Tempora cinxisset Foliorum densior umbra:  
Debetur Genio laurea Sylva tuo.  
Tempora et Hla sibi mollis redimisset Oliva;  
Scilicet excludis Versibus Arma tuis.  
Admisces Antigua Novis, jucunda Severis:  
Hinc juvenis discat, Foemina, Virgo, Senex  
Ut solo minor es Phoebo, sic major es Unus  
Omnibus, Ingenio, Mente, Lepore, Stylo  
W. Martial Fecit.  
scripsit I. H. C. W. M.    

HESPERIDES: OR, THE WORKS BOTH HUMANE & DIVINE OF ROBERT HERRICK Esq.  
OVID.  
Effugient avidos Carmina nostra Rogos.  
LONDON, Printed for John Williams, and Francis Eglesfield, and are to be sold by Tho: Hunt, Bookseller in Exon. 1648.   

TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS, AND Most Hopeful PRINCE, CHARLES', Prince of Wales.  

WEll may my Book come forth like Public Day,  
When such a Light as You are leads the way:  
Who are my Works 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.    


FOr these Transgressions which thou here dost see,  
Condemn the Printer, Reader, and not me;  
Who gave him forth good Grain, though he mistook  
The Seed; so sowed these Tares throughout my Book.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 33. line 10. read Rods. p. 41. l. 19 r. Gotiere. p. 65. l. 12. r. only one. p. 83. l. 28. r. soft. p. 88 l. 26. r. the flowery. p. 91. l. 29. r. such fears. p. 136. l. 9 r. to thee the. p. 155. l. 10. r. washed or's to tell. p. 166. l. 10. r. his Lachrimae. p. 181. l. 10. r. Ah woe is me, woe, woe is me. p. 183. l. 9 r. and thy breast. p. 201. l. 22. r. let chaste. p. 230. l. 21. r. and having drunk. p. 260. l. 26. r. to rise. p. 335. l. 17. r. a wife as.  
In the Divine.  
Pag. 22. line 14. read where so ere he sees.    

HESPERIDESES.  

The Argument of his Book.  

I Sing of Brooks, of Blossoms, Birds, and Bowers:  
Of April, May, of June, and July-Flowers.  
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes,  
Of Bridegrooms, Brides, and of their Bridall-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 Amber-Greece.  
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  
The Court of Mab, and of the Fairie-King.  
I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall)  
Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all.    

To his Muse.  

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 Coats, and Hamlets, best agree  
With this thy meaner Minstrelsy.  
There with the Reed, thou mayst express  
The Shepherds Fleecy happiness:  
And with thy Eclogues intermix  
Some smooth, and harmless Beucol'cks.  
There on a Hillock thou mayst sing  
Unto a handsome Shephardling;  
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.    

To his Book.  

WHile thou didst keep thy Cander undefiled,  
Dear I loved thee; as my firstborn child:  
But when I saw thee want only to roam  
From house to house, and never stay at home;  
I broke my bonds of Love, and bade thee go,  
Regardless whether well thou sped'st, or no.  
On with thy fortunes then, what e'er they be;  
If good I'll smile, if bad I'll sigh for Thee.    

Another.  

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.    

Another.  

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.    

To the sour Reader.  

IF thou dislik'st the Piece thou lightest on first;  
Think that of All, that I have writ, the worst:  
But if thou readest my Book unto the end,  
And still dost this, and that verse, reprehend:  
O Perverse man! If All disgustful be,  
The Extreme Scab take thee, and thine, for me.    

To his Book.  

COme thou not near those men, who are like Bread  
O're-levened; or like Cheese o're-renetted.    

When he would have his verses read.  

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 spirits i'th' fire, and when the Hearth  
Smiles to itself, and guilds the roof with mirth;  
When up the 
* A Javelin twinned with Ivy. Songs to Bacchus.  Thyrse is raised, and when the sound  
Of sacred 
* A Javelin twinned with Ivy. Songs to Bacchus.  Orgies flies, A round, A round.  
When the Rose reigns, and locks with ointments shine,  
Let rigid Cato read these Lines of mine.    

Upon Julias Recovery.  

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 allied in blood,  
Or sworn to that sweet Sisterhood:  
For Health on Julia's cheek hath shed  
Claret, and Cream coming led.  
And those her lips do now appear  
As beams of Coral, but more clear.    

To Silvia to wed.  

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.    

The Parliament of Roses to Julia.  

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 Parley, all those powers  
Voted the Rose; the Queen of flowers.  
But so, as that herself should be  
The maid of Honour unto thee.    

No bashfulness in begging.  

TO get thine ends, lay bashfulness aside;  
Who fears to ask, doth teach to be denied.    

The Frozen Heart.  

I Frieze, I frieze, and nothing dwells  
In me but Snow, and ysicles.  
For pities 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,  
Then to be thawed, or heated so.    

To Perilla.  

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 wrapped thy smooth limbs (when thou didst implore  
The God's 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-strewing 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.    

A Song to the Maskers.  

1.  
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.   

2.  
Not only to yourselves assume  
These sweets, but let them fly;  
From this, to that, and so Perfume  
E'en all the standers by.   

3.  
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.    

To Perenna.  

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.    

Treason.  

THe seeds of Treason choke up as they spring,  
He Acts the Crime, that gives it Cherisking.    

Two Things Odious.  

TWo of a thousand things, are disallowed,  
A lying Rich man, and a Poor man proud.    

To his Mistresses.  

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 Magic's, Spells, and Charms,  
To enflesh my thighs, and arms:  
Is there no way to beget  
In my limbs their former heat?  
AEson had (as Poets fain)  
Baths that made him young again:  
Find that Medicine (if you can)  
For your dric-decrepid man:  
Who would feign his strength renew,  
Were it but to pleasure you.    

The Wounded Heart.  

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 any where;  
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.    

No loathsomeness in love.  

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.    

To Anthea.  

IF dear Anthea, my hard fate it be  
To live some few-sad-howers after thee:  
Thy sacred Corpse 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 Filitings:  
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.    

The Weeping Cherry.  

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.    

Soft Music.  

THe mellow touch of music most doth wound  
The soul, when it doth rather sigh, then sound.    

The Difference Betwixt Kings and Subjects.  

'twixt Kings and Subjects there's this mighty odds,  
Subjects are taught by Men; Kings by the Gods.    

His Answer to a Question.  

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?    

Upon Julia's Fall.  

JULIA was careless, and withal,  
She rather took, then got a fall:  
The wanton Ambler chanced to see  
Part of her legs sincerity:  
And ravished 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.    

Expenses Exhaust.  

LIve with a thrifty, not a needy Fate;  
Small shots paid often, waste a vast estate.    

Love what it is.  

LOve is a circle that doth restless move  
In the same sweet eternity of love.    

Presence and Absence.  

WHen what is loved, is Present, love doth spring;  
But being absent, Love lies languishing.    

No Spouse but a Sister.  

A Bachelor I will  
Live as I have lived 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 embraced,  
And kiss, but yet be chaste.    

The Pomander Bracelet.  

TO me my Julia lately sent  
A Bracelet richly Redolent:  
The Beads I kissed, but most loved her  
That did perfume the Pomander.    

The shoe tying.  

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.    

The Carcanet.  

INstead of Orient Pearls of Jet,  
I sent my Love a Karkanet:  
About her spotless neck she knit  
The lace, to honour me, or it:  
Then think how wrapped was I to see  
My Jet t'enthrall such Ivory.    

His sailing from Julia.  

WHen that day comes, whose evening says I'm gone  
Unto that watery Desolation:  
Devoutly to thy Closet-gods then pray,  
That my winged Ship may meet no Remora.  
Those Deities which circum-walk the Seas,  
And look upon our dreadful passages,  
Will from all dangers, redeliver me,  
For one drink-offering, poured out by thee.  
Mercy and Truth live with thee! and forbear  
(In my short absence) to unfluce a tear:  
But yet for Loves-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.    

How the Wall-flower came first, and why so called.  

WHy this Flower is now called so,  
List ' sweet maids, and you shall know.  
Understand, this First-ling was  
Once a brisk and bonny Lass,  
Kept as close as Danae was:  
Who a sprightly Spring all loved,  
And to have it fully proved,  
Up she got upon a wall,  
Tempting down to slide withal:  
But the silken twist untied,  
So she fell, and bruised, she died.  
Love, in pity of the deed,  
And her loving-lucklesse speed,  
Turned her to this Plant, we call  
Now, The Flower of the Wall.    

