
Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear, II. 100.
Love is a leaven; and a loving kiss, II. 120.
Love is a syrup, and whoe'er we see, II. 120.
Love is maintain'd by wealth; when all is spent, II. 41.
Love like a beggar came to me, II. 118.
Love like a gipsy lately came, I. 76.
Love, love begets, then never be, II. 64.
Love, love me now, because I place, II. 96.
Love on a day, wise poets tell, I. 131.
Love scorch'd my finger, but did spare, I. 33.
Love's a thing, as I do hear, I. 146.
Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all, II. 157.
Love-sick I am, and must endure, I. 72.
Maidens tell me I am old, II. 94.
Maids' nays are nothing, they are shy, II. 60.
Make haste away, and let one be, II. 92.
Make, make me Thine, my gracious God, II. 185.
Make me a heaven and make me there, I. 56.
Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never, I. 254.
Man is compos'd here of a twofold part, I. 191.
Man knows where first he ships himself, but he, I. 221.
Man may at first transgress, but next do well, II. 141.
Man may want land to live in, but for all, II. 84.
Man must do well out of a good intent, II. 112.
Man's disposition is for to requite, II. 114.
Many we are, and yet but few possess, I. 221.
May his pretty dukeship grow, I. 134.
Men are not born kings, but are men renown'd, II. 49.
Men are suspicious, prone to discontent, II. 113.
Men must have bounds how far to walk; for we, II. 132.
Men say y'are fair, and fair ye are, 'tis true, I. 122.
Mercy, the wise Athenians held to be, II. 225.
Methought I saw, as I did dream in bed, II. 139.
Methought last night love in an anger came, I. 18.
Mighty Neptune, may it please, I. 161.
Milk still your fountains and your springs, for why? II. 90.
Mine eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain, II. 44.
Mop-eyed I am, as some have said, I. 120.
More discontents I never had, I. 21.
More white than whitest lilies far, I. 40.
Music, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spell, I. 128.
My dearest love, since thou wilt go, II. 153.
My faithful friend, if you can see, I. 97.
My God, I'm wounded by my sin, II. 173.
My head doth ache, II. 9.
My many cares and much distress, II. 139.
My muse in meads has spent her many hours, I. 116.
My soul would one day go and seek, II. 101.
My wearied bark, O let it now be crown'd, II. 164.
My wooing's ended: now my wedding's near, I. 225.
Naught are all women: I say no, II. 102.
Need is no vice at all, though here it be, II. 48.
Nero commanded; but withdrew his eyes, II. 42.
Never my book's perfection did appear, I. 123.
Never was day so over-sick with showers, I. 62.
Next is your lot, fair, to be numbered one, I. 236.
Night hath no wings to him that cannot sleep, II. 195.
Night hides our thefts, all faults then pardon'd be, II. 8.
Night makes no difference 'twixt priest and clerk, II. 97.
No fault in women to refuse, I. 148.
No grief is grown so desperate, but the ill, II. 148.
No man comes late unto that place from whence, II. 31.
No man is tempted so but may o'ercome, II. 236.
No man so well a kingdom rules, as he, II. 155.
No man such rare parts hath, that he can swim, II. 121.
No more, my Sylvia, do I mean to pray, II. 2.
No more shall I, since I am driven hence, I. 164.
No news of navies burnt at seas, I. 157.
No trust to metals, nor to marbles, when, II. 272.
No wrath of men or rage of seas, II. 14.
Noah the first was, as tradition says, II. 233.
None goes to warfare but with this intent, I. 50.
Noonday and midnight shall at once be seen, I. 71.
Nor art thou less esteem'd that I have plac'd, II. 70.
Nor is my number full till I inscribe, I. 250.
Nor think that thou in this my book art worst, II. 159.
Not all thy flushing suns are set, I. 87.
Nothing can be more loathsome than to see, II. 10.
Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let, I. 221.
Nothing hard or harsh can prove, II. 48.
Nothing is new, we walk where others went, I. 175.
Now if you love me, tell me, II. 150.
Now is the time for mirth, I. 97.
Now is the time, when all the lights wax dim, I. 22.
Now is your turn, my dearest, to be set, II. 81.
Now, now's the time, so oft by truth, I. 63.
Now, now the mirth comes, II. 145.
Now thou art dead, no eye shall ever see, II. 125.
O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be, I. 21.
O Jealousy, that art, I. 213.
O Jupiter, should I speak ill, II. 61.
O Times most bad, II. 10.
O Thou, the wonder of all days! II. 196.
O years! and age! farewell, II. 189.
O you the virgins nine! II. 31.
Of all our parts, the eyes express, I. 152.
Of all the good things whatsoe'er we do, II. 255.
Of all those three brave brothers fall'n i' th' war, I. 212.
Of both our fortunes good and bad we find, II. 71.
Offer thy gift; but first the law commands, II. 122.
Oft bend the bow, and thou with ease shalt do, II. 55.
Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say, I. 187.
Old wives have often told how they, I. 19.
On, as thou hast begun, brave youth, and get, I. 188.
On with thy work, though thou be'st hardly press'd, II. 137.
One ask'd me where the roses grew, I. 19.
One birth our Saviour had; the like none yet, II. 231.
One ear tingles, some there be, II. 160.
One feeds on lard, and yet is lean, I. 216.
One man repentant is of more esteem, II. 235.
One more by thee, love, and desert have sent, I. 239.
One night i' th' year, my dearest beauties, come, II. 23.
One of the five straight branches of my hand, I. 256.
One only fire has hell; but yet it shall, II. 239.
One silent night of late, I. 30.
Only a little more, I. 103.
Or look'd I back unto the time hence flown, II. 39.
Orpheus he went, as poets tell, II. 82.
Other men's sins we ever bear in mind, II. 66.
Our crosses are no other than the rods, II. 97.
Our honours and our commendations be, I. 150.
Our household gods our parents be, II. 29.
Our mortal parts may wrapp'd in sear-clothes lie, I. 251.
Our present tears here, not our present laughter, II. 201.
Out of the world he must, who once comes in, I. 251.
Paradise is, as from the learn'd I gather, II. 229.
Pardon me, God, once more I Thee entreat, II. 212.
Pardon my trespass, Silvia, I confess, II. 116.
Part of the work remains; one part is past, II. 164.
Partly work and partly play, II. 142.
Paul, he began ill, but he ended well, II. 234.
Permit me, Julia, now to go away, I. 72.
Permit mine eyes to see, II. 210.
Phœbus! when that I a verse, I. 152.
Physicians fight not against men; but these, II. 29.
Physicians say repletion springs, II. 121.
Play I could once; but gentle friend, you see, I. 103.
Play, Phœbus, on thy lute, I. 190.
Play their offensive and defensive parts, II. 211.
Please your grace, from out your store, II. 25.
Ponder my words, if so that any be, II. 111.
Praise they that will times past; I joy to see, II. 114.
Prat, he writes satires, but herein's the fault, II. 46.
Prayers and praises are those spotless two, II. 171.
Predestination is the cause alone, II. 237.
Prepare for songs; He's come, He's come, II. 204.
Preposterous is that government, and rude, I. 246.
Preposterous is that order, when we run, II. 49.
Princes and fav'rites are most dear, while they, II. 67.
Prue, my dearest maid, is sick, I. 152.
Puss and her 'prentice both at drawgloves play, II. 75.
Put off thy robe of purple, then go on, II. 249.
Put on thy holy filletings, and so, II. 106.
Put on your silks, and piece by piece, I. 22.
Rapine has yet took nought from me, II. 219.
Rare are thy cheeks, Susanna, which do show, I. 243.
Rare is the voice itself: but when we sing, II. 161.
Rare temples thou hast seen, I know, I. 111.
Reach with your whiter hands, to me, I. 232.
Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be, II. 158.
Readers, we entreat ye pray, II. 85.
Reproach we may the living, not the dead, II. 19.
Rise, household gods, and let us go, I. 138.