Why Flowers change colour.  

THose fresh beauties (we can prove)  
Once were Virgins sick of love,  
Turned to Flowers. Still in some  
Colours go, and colours come.    

To his Mistress objecting to him neither Toying or Talking.  

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 Casques are ever found  
To give (if any, yet) but little sound.  
Deep waters noyse-lesse 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.    

Upon the loss of his Mistresses.  

IHave lost, and lately, these  
Many dainty Mistresses:  
Stately julias, prime of all;  
Sappho next, a principal:  
Smooth Anthea, for a skin  
White, and Heaven-like Crystalline:  
Sweet Electra, and the choice  
Myrha, 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.    

The Dream.  

ME thought, (last night) love in an anger came,  
And brought a rod, so whipped 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 stroked the stripes, and I was whole again.  
Thus like a Bee, Love-gentle still doth bring  
Honey to salve, where he before did sting.    

The Vine.  

Idreamed this mortal part of mine  
Was Metamorphozed to a Vine;  
Which crawling one and every way,  
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.  
Me thought, her long small legs & thighs  
I with my Tendrils did surprise;  
Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste  
By my soft Nerv'lits were embraced:  
About her head I writhing hung,  
And with rich clusters (hid among  
The leaves) her temples I behung:  
So that my Lucia seemed to me  
Young Bacchus ravished 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 unespyed.  
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,  
That with the fancy I awook;  
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine  
More like a Stock, then like a Vine.    

To Love.  

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.    

On himself.  

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's play at Push-pin.  

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 felters 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.    

The rosary.  

ONe asked me where the Roses grew?  
I bade him not go seek;  
But forthwith bade my Julia show  
A bud in either cheek.    

Upon Cupid.  

OLd wives have often told, how they  
Saw Cupid bitten by a flea:  
And thereupon, in tears half drowned,  
He cried aloud, Help, help the wound:  
He wept, he sobbed, he called to some  
To bring him Lint, and Balsamum,  
To make a Tent, and put it in,  
Where the Steletto pierced the skin:  
Which being done, the fretful pain  
Assuaged, and he was well again.    

The Parcaes, or, Three dainty Destinies. The Armilet.  

THree lovely Sifters working were  
(As they were closely set)  
Of soft and dainty Maidenhair,  
A curious Armelet.  
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 showed me then, how fine 'twas spun;  
And I replied thereto,  
I care not now how soon 'tis done,  
Or cut, if cut by you.    

Sorrow's succeed.  

WHen one is passed, another care we have,  
Thus Woe succeeds a Woe; as wave a Wave.    

Cherry-pit.  

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.    

To Robin Redbreast.  

LAid out for dead, let thy last kindness be  
With leaves and mosse-work for to cover me:  
And while the Wood-nimphs 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.    

Discontents in Devon.  

MOre discontents I never had  
Since I was born, then here;  
Where I have been, and still am sad,  
In this dull Devon-shire:  
Yet justly too I must confess;  
I ne'er invented such  
Ennobled numbers for the Press,  
Then where I loathed so much.    

To his Paternal Country.  

OEarth! Earth! Earth hear thou my voice, and be  
Loving, and gentle for to cover me:  
Banished from thee I live; ne'er to return,  
Unless thou giv'st my small Remains an Urn.    

Cherrie-ripe.  

CHerrie-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-Ile:  
Whose Plantations fully show  
All the year, where Cherries grow.    

To his Mistresses.  

PUt on your silks; and piece by piece  
Give them the scent of Amber-Greece:  
And for your breaths too, let them smell  
Ambrosia-like, or Nectarell:  
While other Gums their sweets perspire,  
By your own jewels set on sire.    

To Anthea.  

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-oke, 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.    

The Vision to Electra.  

Idreamed 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.    

Dreams.  

HEre we are all, by day; By night weare hurled  
By dreams, each one, into a several world.    

Ambition.  

IN Man, Ambition is the commonest thing;  
Each one, by nature, loves to be a King.    

His request to Julia.  

IVlia, if I chance to die  
Ere I print my Poetry;  
ay most humbly thee desire  
To commit it to the fire:  
Better 'twere my Book were dead,  
Then to live not perfected.    

Money gets the mastery.  

FIght thou with shafts of silver, and overcome,  
When no force else can get the masterdom.    

The Scar-fire.  

WAter, water I desire,  
Here's a house of flesh on fire:  
Open ' the fountains and the springs,  
And come all to Buckittings:  
What ye cannot quench, pull down;  
Spoil a house, to save a town:  
Better 'tis that one should fall,  
Then by one, to hazard all.    

Upon Silvia, a Mistress.  

WHen some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was;  
Thou wilt complain, False now's thy Looking-  
Which renders that quite tarnisht, which was green; (glass:  
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.    

Cheerfulness in Charity: or, The sweet Sacrifice.  

'TIs not a thousand Bullocks thighs  
Can please those Heavenly Deities,  
If the Vower don't express  
In his Offering, Cheerfulness.    

Once poor, still penurious.  

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.    

Sweetness in Sacrifice.  

'TIs not greatness they require,  
To be offered up by fire:  
But 'tis sweetness that doth please  
Those Eternal Essences.    

Steam in Sacrifice.  

IF meat the Gods give, I the steam  
High-towring will devote to them:  
Whose easy natures like it well,  
If we the roast have, they the smell.    

Upon Julia's Voice.  

SO smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice,  
As, could they hear, the Damned would make no noise,  
But listen to thee, (walking in thy chamber)  
Melting melodious word, to Lutes of Amber.    

Again.  

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  
Entranced, and lost confusedly:  
And by thy Music strucken mute,  
Die, and be turned into a Lute.    

All things decay and die.  

ALL things decay with Time: The Forest sees  
The growth, and down-fall of her aged trees:  
That Timber tall, which threescore lustres stood  
The proud Dictator of the Statelike wood:  
I mean (the Sovereign of all Plants) the Oak  
Droops, dies, and falls without the cleavers' stroke.    

The succession of the four sweet months.  

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.    

No Shipwreck of Virtue. To a friend.  

THou sailest with others, in this Argus here;  
Nor wrack, 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.    

Upon his Sister-in-Law, Mistress Elizab: Herrick.  

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.    

Of Love. A Sonnet.  

HOw Love came in, I do not know,  
Whether by th' 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 every where:  
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.    

To Anthea.  

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 an 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.    

The Rock of Rubies: and The quarry of Pearls.  

SOme asked me where the Rubies grew?  
And nothing I did say:  
But with my finger pointed to  
The lips of Julia.  
Some asked how Pearls did grow, and where?  
Then spoke I to my Girl,  
To part her lips, and showed them there  
The Quarelets of Pearl.    

Conformity.  

COnformity was ever known  
A foe to Dissolution:  
Nor can we that a ruin call,  
Whose crack gives crushing unto all.    

TO THE KING, Upon his coming with his Army into the West.  

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-widow-hood;  
Looks like a Bride now, or a bed of flowers,  
Newly refreshed, 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.    

Upon Roses.  

Under a Lawn, than skies more clear,  
Some ruffled Roses nestling were:  
And snugging there, they seemed to lie  
As in a flowery Nunnery:  
They blushed, and looked more fresh than flowers  
Quickened of late by Pearly showers;  
And all, because they were possessed  
But of the heat of Julia's breast:  
Which as a warm, and moistened spring,  
Gave them their ever flourishing.    

To the King and Queen, upon their unhappy distances.  

Woo, 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 divorced; but't will 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-feets:  
Nor wil't be long, ere this accomplished be;  
The words found true, C. M. remember me.    

Dangers wait on Kings.  

AS oft as Night is banished by the Morn,  
So oft, we'll think, we see a King new born.    

The Cheat of Cupid: Or, The ungentle guest.  

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 Moonlesse nights have swerved;  
And all with showers wet through,  
And even 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 dropping Tresses:   

But when he felt him warmed,  
Let's try this bow of ours,  
And string if they be harmed,  
Said he, with these late showers.   

Forthwith his bow he bend,  
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.    

To the reverend shade of his religious Father.  

THat for seven Lustres 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, Nightshade, 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.    

Delight in Disorder.  

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 shooe-string, in whose tye  
I see a wild civility:  
Do more bewitch me, than when Art  
Is too precise in every part.    

To his Muse.  

WEre I to give thee Baptism, I would choose  
To christian 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.    

Upon Love.  

LOve scorched 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 should he burned,  
Ere I would love at all.    

Dean-bourn, a rude River in Devon. by which sometimes he lived.  

DEan-bourn, farewell; I never look to see  
Deane, or thy warty 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-sojourne when  
Rocks turn to Rivers, Rivers turn to Men.    

Kissing Usury.  

BIancha, Let  
Me pay the debt  
I owe thee for a kiss  
Thou lendest 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 some,  
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.    

To Julia:  

HOw rich and pleasing thou my Julia art  
In each thy dainty, and peculiar part!  
First, for thy Queen-ship 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 
* A Bracelet, from Dardanus so called  Dardanium.  
Between thy Breast (than Down of Swans more white)  
There plays the Saphire with the Chrysolite.  
No part besides must of thyself be known,  
But by the Topaz, Opa!, Chalcedon.    

To Laurels.  

AFunerall stone,  
Or Verse I covet none;  
But only crave  
Of you, that I may have  
Asacred Laurel springing from my grave:  
Which being seen,  
Blest with perpetual green,  
May grow to be  
Not so much called a tree,  
As the eternal monument of me.    

His Cavalier.  

GIve me that man, that dares bestride  
The active Sea-horse, & 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 paste through.    

Zeal required in Love.  

I'll do my best to win, when'ere I woo:  
That man loves not, who is not zealous too.    

The Bag of the Bee.  

ABout the sweet bag of a Bee,  
Two Cupids fell at ddos;  
And whose the pretty prize should be,  
They vowed to ask the Gods.   

Which Venus hearing; thither came,  
And for their boldness stripped them:  
And taking thence from each his flame;  
With rods of Myrtle whipped them.   

Which done, to still their wanton cries,  
When quiet grown she'd seen them,  
She kissed, and wiped their dovelike eyes;  
And gave the Bag between them.    

Love killed by Lack.  

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 loved before.    

To his Mistress.  

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:  
Loves doctrine disallowes  
Troth-breakers ever.   

You have broke promise twice  
(Dear) to undo me;  
If you prove faithless thrice,  
None then will woo you.    

To the generous Reader.  

SEE, and not see; and if thou chance t'espie  
Some Aberrations in my Poetry;  
Wink at small faults, the greater, nevertheless  
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.    

To Critics.  

I'll write, because I'll give  
You Critics means to live:  
For should I not supply  
The Cause, th'effect would die.    

Duty to Tyrants.  

GOod Princes must be prayed for: for the bad  
They must be borne with, and in reverence 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.    

Being once blind, his request to Biancha.  

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 confused, nor slip or fall.    

Upon Blanch.  

BLanch swears her Husband's lovely; when a scald  
Has bleared his eyes: Besides, his head is bald.  
Next, his wild ears, like Leathern wings full spread,  
Flutter to fly, and bear away his head.    

No want where there's little.  

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.    

Barleybreak: or, Last in Hell.  

WE two are last in Hell: what may we fear  
To be tormented, or kept Prisoners here?  
Alas! If kissing be of plagues the worst,  
We'll wish, in Hell we had been Last and First.    

The Definition of Beauty.  

BEauty, no other thing is, than a Beam  
Flashed out between the Middle and Extreme.    

To Dianeme.  

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 defir'st that Maids should tell  
Thy pity by Loves-Chronicle)  
O Dianeme, rather kill  
Me, then 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 thou please)  
By sudden death to give me ease:  
And thus devised, do thou but this,  
Bequeath to me one parting kiss:  
So sup'rabundant joy shall be  
The Executioner of me.    

To Anthea lying in bed.  

SO looks Anthea, when in bed she lies,  
O'ercome, or half betrayed 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 Dawne, turns then to perfect day.    

To Electra.  

MOre white than whitest Lilies far,  
Or Snow, or whitest Swans you are:  
More white than are the whitest Creames,  
Or Moonlight tinselling the streams:  
More white than Pearls, or Juno's thighs  
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.    

A Country life: To his Brother, M. Tho: Herrick.  

THrice, and above, blest (my souls half) art thou,  
In thy both Last, and Better Vow:  
Couldst leave the City, for exchange, to see  
The Country's sweet simplicity:  
And it to know, and practice; 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, then to live well:  
And both are known to thee, who now canst live  
Led by thy conscience; to give  
Justice to soone-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 canst instruct, that those who have the itch  
Of craving more, are never rich.  
These things thou knowst to'th'height, and dost prevent  
That plague; because thou art content  
With that Heaven 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 tearcely live to satisfy  
The belly chiefiy; not the eye:  
Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet,  
Less with a neat, then 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 Damaskt meadows, and the peebly streams  
Sweeten, and make soft your dreams:  
The Purling springs, groves, birds, and well-weaved Bowers,  
With fields enamelled with flowers,  
Present their shapes; while fantasy discloses  
Millions of Lilies mixed with Roses.  
Then dream, ye hear the Lamb by many a bleat  
Wooed to come suck the milky Teat:  
While Faunus in the Vision comes to keep,  
From ravening 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 Chanticleer  
Warns the last Watch; but with the Dawne dost rise  
To work, but first to sacrifice;  
Making thy peace with heaven, for some late fault,  
With Holy-meale, 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 desperate cares,  
Th'industrious Merchant has; who for to find  
Gold, runneth to the Western Ind,  
And back again, (tortured with fears) doth sly,  
Untaught, to suffer Poverty.  
But thou at home, blest with securest ease,  
Sittest, and believest 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 walled with Oak, and Brass, that man  
Had, first, durst plow the Ocean.  
But thou at home without or tied or gale,  
Canst 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,  
Buyest Travel at the lowest price.  
Nor are thine ears so deaf, but thou canst hear  
(Far more with wonder, then 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, then in thine eyes.  
And when thou hearest by that too-true-Report,  
Vice rules the Most, or All at Court:  
Thy pious wishes are, (though thou not there)  
Virtue had, and moved 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 carest which comes the first, the foul or fair;  
A wise man every way lies square.  
And like a surly Oak with storms perplexed;  
Grows still the stronger, strongly vexed.  
Be so, bold spirit; Stand Center-like, unmoved;  
And be not only thought, but proved  
To be what I report thee; and inure  
Thyself, if want comes to endure:  
And so thou dost: for thy desires are  
Confined to live with private Larr:  
Not curious whether Appetite be fed,  
Or with the first, or second bread.  
Who keep'st no proud mouth for delicious cates:  
Hunger makes course meats, delicates.  
Canst, and unurged, forsake that Larded fare,  
Which Art, not Nature, makes so rare;  
To taste boiled 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 mightst but only see't, not taste it.  
Yet can thy humble roof maintain a Choir  
Of singing Crickits by thy fire:  
And the brisk Mouse may feast herself with crumbs,  
Till that the green-eyed Kitling comes.  
Then to her cabin, blessed 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 cunning 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 th'others 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.    

Divination by a Daffodil.  

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.    

To the Painter, to draw him a Picture.  

COme, skilful Lupo, now, and take  
Thy Bice, thy Umber, Pink, and Lake;  
And let it be thy Pencils strife,  
To paint a Bridgeman to the life:  
Draw him as like too, as you can,  
An old, poor, lying, flattering man:  
His cheeks be-pimpled, red and blue;  
His nose and lips of mulbrie 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.    

Upon Cuffe. Epig.  

CUffe comes to Church much; but he keeps his bed  
Those Sundays only, when as Briefs are read.  
This makes Cuffe dull; and troubles him the most,  
Because he cannot sleep i'th'Church, free-cost.    

Upon Fone a Schoolmaster. Epig.  

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.    

A Lyric to Mirth.  

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 Cotitre  
Never sing, or play more here.    

To the Earl of Westmoreland.  

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.)    

Against Love.  

WHen ere my heart, Love's warmth, but entertains,  
O Frost! O Snow! O 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.    

Upon Julia's Ribbon.  

AS shows the Air, when with a Rainbow graced;  
So smiles that Ribbon ' oout my Julia's waste:  
Or like— Nay'tis that Zonulet of love,  
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.    

The frozen Zone: or, Julia disdainful.  

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 any one:  
That's my Julia's breast; where dwells  
Such destructive Ysicles;  
As that the Congelation will  
Me sooner starve, than those can kill.    

An Epitaph upon a sober Matron.  

With blameless carriage, I lived here,  
To ' th' (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.    