Roaring is nothing but a weeping part, II. 226.
Roses at first were white, I. 130.
Roses, you can never die, II. 154.
Sabbaths are threefold, as St. Austine says, II. 233.
Sadly I walk'd within the field, I. 88.
Sappho, I will choose to go, II. 83.
Science in God is known to be, II. 222.
Sea-born goddess, let me be, I. 174.
See and not see, and if thou chance t'espy, I. 37.
See how the poor do waiting stand, I. 175.
Seeing thee, Soame, I see a goodly man, I. 220.
See'st thou that cloud as silver clear, I. 174.
See'st thou that cloud that rides in state, II. 86.
See'st thou those diamonds which she wears, I. 163.
Shall I a daily beggar be, II. 138.
Shall I go to Love and tell, II. 90.
Shame checks our first attempts; but when 'tis prov'd, II. 200.
Shame is a bad attendant to a state, I. 227.
Shapcot! to thee the fairy state, I. 148.
She by the river sat, and sitting there, II. 63.
She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so, II. 62.
Should I not put on blacks when each one here, II. 108.
Show me thy feet, show me thy legs, thy thighs, I. 193.
Shut not so soon; the dull-ey'd night, I. 203.
Sick is Anthea, sickly is the spring, II. 149.
Sin is an act so free, that if we shall, II. 238.
Sin is the cause of death; and sin's alone, II. 238.
Sin leads the way, but as it goes it feels, II. 200.
Sin never slew a soul unless there went, II. 238.
Sin no existence; nature none it hath, II. 229.
Sin once reached up to God's eternal sphere, II. 207.
Since, for thy full deserts, with all the rest, I. 191.
Since shed or cottage I have none, II. 150.
Since to the country first I came, I. 228.
Sing me to death; for till thy voice be clear, I. 190.
Sinners confounded are a twofold way, II. 236.
Sitting alone, as one forsook, I. 60.
Smooth was the sea, and seem'd to call, II. 116,
So good luck came, and on my roof did light, I. 124.
So long it seem'd, as Mary's faith was small, II. 233.
So long you did not sing or touch your hue, I. 119.
So look the mornings when the sun, II. 85.
So looks Anthea, when in bed she lies, I. 39.
So smell those odours that do rise, I. 181.
So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice, I. 25.
So soft streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles, I. 93.
Some ask'd me where the rubies grew, I. 28.
Some parts may perish, die thou canst not all, I. 252.
Some salve to every sore we may apply, II. 92.
Some would know, I. 12.
Sorrows divided amongst many, less, II. 48.
Sorrows our portion are: ere hence we go, II. 196.
Sound teeth has Lucy, pure as pearl, and small, II. 29.
Speak, did the blood of Abel cry, II. 235.
Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours, II. 110.
Spring with the lark, most comely bride, and meet, II. 16.
Stand by the magic of my powerful rhymes, II. 98.
Stand forth, brave man, since fate has made thee here, II. 63.
Stand with thy graces forth, brave man, and rise, I. 226.
Stately goddess, do thou please, I. 178.
Stay while ye will, or go, I. 102.
Still take advice; though counsels, when they fly, II. 146.
Still to our gains our chief respect is had, I. 175.
Store of courage to me grant, I. 189.
Stripes justly given yerk us with their fall, II. 148.
Studies themselves will languish and decay, II. 144.
Suffer thy legs but not thy tongue to walk, II. 172.
Suspicion, discontent, and strife, I. 58.
Sweet Amarillis, by a spring's, I. 55.
Sweet are my Julia's lips, and clean, II. 95.
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, I. 74.
Sweet Bridget blush'd, and therewithal, I. 255.
Sweet country life, to such unknown, II. 33.
Sweet Œnone, do but say, II. 81.
Sweet virgin, that I do not set, I. 182.
Sweet western wind, whose luck it is, I. 128.
Take mine advice, and go not near, II. 98.
Tears most prevail; with tears, too, thou mayst move, II. 107.
Tears quickly dry, griefs will in time decay, II. 115.
Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine, II. 29.
Tell if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come, I. 196.
Tell me, rich man, for what intent. II. 244.
Tell me, what needs those rich deceits, II. 101.
Tell me, young man, or did the muses bring, II. 122.
Tell that brave man, fain thou wouldst have access, II. 125.
Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue, II. 207.
Temptations hurt not, though they have access II. 196.
Th' art hence removing (like a shepherd's tent), I. 235.
Th' 'ast dar'd too far; but, fury, now forbear, I. 100.
That Christ did die, the pagan saith, II. 245.
That flow of gallants which approach, II. 47.
That for seven lusters I did never come, I. 31.
That happiness does still the longest thrive, II. 81.
That hour-glass which there you see, I. 52.
That little, pretty, bleeding part, II. 279.
That love last long, let it thy first care be, I. 232.
That love 'twixt men does ever longest last, II. 157.
That manna, which God on His people cast, II. 224.
That morn which saw me made a bride, I. 136.
That prince must govern with a gentle hand, II. 153.
That prince takes soon enough the victor's room, I. 136.
That prince who may do nothing but what's just, II. 162.
That princes may possess a surer seat, I. 203.
That there's a God we all do know, II. 243.
The bad among the good are here mixed ever, II. 229.
The blood of Abel was a thing, II. 235.
The body is the soul's poor house or home, II. 98.
The body's salt, the soul is; which when gone, II. 162.
The bound almost now of my book I see, II. 140.
The doctors in the Talmud, say, II. 235.
The factions of the great ones call, II. 101.
The fire of hell this strange condition hath, II. 235.
The gods require the thighs, II. 60.
The gods to kings the judgment give to sway, I. 136.
The hag is astride, II. 27.
The less our sorrows here and suff'rings cease, II. 214.
The lictors bundled up their rods; beside, II. 113.
The longer thread of life we spin, II. 224.
The May-pole is up, II. 46.
The mellow touch of music most doth wound, I. 12.
The mountains of the Scriptures are, some say, II. 226.
The only comfort of my life, II. 149.
The person crowns the place; your lot doth fall, II. 128.
The power of princes rest in the consent, II. 155.
The readiness of doing doth express, II. 92.
The repetition of the name made known, II. 229.
The rose was sick, and smiling died, II. 44.
The saints-bell calls, and, Julia, I must read, II. 7.
The same who crowns the conquerer, will be, II. 227.
The seeds of treason choke up as they spring, I. 9.
The shame of man's face is no more, II. 228.
The strength of baptism that's within, II. 247.
The sup'rabundance of my store, II. 220.
The tears of saints more sweet by far, II. 224.
The time the bridegroom stays from hence, II. 225.
The twilight is no other thing, we say, II. 148.
The Virgin Mary was, as I have read, II. 232.
The Virgin Mother stood at a distance, there, II. 230.
The work is done, now let my laurel be, II. 249.
The work is done: young men and maidens, set, II. 164.
Then did I live when I did see, II. 140.
There is no evil that we do commit, II. 233.
There's no constraint to do amiss, II. 239.
These fresh beauties (we can prove), I. 16.
These springs were maidens once that lov'd, I. 225.
These summer-birds did with thy master stay, I. 189.
These temporal goods God, the most wise, commends, II. 234.
Things are uncertain, and the more we get, II. 144.
This axiom I have often heard, II. 39.
This crosstree here, II. 253.
This day is yours, great Charles! and in this war, II. 87.
This day, my Julia, thou must make, II. 83.
This I'll tell ye by the way, II. 152.
This is my comfort when she's most unkind, II. 151.
This is the height of justice: that to do, II. 14.
This rule of manners I will teach my guests, II. 137.
This stone can tell the story of my life, II. 128.
Those ends in war the best contentment bring, II. 144.
Those garments lasting evermore, II. 242.
Those ills that mortal men endure, I. 192.
Those possessions short-liv'd are, II. 50.
Those saints which God loves best, II. 175.
Those tapers which we set upon the grave, II. 230.
Thou art a plant sprung up to wither never, I. 122.