To the Patron of Poets, M. End: Porter.  

LEt there be Patrons; Patrons like to thee,  
Brave Porter! Poets ne'er will wanting be:  
Fabim, and Cotta, Lentulus, all live  
In thee, thou Man of Men I who here dost 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 Bayss for Crown.  
For to say truth, all Garlands are thy due;  
The Laurel, Myrtle, Oak, and Ivy too.    

The sadness of things for Sapho's sickness.  

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 Marygolds will wither;  
And keep a Fast, and Funeral together,  
If Sappho droop; Daisies will open never,  
But bid Good-night, and close their lids for ever.    

Leander's Obsequies.  

WHen as Leander young was drowned,  
No heart by love received 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 expressed,  
But that his tears forbade the rest.    

Hope heartens.  

NOne goes to warfare, but with this intent;  
The gains must dead the fear of detriment.    

Four things make us happy here.  

HEalth is the first good lent to men;  
A gentle disposition then:  
Next, to be rich by no byways;  
Lastly, with friends t'enjoy our days.    

His parting from Mrs Dorothy Keneday.  

WHen I did go from thee, I felt that smart,  
Which Bodies do, when Souls from them depart.  
Thou didst not mind it; though thou then mightst see  
Me turned to tears; yet didst not weep for me.  
'Tis true, I kissed thee; but I could not hear  
Thee spend a sigh, t'accompany my tear.    

Leander's Obsequies.  

WHen as Leander young was drowned,  
No heart by love received 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 expressed,  
But that his tears forbade the rest.    

Hope heartens.  

NOne goes to warfare, but with this intent;  
The gains must dead the fear of detriment.    

Four things make us happy here.  

HEalth is the first good lent to men;  
A gentle disposition then:  
Next, to be rich by no byways;  
Lastly, with friends t'enjoy our days.    

His parting from Mrs Dorothy Keneday.  

WHen I did go from thee, I felt that smart,  
Which Bodies do, when Souls from them depart.  
Thou didst not mind it; though thou then mightst see  
Me turned to tears; yet didst not weep for me.  
'Tis true, I kissed thee; but I could not hear  
Thee spend a sigh, t'accompany my tear.  

5.  
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.   

6.  
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.     

Upon one Lily, who married with a maid called Rose.  

What times of sweetness this fair day fore-shows,  
When as the Lily marries with the Rose!  
What next is looked for? but we all should see  
To spring from these a sweet Posterity.    

An Epitaph upon a child.  

Virgin's promised when I died,  
That they would each Primrose-tide,  
Duly, Morn and Evening, come,  
And with flowers dress my Tomb.  
Having promised, pay your debts,  
Maids, and here strew Violets.    

Upon Scobble. Epig.  

SCobble for Whoredom whips his wife; and cries,  
He'll slit her nose; But blubb'ring, she replies,  
Good Sir, make no more cuts i'th'outward skin,  
One slits enough to let Adultery in.    

The Hourglass.  

THat Hourglass, which there ye see  
With Water filled, (Sirs, credit me)  
The humour was, (as I have read)  
But Lover's tears inchristalled.  
Which, as they drop by drop do pass  
From th'upper to the under-glasse,  
Do in a trickling manner tell,  
(By many a watery syllable)  
That Lover's tears in life-time shed,  
Do restless run when they are dead.    

His farewell to Sack.  

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 shagged 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 canst control  
That, which subverts whole nature, grief and care;  
Vexation of the mind, and damned Despair.  
'Tis thou, alone, who with thy Mistick Fan,  
Workest 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,  
Hadst thou not filled them with thy fire and flame.  
Phaebean splendour! and thou Thespian spring!  
Of which, sweet Swans must drink, before they sing  
Their true-pac'd-Numbers, and their Holy-Layes,  
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 enforced, 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 denounced 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 espoused; 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.    

Upon Glasco. Epig.  

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.    

Upon Mrs. Eliz: Wheeler, under the name of Amarillis.  

SWeet Amarillis, by a Spring's  
Soft and soule-melting murmurings,  
Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew  
A Robin-Red breast; 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 amay:  
And seeing her not dead, but all disleaved;  
He chirpt for joy, to see himself disceaved.    

The Custard.  

FOr second course, last night, a Custard came  
To th'board, so hot, as none could touch the same  
Furze, three or four times with his cheeks did blow  
Upon the Custard, and thus cooled so:  
It seemed by this time to admit the touch;  
But none could eat it, 'cause it stunk so much.    

To Myrrah hardhearted.  

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 swoone.  
Then weep, and sigh, and softly go,  
Like to a widow drowned 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.    

The Eye.  

MAke me a heaven; and make me there  
Many a less and greater sphere.  
Make me the strait, 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 Mornings-light  
Clothed 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 graced;  
Ah! what is then this curious sky,  
But only my Corinna's eye?    

Upon the much lamented, Mr. J. Warr.  

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, than thou wilt draw near,  
And do an honour to thy tear;  
Weep then for him, for whom laments  
Not one, but many Monuments.    

Upon Gryll.  

GRyll eats, but ne'er says Grace; To speak the troth,  
Gryll either keeps his breath to cool his broth;  
Or else because Grill's roast does burn his Spit,  
Gryll will not therefore say a Grace for it.    

The suspicion upon his overmuch familiarity with a Gentlewoman.  

ANd must we part, because some say,  
Loud is our love, and lose 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'ave 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, then 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.    

Single life most secure.  

SUspicion, Discontent, and Strife,  
Come in for Dowry with a Wife.    

The Curse. A Song.  

Go perjured man; and if thou ere 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.    

The wounded Cupid. Song.  

CUpid as he lay among  
Roses, by a Bee was stung.  
Whereupon in anger flying  
To his Mother, said thus crying;  
Help! O 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!    

To Dewes. A Song.  

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.    

Some comfort in calamity.  

TO conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall  
By th'hand of him who is the General.    

The Vision.  

SItting alone (as one forsaken)  
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 Spartanesse.  
A silver bow with green silk strung,  
Down from her comely shoulders hung:  
And as she stood, the wanton Air  
Dandled 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 course to love.    

Love me little, love me long.  

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 tyre.    

Upon a Virgin kissing a Rose.  

'tWas but a single Rose,  
Till you on it did breathe;  
But since (me thinks) it shows  
Not so much Rose, as Wreath.    

Upon a Wife that died mad with Jealousy.  

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.    

Upon the Bishop of Lincolne's Imprisonment.  

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 Starlike, once more, gild our Firmament.  
Let but That Mighty Cesar 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 galled, the more;  
Yet I bring Balm and Oil to heal your sore.    

Dissuasions from Idleness.  

Cynthius' pluck ye by the ear,  
That ye may good doctrine hear.  
Play not with the maidenhair;  
For each Ringlet there's a share.  
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 enthrall  
Men, but Slothfulls 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,    

Upon Strut.  

STrut, once a Foreman of a Shop we knew;  
But turned a Lady's Usher now, ('tis true:)  
Tell me, has Strut got ere a title more?  
No; he's but Foreman, as he was before.    

An Epithalamie to Sir Thomas Southwell and his Lady.  

I.  
NOw, now's the time; so oft by truth  
Promised 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 redeemed by cost.  
Then away; come, Hymen guide  
To the bed, the bashful Bride.   

II.  
Is it (sweet maid) your fault these holy  
Bridall-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.   

III.  
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 amorous soul;  
But yet, Loves fire will waste  
Such bashfulness at last.  
Then away; come, Hymen guide  
To the bed, the bashful Bride.   

IV.  
Night now hath watched herself half blind;  
Yet not a Maidenhead resigned!  
'Tis strange, ye will not fly  
To Love's sweet mystery.  
Might you Fullmoon 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.   

V.  
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  
〈◊〉 the ●●rtles; Hymen guide  
To the bed, the bashful Bride.   

VI  
Behold! how Hymen's Taper-light  
Shows you how much is spent of night.  
See, see the Bridegrooms Torch  
Half wasted in the porch.  
And now those Tapers five,  
That show the womb shall thrive:  
Their silv'rie flames advance,  
To tell all prosperous chance  
Still shall crown the happy life  
Of the good man and the wife.   

VII.  
Move forward then your Rosy feet,  
And make, what ere they touch, turn sweet.  
May all, like flowery Meads  
Smell, where your soft foot treads;  
And every thing assume  
To it, the like perfume:  
As Zephyrus when he 'spires  
Through Woodbine, and Sweet-bryers.  
Then away; come Hymen, guide  
To the bed the bashful Bride.   

VIII.  
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.   

IX.  
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.   

X.  
O Venus! thou, to whom is known  
The best way how to lose 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.   

XI.  
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.   

XII.  
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  
Y'ave had at Barly-breaks.  
But now kiss her, and thus say,  
Take time Lady while ye may.   

XIII.  
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:  
O! give them active heat  
And moisture, both complete:  
Fit Organs for increase,  
To keep, and to release  
That, which may the honoured Stem  
Circle with a Diadem.   

XIV.  
And now, Behold! the Bed or Couch  
That ne'er knew Brides, or Bridegrooms  
Feels in itself a fire; (touch,  
And tickled with Desire,  
Pants with a Downie breast,  
As with a heart possessed:  
Shrugging as it did move,  
Even with the soul of love.  
And (oh!) had it but a tongue,  
Doves, ' 'two'd say, ye bill too long.   

XV.  
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.   

XVI.  
On your minutes, hours, days, months, years,  
Drop the fat blessing of the spheres.  
That good, which Heaven can give  
To make you bravely live;  
Fall, like a spangling dew,  
By day, and night on you.  
May Fortunes Lilly-hand  
Open at your command;  
With all lucky Birds to side  
With the Bridegroom, and the Bride.   

XVII.  
Let bounteous Fate your spindle's 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 desperate haste:  
But when ye both can say,  
Come, Let us now away.  
Be ye to the Barn then born,  
Two, like two ripe shocks of corn.    

Tears are Tongues.  

WHen Julia chid, I stood as mute the while,  
As is the fish, or tongueless Crocodile.  
Aire coined 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.    

Upon a young mother of many children.  

LEt all chaste Matrons, when they chance to see  
My numerous issue: Praise, and pity me.  
Praise me, for having such a fruitful womb;  
Pity me too, who found so soon a Tomb.    

To Electra.  

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'others nakedness.  
And ravished, plunge into the bed,  
(Bodies and souls commingled)  
And kissing, so as none may hear,  
We'll weary all the Fables there.    

His wish.  

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.    

His Protestation to Perilla.  

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 sandlesse; 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.    

Love perfumes all parts.  

IF I kiss Anthea's breast,  
There I smell the Phoenix 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.    

To Julia.  

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 banished) I will live alone  
There, where no language ever yet was known.    

On himself.  

Lovesick 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 our Sovereign salve, I know,  
And that is Death, the end of Woe.    

Virtue is sensible of suffering.  

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.    

The cruel Maid.  

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 our 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 coynefse 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 despised Lover:  
And write thereon, This, Reader, know,  
Love killed this mun. No more but so.    

To Dianeme.  

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 wantoness with the Lovesick air:  
When as 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 THE KING, To cure the Evil.  

TO find that Tree of Life, whose Fruits did feed,  
And Leaves did heal, all sick of humane 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 Blessed 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 Heavens fair Tree)  
I kneel for help; O! lay that hand on me,  
Adored Cesar! and my Faith is such,  
I shall be healed, if that my KING but touch,  
The Evil is not Yours: my sorrow sings,  
Mine is the Evil, but the Cure, the KINGS.    

His misery in a Mistress.  

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.    

Upon Jollies wife.  

FIrst, Jollies wife is lame; then next, loose-hipt:  
Squint-eyed, hook-nosed; and lastly, Kidney-lipt.    

To a Gentlewoman, objecting to him his grey hairs.  

AM I despised, because you say,  
And I dare swear, that I am grey?  
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.    

To Cedars.  

IF amongst my many Poems, I can see  
One, only, worthy to be washed by thee:  
I live for ever; let the rest all lie  
In dens of Darkness, or condemned to die.    

Upon Cupid.  

LOve, like a Gipsy, lately came;  
And did me much importunc  
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 smiled; and bade him once more prove,  
And by some crosse-line show it;  
That I could ne'er be Prince of Love,  
Though here the Princely Poet.    

How Primroses came green.  

Virgin's, time-past, known were these,  
Troubled with Green-sicknesses,  
Turned to flowers: Still the hieu,  
Sickly Girls, they bear of you.    

To Jos: Lo: Bishop of Exeter.  

WHom should I fear to write to, if I can  
Stand before you, my learned 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 Confirmed; for you have Bishoped it.    

Upon a black Twist, rounding the Arm of the Countess of Carlisle.  

I Saw about her spotless wrist,  
Of blackest silk, a curious twist;  
Which, circumvolving gently, there  
Enthralled 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.  
I fancy more! but if there be  
Such Freedom in Captivity;  
I beg of Love, that ever I  
May in like Chains of Darkness lie.    

On himself.  

I Fear no Earthly Powers;  
But care for crowns of flowers:  
And love to have my Beard  
With Wine and Oil besmeared.  
This day I'll drown all sorrow;  
Who knows to live to morrow?    

Upon Pagget.  

PAgget, a Schoolboy, got a Sword, and then  
He vowed Destruction both to Birch, and Men:  
Who would not think this Younker sierce 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.    

A Ring presented to Julia.  

IVlia, 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 over-slide;  
Or be so straight 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 no where found  
To flaw, or else to sever:  
So let our love  
As endless prove;  
And pure as Gold for ever.    

To the Detractor.  

WHere others love, and praise my Verses; still  
Thy long-black-Thumb-nail marks 'em out for ill  
A felon take it, or some Whit-flaw 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.    

Upon the same.  

I Asked 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 covered be;  
Then sure thou'lt like, or thou wilt envy me.    

Julia's Petticoat.  

THy Azure Robe, I did behold,  
As airy as the leaves of gold;  
Which erring here, and wand'ring there,  
Pleased with transgression every where:  
Sometimes ' 'two'd pant, and sigh, and heave,  
As if to stir it scarce had leave:  
But having got it; thereupon,  
'Two'd make a brave expansion.  
And pounced with Stars, it showed to me  
Like a Celestial Canopy.  
Sometimes ' 'two'd blaze, and then abate,  
Like to a flame grown moderate:  
Sometimes away ' 'two'd wildly fling;  
Then to thy thighs so closely cling,  
That some conceit did melt me down,  
As Lovers fall into a swoone:  
And all confused, I there did lie  
Drowned in Delights; but could not die.  
That Leading Cloud, I followed still,  
Hoping t'ave seen of it my fill;  
But ah! I could not: should it move  
To Life Eternal, I could love.    

To Music.  

BEgin to charm, and as thou stroak'st mine ears  
With thy enchantment, melt me into tears.  
Then let thy active hand scued o'er thy Lyre:  
And make my spirits frantic with the fire.  
That done, sink down into a silv'rie strain;  
And make me smooth as Balm, and Oiie again.    

Distrust.  

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.    

Corinna's going a Maying.  

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 bowed toward the East,  
Above an hour since; yet you not dressed,  
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,  
When as 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 Springtime, fresh and green;  
And sweet as Flora. Take no care  
For Jewels for your Gown, or Hair:  
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 trimmed 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 enterwove;  
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 dispatched their Cakes and Cream,  
Before that we have left to dream:  
And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted Troth,  
And chose their Ptiest, 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, Loves Firmament:  
Many a jest told of the Keys betraying  
This night, and Locks picked, yet weare 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 a pace, 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.    

On Julia's breath.  

Breath, Julia, breathe, and I'll protest,  
Nay more, I'll deeply swear,  
That all the Spices of the East  
Are cit cumfused there.    

Upon a Child. An Epitaph.  

BUt borne, and like a short Delight,  
I glided by my Parent's 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.    

A Dialogue betwixt Horace and Lydia, Translated Anno 1627. and set by Mr. Ro: Ramsey.  Hor. 

WHile, Lydia, I was loved of thee,  
Nor any was preferred 'fore me  
To hug thy whitest neck: Then I,  
The Persian King lived not more happily.   Lyd. 

While thou no other didst affect,  
Nor Cloe was of more respect;  
Then Lydia, far-famed Lydia,  
I flourished more than Roman Ilia.   Hor. 

Now Thracian Cloe governs me,  
Skilful i'th'Harpe, 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 commutuall 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 Cloe 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 th' Adratick sea, yet I  
Will live with thee, or else for thee will die.    

The captived Bee: or, The little Filcher.  

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, doc 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.    

Upon Prig.  