Thou art to all lost love the best, I. 132.
Thou bid'st me come away, II. 186.
Thou bid'st me come; I cannot come; for why? II. 186.
Thou cam'st to cure me, doctor, of my cold, I. 121.
Thou gav'st me leave to kiss, I. 178.
Thou had'st the wreath before, now take the tree, I. 188.
Thou hast made many houses for the dead, II. 95.
Thou hast promis'd, Lord, to be, II. 179.
Thou knowest, my Julia, that it is thy turn, I. 247.
Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre, II. 100.
Thou sail'st with others in this Argus here, I. 26.
Thou say'st I'm dull; if edgeless so I be, II. 157.
Thou sayest Love's dart, II. 90.
Thou say'st my lines are hard, I. 173.
Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no, II. 98.
Thou see'st me, Lucia, this year droop, II. 126.
Thou sent'st to me a true love-knot, but I, I. 217.
Thou shall not all die; for while love's fire shines, I. 179.
Thou, thou that bear'st the sway, II. 100.
Thou who wilt not love, do this, I. 93.
Though a wise man all pressures can sustain, I. 72.
Though by well warding many blows we've pass'd, II. 45.
Though clock, II. 55.
Though frankincense the deities require, II. 117.
Though from without no foes at all we fear, II. 114.
Though good things answer many good intents, I. 137.
Though hourly comforts from the gods we see, I. 137.
Though I cannot give thee fires, I. 161.
Though long it be, years may repay the debt, II. 31.
Though thou be'st all that active love, II. 245.
Thousands each day pass by, which we, II. 39.
Three fatal sisters wait upon each sin, II. 172.
Three lovely sisters working were, I. 20.
Thrice, and above, bless'd, my soul's half, art thou, I. 40.
Thrice happy roses, so much grac'd to have, II. 60.
Through all the night, II. 187.
Thy azure robe I did behold, I. 80.
Thy former coming was to cure, II. 248.
Thy sooty godhead, I desire, II. 14.
Till I shall come again let this suffice, I. 183.
Time is the bound of things where e'er we go, II. 71.
'Tis a known principle in war, I. 147.
'Tis but a dog-like madness in bad kings, II. 115.
'Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend, II. 171.
'Tis heresy in others: in your face, I. 225.
'Tis liberty to serve one lord; but he, II. 103.
'Tis much among the filthy to be clean, II. 147.
'Tis never, or but seldom known, II. 80.
'Tis no discomfort in the world to fall, II. 147.
'Tis not a thousand bullocks' thighs, I. 24.
'Tis not every day that I, II. 51.
'Tis not greatness they require, I. 24.
'Tis not the food but the content, I. 154.
'Tis not the walls or purple that defends, II. 53.
'Tis said as Cupid danc'd among, II. 49.
'Tis still observ'd that fame ne'er sings, II. 55.
'Tis still observ'd those men most valiant are, II. 134.
'Tis the chyrurgeon's praise and height of art, II. 84.
'Tis worse than barbarous cruelty to show, I. 251.
To a love feast we both invited are, II. 191.
To all our wounds here, whatsoe'er they be, II. 238.
To an old sore a long cure must go on, II. 138.
To bread and water none is poor, I. 38.
To conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall, I. 60.
To fetch me wine my Lucia went, I. 234.
To find that tree of life whose fruits did feed, I. 74.
To gather flowers Sappha went, II. 62.
To get thine ends lay bashfulness aside, I. 7.
To him who longs unto his Christ to go, II. 222.
To his book's end this last line he'd have placed, II. 165.
To house the hag, you must do this, II. 104.
To join with them who here confer, II. 255.
To me my Julia lately sent, I. 14.
To-morrow, Julia, I betimes must rise, I. 127.
To mortal men great loads allotted be, II. 51.
To my revenge, and to her desperate fears, I. 107.
To print our poems, the propulsive cause, I. 211.
To read my book the virgin shy, I. 5.
To safeguard man from wrongs, there nothing must, I. 81.
To seek of God more than we well can find, II. 192.
To sup with thee thou did'st me home invite, II. 78.
To this white temple of my heroes, here, I. 232.
To work a wonder, God would have her shown, II. 231.
Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hear, II. 94.
Trap of a player turn'd a priest now is, II. 155.
Tread, sirs, as lightly as you can, II. 28.
True mirth resides not in the smiling skin, II. 172.
True rev'rence is, as Cassiodore doth prove, II. 224.
True to yourself and sheets, you'll have me swear, I. 171.
Trust me, ladies, I will do, I. 222.
Truth, by her own simplicity is known, II. 160.
Truth is best found out by the time and eyes, II. 108.
Tumble me down, and I will sit, II. 41.
'Twas but a single rose, I. 61.
'Twas Cæsar's saying: kings no less conquerors are, II. 88.
Twice has Pudica been a bride, and led, I. 225.
Twilight, no other thing is, poets say, II. 96.
'Twixt kings and subjects there's this mighty odds, I. 12.
'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known, II. 96.
'Twixt truth and error there's this difference known, II. 144.
Two instruments belong unto our God, II. 244.
Two of a thousand things are disallow'd, I. 10.
Two parts of us successively command, I. 171.
Two things do make society to stand, II. 93.
Under a lawn, than skies more clear, I. 29.
Upon her cheeks she wept, and from those showers, I. 256.
Ursley, she thinks those velvet patches grace, I. 248.
Virgins promis'd when I died, I. 52.
Virgins, time past, known were these, I. 77.
Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon, II. 108.
Wantons we are, and though our words be such, II. 19.
Wanton wenches do not bring, II. 160.
Wash clean the vessel, lest ye sour, II. 149.
Wash your hands, or else the fire, II. 80.
Wassail the trees, that they may bear, II. 80.
Water, water I desire, I. 23.
Water, water I espy, I. 75.
We are co-heirs with Christ; nor shall His own, II. 246.
We blame, nay we despise her pains, II. 98.
We credit most our sight; one eye doth please, II. 108.
We merit all we suffer, and by far, II. 243.
We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace, II. 81.
We trust not to the multitude in war, II. 112.
We two are last in hell; what may we fear, I. 38.
Weep for the dead, for they have lost this light, II. 121.
Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find, II. 170.
Welcome! but yet no entrance, till we bless, I. 155.
Welcome, great Cæsar, welcome now you are, II. 123.
Welcome, most welcome to our vows and us, I. 28.
Welcome to this my college, and though late, II. 129.
Well may my book come forth like public day, _Dedication_.
Were I to give the baptism, I would choose, I. 32.
What can I do in poetry, I. 164.
What! can my Kellam drink his sack, II. 112.
What, conscience, say, is it in thee, I. 210.
What fate decreed, time now has made us see, II. 66.
What God gives, and what we take, II. 202.
What here we hope for, we shall once inherit, II. 200.
What I fancy I approve, I. 11.
What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve, II. 18.
What is't that wastes a prince? example shows, II. 162.
What need we marry women, when, II. 120.
What needs complaints, II. 141.
What now we like, anon we disapprove, I. 240.
What offspring other men have got, II. 42.
What others have with cheapness seen and ease, II. 161.
What sweeter music can we bring, II. 202.
What though my harp and viol be, II. 199.
What though the heaven be lowering now, I. 236.
What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore, I. 104.
What times of sweetness this fair day foreshows, I. 52.
What was't that fell but now, I. 90.
What will ye, my poor orphans, do, II. 19.
What wisdom, learning, wit or wrath, I. 57.
What's got by justice is established sure, II. 141.
What's that we see from far? the spring of day, I. 139.
Whatever comes, let's be content withal, II. 187.
Whatever men for loyalty pretend, II. 163.
Whatsoever thing I see, II. 65.
When a daffodil I see, I. 45.
When a man's faith is frozen up, as dead, II. 196.
When after many lusters thou shalt be, II. 36.
When age or chance has made me blind, I. 38.
When all birds else do of their music fail, II. 57.
When as in silks my Julia goes, II. 77.
When as Leander young was drown'd, I. 49.
When Chub brings in his harvest, still he cries, II. 157.
When fear admits no hope of safety, then, II. 163.
When first I find those numbers thou dost write, II. 125.
When flowing garments I behold, II. 138.
When I a ship see on the seas, II. 214.
When I a verse shall make, II. 11.
When I behold a forest spread, I. 254.
When I behold Thee, almost slain, II. 252.
When I consider, dearest, thou dost stay, I. 243.
When I departed am, ring thou my knell, I. 138.
When I did go from thee, I felt that smart, I. 50.
When I go hence, ye closet-gods, I fear, II. 30.
When I love (as some have told), II. 1.
When I of Villars do but hear the name, I. 172.
When I shall sin, pardon my trespass here, II. 206.
When I through all my many poems look, I. 117.
When I thy parts run o'er, I can't espy, I. 9.
When I thy singing next shall hear, I. 25.
When Julia blushes she does show, I. 150.
When Julia chid, I stood as mute the while, I. 70.
When laws full powers have to sway, we see, II. 12.
When man is punished, he is plagued still, II. 211.
When my date's done, and my grey age must die, I. 47.
When my off'ring next I make, I. 197.
When one is past, another care we have, I. 20.
When once the sin has fully acted been, II. 178.
When once the soul has lost her way, II. 243.
When out of bed my love doth spring, I. 193.
When some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was, I. 24.
When that day comes, whose evening says I'm gone, I. 15.
When thou dost play and sweetly sing, I. 178.
When Thou wast taken, Lord, I oft have read, II. 251.
When times are troubled then forbear; but speak, II. 155.
When to a house I come and see, II. 136.
When to thy porch I come, and ravish'd see, II. 154.
When we 'gainst Satan stoutly fight, the more, II. 213.
When well we speak and nothing do that's good, II. 247.
When what is lov'd is present, love doth spring, I. 13.
When winds and seas do rage, II. 215.
When with the virgin morning thou dost rise, I. 159.
When words we want, Love teacheth to indite, II. 92.
Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befalls, II. 86.
Whene'er my heart love's warmth but entertains, I. 47.
Where God is merry, there write down thy fears, II. 191.
Where love begins, there dead thy first desire, II. 100.
Where others love and praise my verses, still, I. 80.
Where pleasures rule a kingdom, never there, II. 157.
Whether I was myself, or else did see, II. 156.
While Fates permit us let's be merry, I. 215.
While leanest beasts in pastures feed, I. 93.
While, Lydia, I was loved of thee, I. 85.
While the milder fates consent, I. 46.
While thou didst keep thy candour undefil'd, I. 5.
White as Zenobia's teeth, the which the girls, II. 62.
White though ye be, yet, lilies, know, I. 89.
Whither dost thou whorry me, I. 197.
Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam? I. 4.
Whither? say, whither shall I fly, I. 48.
Who after his transgression doth repent, II. 84.
Who begs to die for fear of human need, II. 95.
Who forms a godhead out of gold or stone, I. 147.
Who may do most, does least; the bravest will, II. 150.
Who plants an olive but to eat the oil? II. 151.
Who, railing, drives the lazar from his door, II. 46.
Who read'st this book that I have writ, II. 32.
Who violates the customs, hurts the health, II. 147.
Who will not honour noble numbers when, II. 81.
Who with a little cannot be content, II. 12.
Whom should I fear to write to if I can, I. 77.
Whose head befringed with bescattered tresses, II. 257.
Why do not all fresh maids appear, I. 128.
Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears, I. 129.
Why dost thou wound and break my heart, II. 158.
Why I tie about thy wrist, I. 159.
Why, madam, will ye longer weep, I. 237.
Why should we covet much, when as we know, II. 134.
Why so slowly do you move, II. 93.
Why this flower is now call'd so, I. 16.
Will ye hear what I can say, I. 173.
Wilt thou my true friend be? II. 2.
With blameless carriage, I lived here, I. 48.
With golden censors and with incense here, II. 208.
Woe, woe to them, who by a ball of strife, I. 29.
Women, although they ne'er so goodly make it, II. 41.
Words beget anger; anger brings forth blows, II. 107.
Would I see lawn, clear as the heaven and thin? I. 197.
Would I woo, and would I win, II. 106.
Would ye have fresh cheese and cream? I. 229.
Would ye oil of blossoms get? II. 54.
Wrinkles no more are or no less, I. 179.
Wrongs, if neglected, vanish in short time, II. 75.
Ye have been fresh and green, I. 136.
Ye may simper, blush, and smile, I. 89.
Ye pretty housewives, would ye know, I. 204.
Ye silent shades, whose each tree here, I. 211.
You are a lord, an earl; nay more, a man, I. 215.
You are a tulip seen to-day, I. 108.
You ask me what I do, and how I live, II. 138.
You have beheld a smiling rose, I. 90.
You may vow I'll not forget, II. 268.
You say I love not 'cause I do not play, I. 16.
You say to me-wards your affection's strong, I. 61.
You say you're sweet; how should we know, I. 139.
You see this gentle stream that glides, II. 54.
Young I was, but now am old, I. 18.
Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need,
The place where swelling piles do breed;
May every ill that bites or smarts
Perplex him in his hinder parts.
If thou dislik'st the piece thou light'st on first,
Think that of all, that I have writ, the worst:
But if thou read'st my book unto the end,
And still do'st this and that verse, reprehend;
O perverse man! if all disgustful be,
The extreme scab take thee, and thine, for me.
I dreamt this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphos'd to a vine;
Which crawling one and every way
Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia.
Methought, her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise;
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nerv'lets were embrac'd;
About her head I writhing hung,    }
And with rich clusters, hid among  }
The leaves, her temples I behung:  }
So that my Lucia seem'd to me
Young Bacchus ravish'd by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
All parts there made one prisoner.
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespy'd,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancy I awoke;
And found, ah me! this flesh of mine
More like a stock than like a vine.
Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard:
The fattest hogs we grease the more with lard.
To him that has, there shall be added more;
Who is penurious, he shall still be poor.
Blanch swears her husband's lovely; when a scald
Has blear'd his eyes: besides, his head is bald
Next, his wild ears, like leathern wings full spread,
Flutter to fly, and bear away his head.
Cuffe comes to church much: but he keeps his bed
Those Sundays only whenas briefs are read.
This makes Cuffe dull; and troubles him the most,
Because he cannot sleep i' th' church free cost.
_Briefs._--Letters recommending the collection of alms.
Fone says, those mighty whiskers he does wear
Are twigs of birch, and willow, growing there:
If so, we'll think too, when he does condemn
Boys to the lash, that he does whip with them.
He'll slit her nose; but blubb'ring, she replies,
Good sir, make no more cuts i' th' outward skin,
One slit's enough to let adultry in.
Glasco had none, but now some teeth has got;
Which though they fur, will neither ache or rot.
Six teeth he has, whereof twice two are known
Made of a haft that was a mutton bone.
Which not for use, but merely for the sight,
He wears all day, and draws those teeth at night.
To th' board, so hot as none could touch the same:
Furze three or four times with his cheeks did blow
It seem'd by this time to admit the touch,
But none could eat it, 'cause it stunk so much.
Gryll eats, but ne'er says grace; to speak the truth,
Gryll either keeps his breath to cool his broth,
Or else, because Gryll's roast does burn his spit,
Gryll will not therefore say a grace for it.
Strut, once a foreman of a shop we knew;
But turn'd a ladies' usher now, 'tis true:
Tell me, has Strut got e're a title more?
No; he's but foreman, as he was before.
First, Jolly's wife is lame; then next loose-hipp'd:
Squint-ey'd, hook-nos'd; and lastly, kidney-lipp'd.
Pagget, a schoolboy, got a sword, and then
He vow'd destruction both to birch and men:
Who would not think this younker fierce to fight?
Yet coming home, but somewhat late (last night),
Untruss, his master bade him; and that word
Made him take up his shirt, lay down his sword.