PRig now drinks Water, who before drank Beer:  
What's now the cause? we know the case is clear:  
Look in Prigs' purse, the chev'rell there tell syou  
Prig money wants, either to buy, or brew.    

Upon Batt.  

Bat he gets children, not for love to rear 'em;  
But out of hope his wife might die to bear 'em.    

An Ode to Master Endymion Porter, upon his Brother's death.  

NOt all thy flushing Suns are set,  
Herrick, as yet:  
Nor doth this far-drawn Hemisphere  
Frown, and look sullen every where.  
Days may conclude in nights; and Suns may rest,  
As dead, within the West;  
Yet the next Morn, re-guild the fragrant East.   

Alas for me! that I have lost  
Even all almost:  
Sunk is my sight; set is my Sun;  
And all the loom of life undone:  
The staff, the Elm, the prop, the sheltering 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 Phoenix re-aspire  
From out my Narde, and Funeral fire:  
And as I prune my feathered youth, so I  
Do marvel 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 generous Vine;  
Invites fresh Grapes to fill his Press with Wine.    

To his dying Brother, Master William Herrick.  

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 dispatched is by the Night, as Day.  
Let us not then so rudely henceforth go  
Till we have wept, kissed, sigh't, 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 loath 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.    

The Olive Branch.  

SAdly I walked 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 viewed 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.    

Upon Much-more. Epig.  

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.    

To Cherry-blossomes.  

YE may simper, blush, and smile,  
And perfume the air a while:  
But (sweet things) ye must be gone;  
Fruit, ye know, is coming on:  
Then, Ah! Then, where is your grace,  
When as Cherries come in place?    

How Lilies came white.  

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 pressed  
The ruby niplet of her breast;  
Out of the which, the cream of light,  
Like to a Dew,  
Fell down on you.  
And made ye white.    

To Pansies.  

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.    

On Gelliflowers begotten.  

WHat was't that fell but now  
From that warm kiss of ours?  
Look, look, by Love I vow  
They were two Gelliflowers.   

Let's kiss, and kiss again;  
For if so be our closes  
Make Gelliflowers, then  
I'm sure they'll fashion Roses.    

The Lily in a Crystal.  

YOu have beheld a smiling Rose  
When Virgins hands have drawn  
O'er it a Cobweb-lawn:  
And here, you see, this Lily shows,  
Tombed in a Crystal stone,  
More fair in this transparent case,  
Then 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;  
Then when the paler hieu  
No mixture did admit.   

You see how Amber through the streams  
More gently strokes the sight,  
With some concealed delight;  
Then 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,  
Then 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;  
Then if they should discover  
At full their proper excellence;  
Without some Scene cast over,  
To juggle with the sense.   

Thus let this Christaled Lily be  
A Rule, how far to teach,  
Your nakedness must reach:  
And that, no further, than we see  
Those glaring colours laid  
By Arts wise hand, but to this end  
They should obey a shade;  
Lest they too far extend.   

So though y'are white as Swan, or Snow,  
And have the power to move  
A world of men to love:  
Yet, when your Lawns & Silks shall flow;  
And that white cloud divide  
Into a doubtful Twilight; then,  
Then will your hidden Pride  
Raise greater fires in men.    

To his Book.  

LIke to a Bride, come forth my Book, at last,  
With all thy richest jewels overcast:  
Say, if there be amongst many gems here; one  
Deservelesse of the name of Paragon:  
Blush not at all for that; since we have set  
Some Pearls on Queens, that have been counterfeit.    

Upon some women.  

THou who will't not love, do this;  
Learn of me what Woman is.  
Something made of thredand thrumme;  
A mere Botch of all and some.  
Pieces, patches, ropes of hair;  
In-laid Garbage every where.   

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.    

Supreme fortune falls soon.  

WHile leanest Beasts in Pastures feed,  
The fattest Ox the first must bleed.    

The Welcome to Sack.  

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 an union.  
So meet stolen kisses, when the Moonie nights  
Call forth fierce Lovers to their wished Delights:  
So Kings & Queens meet, when Desire convinces  
All thoughts, but such as aim at getting Princes,  
A I meet thee. Soul of my life, and fame!  
Eternal Lamp of Love! whose radiant flame  
Out-glares the heavens 
* The Sun.  Osiris; and thy gleams  
Outshine the splendour of his midday beams.  
Welcome, O welcome my illustrious Spouse;  
Welcome as are the ends unto my Vows:  
ay! 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 wentst'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.  
Wilt thou not smile, or 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 i'th'embers, and no fire  
Left in this rak't-up Ash-heap, as a mark  
To testify the glowing of a spark?  
Have I divorced thee only to combine  
In hot adultery 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 inflamed, 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 born,  
Like Iphyclus, 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 
* The Moon,  Isis, that can bring  
More love unto my life, or can present  
My Genius with a fuller blandishment?  
Illustrious Idol! could th' Egyptians seek  
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 approved of thee.  
Had not 
* Hercules.  Jove's son, that brave Tyrinthian Swain,  
(Invited to the Thesbian banquet) ta'en  
Full goblets of thy generous blood; his spirit  
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 Tost, 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.    

Impossibilities to his friend.  

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.    

Upon Lugs. Epig.  

Lugs, by the Condemnation of the Bench,  
Was lately whipped for lying with a Wench.  
Thus Pains and Pleasures turn by turn succeed:  
He smarts at last, who does not first take heed.    

Upon Gobs. Epig.  

Gobs calls his children Kitlings: and would bond  
(Some say) for joy, to see those Kitlings drowned.    

To live merrily, and to trust to Good Verses.  

NOw is the time for mirth,  
Nor cheek, or tongue be dumb:  
For with 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 Terce 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 ravished thus,  
Come, I will drink a Tun  
To my Propertius.   

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 smál 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'funerall fire.   

And when all Bodies meet  
In Lethe to be drowned;  
Then only Numbers sweet,  
With endless life are crowned.    

Fair days: or, Dawns deceitful.  

Fair was the Dawne; and but e'en now the Skies  
Showed like to Cream, inspired with Strawberries:  
But on a sudden, all was changed and gone  
That smiled in that first-sweet complexion.  
Then Thunderclaps and Lightning did conspire  
To tear the world, or set it all on fire.  
What trust to things, below when as we see,  
As Men, the Heavens have their Hypocrisy?    

Lips Tongueless.  

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 frieze, 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'others 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.    

To the Fever, not to trouble Julia.  

thoust dared too far; but Fury now forbear  
To give the least disturbance to her hair:  
But less presume to lay a Plait upon  
Her skins most smooth, and clear expansion.  
'Tis like a Lawnie-Firmament as yet  
Quite dispossessed of either fray, or fret.  
Come thou not near that Filmne 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 Heats as shall  
Dead thee to th' most, if not destroy thee all.  
And thou a thousand thousand times shalt be  
More shaked thyself, than she is scorched by thee.    

To Violets.  

1.  
WElcome Maids of Honour,  
You do bring  
In the Spring;  
And wait upon her.   

2.  
She has Virgins many,  
Fresh and fair;  
Yet you are  
More sweet than any.   

3.  
Y'are the Maiden Posies,  
And so graced,  
To be placed,  
'Fore Damask Roses.   

4.  
Yet though thus respected,  
By and by  
Ye do lie,  
Poor Girls, neglected.    

Upon Bunce. Epig.  

Money thou ow'st me; Prithee fix a day  
For payment promised, though thou never pay:  
Let it be Doomsday; nay, take longer scope;  
Pay when thouart honest; let me have some hope.    

To Carnations. A Song.  

1.  
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.   

2.  
Within my Lucia's cheek,  
(Whose Livery ye wear)  
Play ye at Hide or Seek,  
I'm sure to find ye there.    

To the Virgins, to make much of Time.  

1.  
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.   

2.  
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.   

3.  
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.   

4.  
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.    

Safety to look to ones self.  

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 ordained for me.  
He who to the ground does fall,  
Has not whence to sink at all.    

To his Friend, on the untuneable Times.  

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,  
Whether I would; but (ah!) I know not how,  
I feel in me, this transmutation now.  
Grief, (my dear friend) has first my Harp unstrung;  
Withered my hand, and palsy-struck my tongue.    

His Poetry his Pillar.  

1.  
Only a little more  
I have to write,  
Then I'll give o'er,  
And bid the world Good-night.   

2.  
'Tis but a flying minute,  
That I must stay,  
Or linger in it;  
And then I must away.   