Prig now drinks water, who before drank beer;
What's now the cause? we know the case is clear;
Look in Prig's purse, the chev'ril there tells you
Prig money wants, either to buy or brew.
Batt he gets children, not for love to rear 'em;
But out of hope his wife might die to bear 'em.
Much-more provides and hoards up like an ant,
Yet Much-more still complains he is in want.
Let Much-more justly pay his tithes; then try
How both his meal and oil will multiply.
Luggs, by the condemnation of the Bench,
Was lately whipt for lying with a wench.
Thus pains and pleasures turn by turn succeed:
He smarts at last who does not first take heed.
Gubbs calls his children kitlings: and would bound,
Some say, for joy, to see those kitlings drown'd.
Money thou ow'st me; prethee fix a day
For payment promis'd, though thou never pay:
Let it be Dooms-day; nay, take longer scope;
Pay when th'art honest; let me have some hope.
Of flanks and chines of beef doth Gorrell boast
He has at home; but who tastes boil'd or roast?
Look in his brine-tub, and you shall find there
Two stiff blue pigs'-feet and a sow's cleft ear.
Wither'd with years, and bed-rid Mumma lies;
Dry-roasted all, but raw yet in her eyes.
Bar close as you can, and bolt fast too your door,
Yet quickly you'll see by the turn of a pin,
Sudds launders bands in piss, and starches them
Both with her husband's and her own tough fleam.
Guess cuts his shoes, and limping, goes about
To have men think he's troubled with the gout;
But 'tis no gout, believe it, but hard beer,
Whose acrimonious humour bites him here.
Crooked you are, but that dislikes not me:
So you be straight where virgins straight should be.
Groynes, for his fleshly burglary of late,
Stood in the holy forum candidate;
The word is Roman; but in English known:
Penance, and standing so, are both but one.
_Candidate_, clothed in white.
To paint the fiend, Pink would the devil see;
And so he may, if he'll be rul'd by me;
Let but Pink's face i' th' looking-glass be shown,
And Pink may paint the devil's by his own.
To cleanse his eyes, Tom Brock makes much ado,
But not his mouth, the fouler of the two.
A clammy rheum makes loathsome both his eyes:
His mouth, worse furr'd with oaths and blasphemies.
Y'ave laughed enough, sweet, vary now your text!
And laugh no more; or laugh, and lie down next.
Shark, when he goes to any public feast,
Eats to one's thinking, of all there, the least.
What saves the master of the house thereby
When if the servants search, they may descry
In his wide codpiece, dinner being done,
Two napkins cramm'd up, and a silver spoon?
Bungy does fast; looks pale; puts sackcloth on;
Not out of conscience, or religion:
Or that this younker keeps so strict a Lent,
Fearing to break the king's commandement:
But being poor, and knowing flesh is dear,
He keeps not one, but many Lents i' th' year.
Sneape has a face so brittle, that it breaks
Forth into blushes whensoe'er he speaks.
Leech boasts, he has a pill, that can alone
With speed give sick men their salvation:
'Tis strange, his father long time has been ill,
And credits physic, yet not trusts his pill:
And why? he knows he must of cure despair,
Who makes the sly physician his heir.
You say, you love me! that I thus must prove:
It that you lie, then I will swear you love.
An old, old widow Greedy needs would wed,
Not for affection to her or her bed;
But in regard, 'twas often said, this old
Woman would bring him more than could be told.
He took her; now the jest in this appears,
So old she was, that none could tell her years.
That was the proverb. Let my mistress be
Lazy to others, but be long to me.
Curse not the mice, no grist of thine they eat;
But curse thy children, they consume thy wheat.
Mease brags of pullets which he eats: but Mease
Ne'er yet set tooth in stump or rump of these.
Paske, though his debt be due upon the day
Demands no money by a craving way;
For why, says he, all debts and their arrears
Have reference to the shoulders, not the ears.
Prigg, when he comes to houses, oft doth use,
Rather than fail, to steal from thence old shoes:
Sound or unsound be they, or rent or whole,
Prigg bears away the body and the sole.
Moon is a usurer, whose gain,
Seldom or never knows a wain,
Only Moon's conscience, we confess,
That ebbs from pity less and less.
Shift now has cast his clothes: got all things new;
Save but his hat, and that he cannot mew.
_Mew_, change feathers.
If wounds in clothes Cuts calls his rags, 'tis clear
His linings are the matter running there.
When others gain much by the present cast,
The cobblers' getting time is at the last.
Doll, she so soon began the wanton trade,
She ne'er remembers that she was a maid.
Skrew lives by shifts; yet swears by no small oaths
For all his shifts he cannot shift his clothes.
Linnet plays rarely on the lute, we know;
And sweetly sings, but yet his breath says no.
Glass, out of deep, and out of desp'rate want,
Turn'd from a Papist here a Predicant.
A vicarage at last Tom Glass got here,
Just upon five and thirty pounds a year.
Add to that thirty-five but five pounds more,
He'll turn a Papist, ranker than before.
Eeles winds and turns, and cheats and steals; yet Eeles
Driving these sharking trades, is out at heels.
Rasp plays at nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets
Many a tester by his game and bets:
But of his gettings there's but little sign;
When one hole wastes more than he gets by nine.
Center is known weak-sighted, and he sells
To others store of helpful spectacles.
Why wears he none? Because we may suppose,
Where leaven wants, there level lies the nose.
Skinns, he dined well to-day: how do you think?
His nails they were his meat, his rheum the drink.
Pievish doth boast that he's the very first
Of English poets, and 'tis thought the worst.
Jolly and Jilly bite and scratch all day,
But yet get children (as the neighbours say).
The reason is: though all the day they fight,
They cling and close some minutes of the night.
Now Patrick with his footmanship has done,
His eyes and ears strive which should fastest run.
Of four teeth only Bridget was possest;
Two she spat out, a cough forced out the rest.
Why walks Nick Flimsey like a malcontent!
Is it because his money all is spent?
No, but because the dingthrift now is poor,
And knows not where i' th' world to borrow more.
Last night thou didst invite me home to eat;
And showed me there much plate, but little meat.
Prithee, when next thou do'st invite, bar state,
And give me meat, or give me else thy plate.
Roots had no money; yet he went o' the score,
For a wrought purse; can any tell wherefore?
Say, what should Roots do with a purse in print,
That had not gold nor silver to put in't?
Craw cracks in sirrop; and does stinking say,
Who can hold that, my friends, that will away?
Who to the north, or south, doth set
His bed, male children shall beget.
Of all that nature doth intend.
Were there not a matter known,
There would be no passion.
Since Jack and Jill both wicked be;
It seems a wonder unto me,
That they, no better do agree.
Old Parson Beanes hunts six days of the week,
And on the seventh, he has his notes to seek.
Six days he hollows so much breath away,
That on the seventh, he can nor preach or pray.
This lady's short, that mistress she is tall;
But long or short, I'm well content with all.
Rook he sells feathers, yet he still doth cry
Fie on this pride, this female vanity.
Thus, though the Rook does rail against the sin,
He loves the gain that vanity brings in.
Spunge makes his boasts that he's the only man
Can hold of beer and ale an ocean;
Is this his glory? then his triumph's poor;
I know the tun of Heidleberg holds more.
You say you're young; but when your teeth are told
To be but three, black-ey'd, we'll think you old.
Huncks has no money, he does swear or say,
About him, when the tavern's shot's to pay.
If he has none in 's pockets, trust me, Huncks
Has none at home in coffers, desks, or trunks.
Feacie, some say, doth wash her clothes i' th' lie
That sharply trickles from her either eye.
The laundresses, they envy her good-luck,
Who can with so small charges drive the buck.
What needs she fire and ashes to consume,
Who can scour linens with her own salt rheum?
_Drive the buck_, wash clothes.
Skurf by his nine-bones swears, and well he may:
All know a fellon eat the tenth away.