3.  
O time that cut'st down all!  
And scarce leav'st here  
Memorial  
Of any men that were.   

4.  
How many lie forgot  
In Vaults beneath?  
And piecemeal rot  
Without a fame in death?   

5.  
Behold this living stone,  
I rear for me,  
Ne'n to be thrown  
Down, envious Time by thee.   

6.  
Pillars let some set up,  
(If so they please)  
Here is my hope,  
And my Pyramids.    

Safety on the Shore.  

WHat though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore:  
Ships have been drowned, where late they danced  
(before.    

A Pastoral upon the birth of Prince Charles, Presented to the King, and Set by Mr. Nic: Laniere.  
The Speakers, Mirtillo, Amintas, and Amarillis.  Amin. 

GOod day, Mirtillo. Mirt. And to you no less:  
And all fair Signs lead on our Shepardesse.   Amar. 

With all white luck to you. Mirt. But say,  
(What news  
Stirs in our Sheepwalk? 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 Menalchas keeps a feast  
For his Sheep-shearers. Mir. 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. Amint. From whence? Amar. From  
(whence? Mir. The Court.  
Three days before the shutting in of May,  
(With whitest Wool be ever crowned that day!)  
To all our joy, a sweet-faced child was borne,  
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 Wisemen's Torch, which guided them  
To God's sweet Babe, when borne at Bethlehem;  
While Golden Angels (some have told to me)  
Sung out his Birth with Heavenly Minstrelsy.   Amint. 

O rare! But is't a trespass if we three  
Should wend along his Baby-ship to see?   Mir. 

Not so, not so. 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 sucked by th'thieving Bee:  
And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.   Amint. 

And I will bear along with you  
Leaves dropping down the honeyed dew,  
With oaten pipes, as sweet, as new.   Mirt. 

And I a Sheephook will bestow,  
To have his little King-ship know,  
As he is Prince, he's Shepherd too.   Chor. 

Come let's away, and quickly let's be dressed,  
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.    

To the Lark.  

GOod speed, for I this day  
Betimes my Matins say:  
Because I do  
Begin to woo:  
Sweet singing Lark,  
Be thou the Clerk,  
And know thy when  
To say, Amen.  
And if I prove  
Blest in my love;  
Then thou shalt be  
Highpriest to me,  
At my return,  
To Incense burn;  
And so to solemnize  
Love's, and my Sacrifice.    

The Bubble. A Song.  

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 Wildfire, fly,  
And break thyself in shivers on her eye.    

A Meditation for his Mistress.  

1.  
YOu are a Tulip seen to day,  
But (Dearest) of so short a stay;  
That where you grew, scarce man can say.   

2.  
You are a lovely July-flower,  
Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower,  
Will force you hence, (and in an hour.)   

3.  
You are a sparkling Rose i'th'bud,  
Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and blood  
Can show where you or grew, or stood.   

4.  
You are a full-spread faire-set Vine,  
And can with Tendrills' love intwine,  
Yet dried, ere you distil your Wine.   

5.  
You are like Balm enclosed (well)  
In Amber, or some Crystal shell,  
Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell.   

6.  
You are a dainty Violet,  
Yet withered, ere you can be set  
Within the Virgin's Coronet.   

7.  
You are the Queen all flowers among,  
But die you must (fair Maid) ere long,  
As He, the maker of this Song.    

The bleeding hand: or, The sprig of Eglantine given to a maid.  

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.    

Lyric for Legacies.  

GOld I've none, for use or show,  
Neither Silver to bestow  
At my death; but thus 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.    

A Dirge upon the Death of the Right Valiant Lord, Bernard Stuart.  

1.  
HEnce, hence, profane; soft silence let us have;  
While we this Trental sing about thy Grave.   

2.  
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 thouart 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 shalt have souls for sacrifice.   

Sleep in thy peace, while we with spice perfume thee,  
And Cedar wash thee, that no times consume thee.   

3.  
Live, live thou dost, and shalt; for why?  
Souls do not with their bodies die:  
Ignoble offsprings, they may fall  
Into the flames of Funeral:  
When as the chosen seed shall spring  
Fresh, and for ever flourishing.   Cho. 

And times to come shall, weeping, read thy glory,  
Less in these Marble stones, then in thy story.    

To Perenna, a Mistress.  

Dear Perenna, prithee come,  
And with Smallage dress my Tomb:  
Add a Cypresse-sprig thereto,  
With a tear; and so Adieu.    

Great boast, small roast.  

OF Flanks and Chines of Beef doth Gorrell boast  
He has at home; but who tastes boiled or roast?  
Look in his Brine-tub, and you shall find there  
Two stiffe-blew-pigs-feets, and a sow's cleft ear.    

Upon a Blear-eyed woman.  

Withered with years, and bedrid Mumma lies;  
Dry-rosted all, but raw yet in her eyes.    

The Fairy Temple: or, Oberon's Chapel. Dedicated to Mr. John Merrifield, Counsellor at Law.  

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 thoust seen more fine  
Than this, the Fairy's once, now Thine.    

The Temple.  

AWay enchased with glass & beads  
There is, that to the Chapel leads:  
Whose structure (for his holy rest)  
Is here the Halcion'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-Beeile-flie:  
Next in an Arch, akin to this,  
His Idol-Canker seated is:  
Then in a Round, is placed by these,  
His golden god, Cantharideses.  
So that where ere ye look, ye see,  
No Capitol, no Cornish 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.  
Saint Tit, Saint Nit, Saint Is, Saint Itis,  
Who against Mabs-state placed here right is.  
Saint Will o'th'Wispe (of no great bigness)  
But alias called here Fatuus ignis.  
Saint Frip, Saint Trip, Saint Fill, S. Filly,  
Neither those other-Saint-ships 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 Squirrels 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 offering up the Holy-Grist:  
Ducking in Mood, and perfect Tense,  
With (much-good-doed him) reverence.  
The Altar is not here foure-square,  
Nor in a form Triangular;  
Nor made of glass, or wood, or stone,  
But of a little Transverce bone;  
Which boys, and Bruckeled children call  
(Playing for Points and Pins) Cockall.  
Whose Linnen-Drapery is a thin  
Subtle and ductile Codlin's skin;  
Which o'er the board is smoothly spread,  
With little Seale-work Damasked.  
The Fringe that circumbinds it too,  
Is Spangle-work of trembling dew,  
Which, gently gleaming, makes a show,  
Like Frost-work glittering on the Snow.  
Upon this fetuous board doth stand  
Something for Shewbread, and at hand  
(Just in the middle of the Altar)  
Upon an end, the Fairie-Psalter,  
Graced with the Trout-flies curious wings,  
Which serve for watched Ribbanings.  
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;  
I, 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 prise our gold:  
Which charity they give to many  
Poor of the Parish, (if there's any)  
Upon the ends of these neat Rails  
(Hatched, 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 Altars ornament.  
For sanctity, they have, to these,  
Their curious Copes and Surplices  
Of cleanest Cobweb, hanging by  
In their Religious vestry.  
They have their Ash-pans, & their Brooms  
To purge the Chapel and the rooms:  
Their many mumbling Masspriests here,  
And many a dapper Chorister.  
Their ushering Vergers, here likewise,  
Their Canons, and their Chaunteries:  
Of Cloyster-Monks they have enough,  
I, and their Abby-Lubbers too:  
And if their Legend do not lie,  
They much affect the Papacy:  
And since the last is dead, there's hope,  
Elve Boniface shall next be Pope.  
They have their Cups and Chalices;  
Their Pardons and Indulgences:  
Their Beads of Nits, Bells, Books, & 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, & bones;  
Beside their Fumigations,  
To drive the Devil from the Codpiece  
Of the Friar, (of work an odde-piece.)  
Many a trifle too, and trinket,  
And for what use, scarce man would think  
Next, then, upon the Chanters side (it.  
An Apples-core is hung up dried,  
With rattling Kirnils, 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 footpace he doth stroke & 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 Silkworms shed,  
(Like a Turks Turban on his head)  
And reverently departeth thence,  
Hid in a cloud of Frankincense:  
And by the glow-worms light well guided,  
Goes to the Feast that's now provided.    

To Mistress Katherine Bradshaw, the lovely, that crowned him with Laurel.  

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 enterwove  
A Laurel for her, (ever young as love)  
You first of all crowned her; she must of due,  
Render for that, a crown of life to you.    