_Fellon_, whitlow.
When Jill complains to Jack for want of meat,
Jack kisses Jill and bids her freely eat:
Jill says, Of what? says Jack, On that sweet kiss,
Which full of nectar and ambrosia is,
The food of poets. So I thought, says Jill,
That makes them look so lank, so ghost-like still.
Let poets feed on air, or what they will;
Let me feed full, till that I fart, says Jill.
Parrat protests 'tis he, and only he
Can teach a man the art of memory:
Believe him not; for he forgot it quite,
Being drunk, who 'twas that can'd his ribs last night.
Kissing and bussing differ both in this;
We buss our wantons, but our wives we kiss.
Maggot frequents those houses of good-cheer,
Talks most, eats most, of all the feeders there.
He raves through lean, he rages through the fat,
(What gets the master of the meal by that?)
He who with talking can devour so much,
How would he eat, were not his hindrance such?
Joan would go tell her hairs; and well she might,
Having but seven in all: three black, four white.
Letcher was carted first about the streets,
For false position in his neighbour's sheets:
Next, hanged for thieving: now the people say,
His carting was the prologue to this play.
Dundrige his issue hath; but is not styl'd,
For all his issue, father of one child.
Once on a Lord Mayor's Day, in Cheapside, when
Skulls could not well pass through that scum of men,
For quick despatch Skulls made no longer stay
Than but to breathe, and everyone gave way;
For, as he breathed, the people swore from thence
A fart flew out, or a sir-reverence.
Broomsted a lameness got by cold and beer:
And to the bath went, to be cured there:
His feet were helped, and left his crutch behind;
But home returned, as he went forth, half blind.
With paste of almonds, Syb her hands doth scour;
Then gives it to the children to devour.
In cream she bathes her thighs, more soft than silk;
Then to the poor she freely gives the milk.
The eggs of pheasants wry-nosed Tooly sells,
But ne'er so much as licks the speckled shells:
Only, if one prove addled, that he eats
With superstition, as the cream of meats.
The cock and hen he feeds; but not a bone
He ever picked, as yet, of anyone.
_Superstition_, reverence.
I have seen many maidens to have hair,
Both for their comely need and some to spare;
But Blanch has not so much upon her head
As to bind up her chaps when she is dead.
Umber was painting of a lion fierce,
And, working it, by chance from Umber's erse
Flew out a crack, so mighty, that the fart,
As Umber states, did make his lion start.
Urles had the gout so, that he could not stand;
Then from his feet it shifted to his hand:
When 'twas in's feet, his charity was small;
Now 'tis in's hand, he gives no alms at all.
Franck ne'er wore silk she swears; but I reply,
She now wears silk to hide her blood-shot eye.
You say you'll kiss me, and I thank you for it;
But stinking breath, I do as hell abhor it.
What is the reason Coone so dully smells?
His nose is over-cool'd with icicles.
Of pushes Spalt has such a knotty race,
He needs a tucker for to burl his face.
_Pushes_, pimples.
_Tucker_, a fuller.
_Burl_, to remove knots from cloth.
Horne sells to others teeth; but has not one
To grace his own gums, or of box, or bone.
Fie, quoth my lady, what a stink is here?
When 'twas her breath that was the carrionere.
_Carrionere_, carrion-carrier.
Cock calls his wife his Hen: when Cock goes to't,
Cock treads his Hen, but treads her underfoot.
What made that mirth last night? the neighbours say,
That Bran the baker did his breech beray:
I rather think, though they may speak the worst,
'Twas to his batch, but leaven laid there first.
Snare, ten i' th' hundred calls his wife; and why?
She brings in much by carnal usury.
He by extortion brings in three times more:
Grudgings turns bread to stones, when to the poor
He gives an alms, and chides them from his door.
Since Gander did his pretty youngling wed,
Gander, they say, doth each night piss a-bed:
What is the cause? Why, Gander will reply,
No goose lays good eggs that is trodden dry.
Lungs, as some say, ne'er sets him down to eat
But that his breath does fly-blow all the meat.
Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells,
His thumb nails par'd afford him sparrables.
_Sparrables_, "sparrow-bills," headless nails.
Skoles stinks so deadly, that his breeches loath
His dampish buttocks furthermore to clothe;
Cloy'd they are up with arse; but hope, one blast
Will whirl about, and blow them thence at last.
Jone is a wench that's painted;
Jone is a girl that's tainted;
Yet Jone she goes
Like one of those
Whom purity had sainted.
Jane is a girl that's pretty;
Jane is a wench that's witty;
Yet who would think,
Her breath does stink,
As so it doth? that's pity.
Is Zelot pure? he is: yet! see he wears
The sign of circumcision in his ears.
For ropes of pearl, first Madam Ursly shows
A chain of corns picked from her ears and toes;
Then, next, to match Tradescant's curious shells,
Nails from her fingers mew'd she shows: what else?
Why then, forsooth, a carcanet is shown
Of teeth, as deaf as nuts, and all her own.
_Tradescant_, a collector of curiosities. See Note.
Trigg having turn'd his suit, he struts in state,
And tells the world he's now regenerate.
How could Luke Smeaton wear a shoe, or boot,
Who two-and-thirty corns had on a foot.
To loose the button is no less,
Than to cast off all bashfulness.
Franck would go scour her teeth; and setting to 't
Twice two fell out, all rotten at the root.
Paul's hands do give; what give they, bread or meat,
Or money? no, but only dew and sweat.
As stones and salt gloves use to give, even so
Paul's hands do give, nought else for ought we know.
Sibb, when she saw her face how hard it was,
For anger spat on thee, her looking-glass:
But weep not, crystal; for the same was meant
Not unto thee, but that thou didst present.
Slouch he packs up, and goes to several fairs,
And weekly markets for to sell his wares:
Meantime that he from place to place does roam,
His wife her own ware sells as fast at home.
Bice laughs, when no man speaks; and doth protest.
It is his own breech there that breaks the jest.
Tom shifts the trenchers; yet he never can
Endure that lukewarm name of serving-man:
Serve or not serve, let Tom do what he can,
He is a serving, who's a trencher-man.
Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part,
He doth it with the sweetest tones of art:
But when he sings a psalm, there's none can be
More curs'd for singing out of tune than he.
E'en all religious courses to be rich
Hath been rehers'd by Joel Michelditch:
But now perceiving that it still does please
The sterner fates, to cross his purposes;
He tacks about, and now he doth profess
Rich he will be by all unrighteousness;
Thus if our ship fails of her anchor hold
We'll love the divel, so he lands the gold.
Old Widow Prouse, to do her neighbours evil,
Would give, some say, her soul unto the devil.
Well, when she's kill'd that pig, goose, cock, or hen,
What would she give to get that soul again?
Thou writes in prose how sweet all virgins be;
But there's not one, doth praise the smell of thee.
Seal'd up with night-gum, Loach each morning lies,
Till his wife licking, so unglues his eyes.
No question then, but such a lick is sweet,
When a warm tongue does with such ambers meet.
Wherever Nodes does in the summer come,
He prays his harvest may be well brought home.
What store of corn has careful Nodes, think you,
Whose field his foot is, and whose barn his shoe?
Tap, better known than trusted, as we hear,
Sold his old mother's spectacles for beer:
And not unlikely; rather too than fail,
He'll sell her eyes, and nose, for beer and ale.
Give me a reason why men call
Punchin a dry plant-animal.
Because as plants by water grow,
Punchin by beer and ale spreads so.
Tom Blinks his nose is full of weals, and these
Tom calls not pimples, but pimpleides;
Sometimes, in mirth, he says each whelk's a spark,
When drunk with beer, to light him home i' th' dark.
Peapes he does strut, and pick his teeth, as if
His jaws had tir'd on some large chine of beef.
But nothing so: the dinner Adam had,
Was cheese full ripe with tears, with bread as sad.
_Sad_, heavy: "watery cheese and ill-baked bread".
Hanch, since he lately did inter his wife,
He weeps and sighs, as weary of his life.
Say, is't for real grief he mourns? not so;
Tears have their springs from joy, as well as woe.
Long locks of late our zealot Peason wears,
Not for to hide his high and mighty ears;
No, but because he would not have it seen
That stubble stands where once large ears have been.
I abhor the slimy kiss,
Which to me most loathsome is.
Those lips please me which are placed
Close, but not too strictly laced:
Yielding I would have them; yet
Not a wimbling tongue admit:
What should poking-sticks make there,
When the ruffe is set elswhere?
Reape's eyes so raw are that, it seems, the flies
Mistake the flesh, and fly-blow both his eyes;
So that an angler, for a day's expense,
May bait his hook with maggots taken thence.
Teage has told lies so long that when Teage tells
Truth, yet Teage's truths are untruths, nothing else.
Truggin a footman was; but now, grown lame,
Truggin now lives but to belie his name.
Spenke has a strong breath, yet short prayers saith;
Not out of want of breath, but want of faith.
Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose
By his proboscis that he is all nose.
Bad are all surfeits; but physicians call
That surfeit took by bread the worst of all.
Nis he makes verses; but the lines he writes
Serve but for matter to make paper kites.
Prickles is waspish, and puts forth his sting
For bread, drink, butter, cheese; for everything
That Prickles buys puts Prickles out of frame;
How well his nature's fitted to his name!
Blisse, last night drunk, did kiss his mother's knee;
Where will he kiss, next drunk, conjecture ye.
Burr is a smell-feast, and a man alone,
That, where meat is, will be a hanger on.
Meg yesterday was troubled with a pose,
Which, this night harden'd, sodders up her nose.
_Pose_, rheum, cold in the head.
Ralph pares his nails, his warts, his corns, and Ralph
In sev'rall tills and boxes, keeps 'em safe;
Instead of hartshorn, if he speaks the troth,
To make a lusty-jelly for his broth.
Vinegar is no other, I define,
Than the dead corps, or carcase of the wine.
Mudge every morning to the postern comes,
His teeth all out, to rinse and wash his gums.
Lupes for the outside of his suit has paid;
But for his heart, he cannot have it made;
The reason is, his credit cannot get
The inward garbage for his clothes as yet.
What are our patches, tatters, rags, and rents,
But the base dregs and lees of vestiments?
For thirty years Tubbs has been proud and poor;
'Tis now his habit, which he can't give o'er.
Spokes, when he sees a roasted pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks, and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.
We read how Faunus, he the shepherds' god,
His wife to death whipped with a myrtle rod.
The rod, perhaps, was better'd by the name;
But had it been of birch, the death's the same.
Up with the quintell, that the rout,
May fart for joy, as well as shout:
Either's welcome, stink or civit,
If we take it, as they give it.
Brown bread Tom Penny eats, and must of right,
Because his stock will not hold out for white.
Buggins is drunk all night, all day he sleeps;
This is the level-coil that Buggins keeps.
Boreman takes toll, cheats, natters, lies; yet Boreman,
For all the devil helps, will be a poor man.
Unto Pastillus rank Gorgonius came
To have a tooth twitched out of's native frame;
Drawn was his tooth, but stank so, that some say,
The barber stopped his nose, and ran away.
Grubs loves his wife and children, while that they
Can live by love, or else grow fat by play;
But when they call or cry on Grubs for meat,
Instead of bread Grubs gives them stones to eat.
He raves, he rends, and while he thus doth tear,
His wife and children fast to death for fear.
No question but Doll's cheeks would soon roast dry,
Were they not basted by her either eye.
Hog has a place i' the' kitchen, and his share,
The flimsy livers and blue gizzards are.
Science puffs up, says Gut, when either pease
Make him thus swell, or windy cabbages.
Spur jingles now, and swears by no mean oaths,
He's double honour'd, since he's got gay clothes:
Most like his suit, and all commend the trim;
And thus they praise the sumpter, but not him:
As to the goddess, people did confer
Worship, and not to th' ass that carried her.
Rump is a turn-broach, yet he seldom can
Steal a swoln sop out of a dripping-pan.
Old Widow Shopter, whensoe'er she cries,
Lets drip a certain gravy from her eyes.
If felt and heard, unseen, thou dost me please;
If seen, thou lik'st me, Deb, in none of these.
One silver spoon shines in the house of Croot;
Who cannot buy or steal a second to't.
Flood, if he has for him and his a bit,
He says his fore and after grace for it:
If meat he wants, then grace he says to see
His hungry belly borne on legs jail-free.
Thus have, or have not, all alike is good
To this our poor yet ever patient Flood.
When Pimp's feet sweat, as they do often use,
There springs a soap-like lather in his shoes.
In Den'shire Kersey Lusk, when he was dead,
Would shrouded be and therewith buried.
When his assigns asked him the reason why,
He said, because he got his wealth thereby.
In's Tusc'lans, Tully doth confess,
No plague there's like to foolishness.
Rush saves his shoes in wet and snowy weather;
And fears in summer to wear out the leather;
This is strong thrift that wary Rush doth use
Summer and winter still to save his shoes.
The staff is now greas'd;
And very well pleas'd,
She cocks out her arse at the parting,
To an old ram goat
That rattles i' th' throat,
Half-choked with the stink of her farting.
In a dirty hair-lace
She leads on a brace
Of black boar-cats to attend her:
Who scratch at the moon,
And threaten at noon
Of night from heaven for to rend her.
A-hunting she goes,
A cracked horn she blows,
At which the hounds fall a-bounding;
While th' moon in her sphere
Peeps trembling for fear,
And night's afraid of the sounding.
"Semper pauper eris, si pauper es, Aemiliane.
Dantur opes nulli nunc nisi divitibus."
Cp. also Davison's Poet. Rhap., i. 95. Ed. Bullen.
In which the veins implanted seem to lie
Like loving vines hid under ivory,
So full of claret, that whoso pricks this vine
May see it spout forth streams like muscadine.
Twelve lines later, after "Riphean snow," comes a longer passage:
Or else that she in that white waxen hill
Hath seal'd the primrose of her utmost skill.
But now my muse hath spied a dark descent
From this so precious, pearly, permanent,
A milky highway that direction yields
Unto the port-mouth of the Elysian fields:
A place desired of all, but got by these
Whom love admits to the Hesperides;
Here's golden fruit, that doth exceed all price,
Growing in this love-guarded paradise;
Above the entrance there is written this:
This is the portal to the bower of bliss,
Through midst whereof a crystal stream there flows
Passing the sweet sweet of a musky rose.
With plump, soft flesh, of metal pure and fine,
Resembling shields, both pure and crystalline.
Hence rise those two ambitious hills that look
Into th' middle, sweet, sight-stealing crook,
Which for the better beautifying shrouds
Its humble self 'twixt two aspiring clouds
Richer than that fair, precious, virtuous horn
That arms the forehead of the unicorn.
The last four lines are joined on at the end of all:
Unto the idol of the work divine
I consecrate this loving life of mine,
Bowing my lips unto that stately root
Where beauty springs; and thus I kiss her foot.
An old, old widow, Greedy needs would wed, 383.
Bad are all surfeits; but physicians call, 403.
Bar close as you can, and bolt fast too your door, 380.
Batt he gets children, not for love to rear 'em, 379.
Bice laughs, when no man speaks; and doth protest, 399.
Blanch swears her husband's lovely; when a scald, 376.
Blisse, last night drunk, did kiss his mother's knee, 404.
Boreman takes toll, cheats, flatters, lies! yet Boreman, 406.
Broomsted a lameness got by cold and beer, 392.
Brown bread Tom Pennie eats, and must of right, 406.
Buggins is drunk all night, all day he sleeps, 406.
Bungy does fast; looks pale; puts sackcloth on, 382.
Burr is a smell-feast, and a man alone, 404.
Center is known weak sighted, and he sells, 386.
Cob clouts his shoes, and as the story tells, 396.
Cock calls his wife his hen; when cock goes to 't, 395.
Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part, 399.
Craw cracks in sirrop; and does stinking say, 388.
Crooked you are, but that dislikes not me, 381.
Cuffe comes to church much; but he keeps his bed, 377.
Curse not the mice, no grist of thine they eat, 384.
Dunridge his issue hath; but is not styl'd, 392.
Doll, she so soon began the wanton trade, 385.
E'en all religious courses to be rich, 399.
Eeles winds and turns, and cheats and steals; yet Eeles, 386.
Feacie, some say, doth wash her clothes i' th' lie, 390.
Fie, quoth my lady, what a stink is here, 395.
First, Jolly's wife is lame; then next loose-hip'd, 378.
Flood, if he has for him and his a bit, 409.
Fone says, those mighty whiskers he does wear, 377.
For ropes of pearl, first Madam Ursly shows, 397.
For thirty years Tubbs has been proud and poor, 405.
Franck ne'er wore silk she swears; but I reply, 394.
Franck would go scour her teeth; and setting to 't, 398.
Give me a reason why men call, 401.
Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard, 376.
Glasco had none, but now some teeth has got, 377.
Glass, out of deep, and out of desp'rate want, 386.
Groynes, for his fleshly burglary of late, 381.
Grubs loves his wife and children, while that they, 407.
Grudgings turns bread to stones, when to the poor, 395.
Gryll eats, but ne'er says grace: to speak the truth, 378.
Gubbs calls his children kitlings: and would bound, 380.
Guess cuts his shoes, and limping, goes about, 381.
Hanch, since he lately did inter his wife, 402.
Hog has a place i' th' kitchen, and his share, 407.
Horne sells to others teeth; but has not one, 394.
How could Luke Smeaton wear a shoe or boot, 398.
Huncks has no money, he does swear or say, 390.
I abhor the slimy kiss, 402.
I dream't this mortal part of mine, 375.
If felt and heard, unseen, thou dost me please, 408.
If thou dislik'st the piece thou light'st on first, 375.
If wounds in clothes, Cuts calls his rags, 'tis clear, 385.
I have seen many maidens to have hair, 393.
In Den'shire Kersey Lusk when he was dead, 409.
In's Tusc'lans, Tully doth confess, 409.
Is Zelot pure? he is: yet, see he wears, 397.
Jone is a wench that's painted, 396.
Joan would go tell her hairs; and well she might, 392.
Jolly and Jilly bite and scratch all day, 387.
Kissing and bussing differ both in this, 391.
Last night thou didst invite me home to eat, 388.
Letcher was carted first about the streets, 392.
Linnet plays rarely on the lute, we know, 385.
Long locks of late our zealot Peason wears, 402.
Leech boasts he has a pill, that can alone, 383.
Luggs, by the condemnation of the bench, 378.
Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose, 403.
Lungs, as some say, ne'er sets him down to eat, 396.
Lupes for the outside of his suit has paid, 405.
Maggot frequents those houses of good cheer, 391.
Mease brags of pullets which he eats; but Mease, 384.
Meg yesterday was troubled with a pose, 404.
Money thou ow'st me; prethee fix a day, 380.
Moon is a usurer, whose gain, 384.
Much-more provides and hoards up like an ant, 379.
Mudge every morning to the postern comes, 405.
Nis he makes verses; but the lines he writes, 403.
No question but Doll's cheeks would soon roast dry, 407.
Now Patrick with his footmanship has done, 387.
Of flanks and chines of beef doth Gorrell boast, 380.
Of four teeth only Bridget was possest, 387.
Of pushes Spalt has such a knotty race, 394.
Old Parson Beanes hunts six days of the week, 389.
Old Widow Prouse, to do her neighbours evil, 400.
Old Widow Shopter, whensoe'er she cries, 408.
Once on a Lord Mayor's day, in Cheapside, when, 392.
One silver spoon shines in the house of Croot, 408.
Pagget, a schoolboy, got a sword, and then, 378.
Parrat protests, 'tis he, and only he, 401.
Paske, though his debt be one upon the day, 384.
Paul's hands do give; what give they, bread or meat, 398.
Peapes, he does strut, and pick his teeth, as if, 401.
Pievish doth boast that he's the very first, 387.
Prickles is waspish, and puts forth his sting, 404.
Prigg, when he comes to houses oft doth use, 384.
Prig now drinks water, who before drank beer, 379.
Putrefaction is the end, 388.
Ralph pares his nails, his warts, his corns, and Ralph, 404.
Rasp plays at nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets, 386.
Reape's eyes so raw are that, it seems, the flies, 402.
Rook he sells feathers, yet he still doth cry, 389.
Root's had no money; yet he went o' the score, 388.
Rump is a turn-broach, yet he seldom can, 408.
Rush saves his shoes in wet and snowy weather, 409.
Science puffs up, says Gut, when either pease, 407.
Seal'd up with night-gum Loach, each morning lies, 400.
Shark when he goes to any public feast, 382.
Shift now has cast his clothes: got all things new, 385.
Sibb, when she saw her face how hard it was, 398.
Since Gander did his pretty youngling wed, 396.
Since Jack and Jill both wicked be, 389.
Skinns, he dined well to-day; how do you think, 386.
Skoles stinks so deadly, that his breeches loath, 396.
Skrew lives by shifts; yet swears by no small oaths, 385.
Skurf by his nine-bones swears, and well he may, 390.
Slouch he packs up, and goes to several fairs, 399.
Snare, ten i' th' hundred calls his wife; and why? 395.
Sneape has a face so brittle that it breaks, 383.
Spenke has a strong breath, yet short prayers saith, 403.
Spokes, when he sees a roasted pig, he swears, 405.
Spunge makes his boasts that he's the only man, 389.
Spur jingles now, and swears by no mean oaths, 408.
Strutt, once a foreman of a shop we knew, 378.
Sudds launders bands in piss, and starches them, 381.
Tap, better known than trusted as we hear, 401.
Teage has told lies so long that when Teage tells, 403.
That was the proverb. Let my mistress be, 383.
The eggs of pheasants wry-nosed Tooly sells, 393.
The staff is now greas'd, 410.
This lady's short, that mistress she is tall, 389.
To cleanse his eyes, Tom Brock makes much ado, 382.
To loose the button is no less, 398.
To paint the fiend, Pink would the devil see, 381.
Thou writes in prose how sweet all virgins be, 400.
Tom Blinks his nose is full of weals, and these, 401.
Tom shifts the trenchers; yet he never can, 399.
Trigg, having turn'd his suit, he struts in state, 397.
Truggin a footman was; but now, grown lame, 403.
Umber was painting of a lion fierce, 393.
Unto Pastillus rank Gorgonius came, 407.
Up with the quintell, that the rout, 406.
Urles had the gout so, that he could not stand, 394.
Vinegar is no other, I define, 405.
We read how Faunus, he the shepherds' god, 406.
Were there not a matter known, 388.
What are our patches, tatters, rags, and rents, 405.
What is the reason Coone so dully smells, 394.
What made that mirth last night, the neighbours say, 395.
When Jill complains to Jack for want of meat, 391.
When others gain much by the present cast, 385.
When Pimp's feet sweat, as they do often use, 409.
Wherever Nodes does in the summer come, 400.
Who to the north, or south, doth set, 388.
Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need, 375.
Why walks Nick Flimsey like a malcontent! 387.
Wither'd with years, bed-rid Mamma lies, 380.
With paste of almonds, Syb her hands doth scour, 393.
Y'ave laughed enough, sweet, vary now your text, 382.
You say, you love me; that I thus must prove, 383.
You say you're young; but when your teeth are told, 390.
You say you'll kiss me, and I thank you for it, 394.
Transcriber's Endnotes
poem.
Page 318. Appendix I. "arious" corrected to _various_.
"... all the various articles spread throughout ..."
Page 382. 277. LAUGH AND DIE DOWN. "DIE" corrected to _LIE_.