The Plaudite, or end of life.  

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 Ore:  
If having run my Bark on ground,  
Ye see the aged Vessel crowned:  
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.    

To the most virtuous Mistress Pot, who many times entertained him.  

WHen I through all my many Poems look,  
And see yourself to beautify my Book;  
Me thinks that only lustre doth appear  
A Light ful-filling 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.    

To Music, to becalm his Fever.  

1.  
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.   

2.  
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  
Amongst Roses,   

2.  
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.    

Upon a Gentlewoman with a sweet Voice.  

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.    

Upon Cupid.  

AS lately I a Garland bound,  
Amongst Roses, I there Cupid found:  
I took him, put him in my cup,  
And drunk with Wine, I drank him up.  
Hence than it is, that my poor breast  
Could never since find any rest.    

Upon Julia's breasts.  

DIsplay thy breasts, my Julia, there let me  
Behold that circummortall purity:  
Between whose glories, there my lips I'll lay,  
Ravished, in that fair Via Lactea.    

Best to be merry.  

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  
Gratify the Genius.    

The Changes to Corinna.  

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, andfeares  
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 plow  
Loathed Furrows in your brow:  
And the dimness of your eye  
Will no other thing imply,  
But you must die  
As well as I.    

No Lock against Lechery.  

Bar close as you can, and bolt fast too your door,  
To keep out the Lecher, and keep in the whore:  
Yet, quickly you'll see by the turn of a pin,  
The Whore to come out, or the Lecher come in.    

Neglect.  

ARt quickens Nature; Care will make a face:  
Neglected beauty perisheth apace.    

Upon himself.  

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.    

Upon a Physician.  

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.    

Upon suds a Laundress.  

suds Launders Bands in piss; and starches them  
Both with her Husband's, and her own tough phlegm,    

To the Rose. Song.  

1.  
Go happy Rose, and enterwove  
With other Flowers, bind my Love.  
Tell her too, she must not be,  
Longer flowing, longer free,  
That so oft has fettered me.   

2.  
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.   

3.  
Take thou my blessing, thus, and go,  
And tell her this, but do not so,  
Left a handsome anger fly,  
Like a Lightning, from her eye,  
And burn thee'up, as well as I.    

Upon Guests. Epig.  

GUesse 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.    

To his Book.  

THou art a plant sprung up to wither never,  
But like a Laurel, to grow green for ever.    

Upon a painted Gentlewoman.  

MEn say y'are fair; and fair ye are, 'tis true;  
But (Hark!) we praise the Painter now, not you.    

Upon a crooked Maid.  

CRooked you are, but that dislikes not me;  
So you be strait, where Virgins strait should be:    

Draw Gloves.  

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.    

To Music, to becalm a sweet-sick-youth.  

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 painc,  
Like to a slumbering Bride, awake again.    

To the High and Noble Prince, GEORGE, Duke, marquis, and Earl of Buckingham.  

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 Hircius,  
Who doth both love and fear you Honoured Sir.    

His Recantation.  

LOve, I recant,  
And pardon crave,  
That lately I offended,  
But 'twas,  
Alas,  
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.    

The coming of good luck.  

SO Good-luck came, and on my roof did light,  
Like noyse-lesse Snow; or as the dew of night:  
Not all at once, but gently, as the trees  
Are, by the Sunbeams, tickled by degrees.    

The Present: or, The Bag of the Bee.  

FLy to my Mistress, pretty pilfering Bee,  
And say, thou bring'st this Hony-bag from me:  
When on her lip, thou hast thy sweet dew placed,  
Mark, if her tongue, but slily, steal a taste.  
If so, we live; if not, with mournful hum,  
Tole forth my death; next, to my burial come.    

On Love.  

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.    

The Hock-cart, or Harvest home: To the Right Honourable, Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland.  

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-born wheat:  
While other Rustics, less attended  
To Prayers, then to Merriment,  
Run after with their breeches rend.  
Well, on, brave boys, to your Lord's Hearth,  
glittering 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 several dishes standing by,  
As here a Custard, there a Pie,  
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 Fanes, your Fats;  
Then to the Maids with Wheaten Hats:  
To the rough Sickle, and crooked Sith,  
Drink frolic boys, till all be blithe.  
Feed, and grow fat; and as ye eat,  
Be mindful, that the labouring 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 Lords 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.    

The Perfume.  

TOmorrow, 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.    

Upon her Voice.  

LEt but thy voice engender with the string,  
And Angels will be borne, while thou dost sing.    

Not to love.  

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, than a Fever,  
Both tormenting Lovers ever.  
Wod'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 prized, and worth but small;  
Little thou'lt love, or not at all.    

To Music. A Song.  

Music, thou Queen of Heaven, Care-charming-spel,  
That strik'st a stillness into hell:  
Thou that tamest Tigers, and fierce storms (that rise)  
With thy soule-melting Lullabies:  
Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming spheres,  
To charm our souls, as thou enchant'st our ears.    

To the Western wind.  

1.  
SWeet Western Wind, whose luck it is,  
(Made rival with the air)  
To give Perenn'as lip a kiss,  
And fan her wanton hair.   

2.  
Bring me but one, I'll promise thee,  
Instead of common showers,  
Thy wings shall be embalmed by me,  
And all beset with flowers.    

Upon the death of his Sparrow. An Elegy.  

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 Hearce-cloth, to o'erspread  
The body of the under-dead?  
Phill, the late dead, the late dead Dear,  
O! may no eye distil a Tear  
For you once lost, who weep not here!  
Had Lesbian (too-too-kind) but known  
This Sparrow, she had scorned 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 Phill, 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.    

To Primroses filled with morning-dew.  

1.  
WHy do ye weep, sweet Babes? can Tears  
Speak grief in you,  
Who were but borne  
Just as the modest Morn  
Teemed 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 warped, 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,  
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.    

How Roses came red.  

1.  
ROses at first were white,  
Till they could not agree,  
Whether my Sapho's breast,  
Or they more white should be.   

2.  
But being vanquished quite,  
A blush their cheeks bespread;  
Since which (believe the rest)  
The Roses first came red.    

Comfort to a Lady upon the Death of her Husband.  

(rain;  
DRy your sweet cheek, long drowned with sorrows  
Since Clouds dispersed, Suns gild the Air again.  
Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and over-boile;  
But turn soon after calm, as Balm, or Oil.  
Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease,  
The leavie-trees nod in a stillborn peace.  
Your storm is over; Lady, now appear  
Like to the peeping-spring-time of the year.  
Off then with grave clothes; put fresh colours on;  
And flow, and flame, in your Vermilion.  
Upon your cheek sat Ysicles awhile;  
Now let the Rose reign like a Queen, and smile.    

How Violets came blue.  

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 blew.    

Upon Groynes. Epig.  

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.    

To the Willow-tree.  

1.  
THou art to all lost love the best,  
The only true plant found,  
Wherewith young men and maids distressed,  
And left of love, are crowned.   

2.  
When once the Lover's Rose is dead,  
Or laid aside forlorn;  
Then Willow-garlands, 'bout the head,  
Bedewed with tears, are worn.   

3.  
When with Neglect, (the Lover's bane)  
Poor Maids rewarded be,  
For their love lost; their only gain  
Is but a Wreath from thee.   

4.  
And underneath thy cooling shade,  
(When weary of the light)  
The love-spent Youth, and lovesick Maid,  
Come to weep out the night.    

Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler, under the name of the lost Shepardesse.  

AMong the Myrtles, as I walked,  
Love and my sighs thus intertalkt:  
Tell me, said I, in deep distreffe,  
Where I may find my Shepardesse.  
Thou fool, said Love, knowst thou not this?  
In every thing that's sweet, she is.  
In yond Carnation go and seek,  
There thou shalt find her lip and cheek:  
In that enamelled Pansie by,  
There thou shalt have her curious eye:  
In bloom of Peach, and Roses 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 an union;  
But on a sudden all were gone.  
At which I stopped; 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.    

TO THE KING.  

IF when these Lyrics (CESAR) You shall hear.  
And that Apollo shall so touch Your care,  
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.    

TO THE QUEEN.  

Goddess of Youth, and Lady of the Spring,  
(Most fit to be the Consort to a King)  
Be pleased to rest you in This Sacred Grove,  
Beset with Myrtles; whose each leaf drops Love.  
Many a sweet-faced 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 Leavie-Throne (with Lilly-work) possess;  
And be both Princess here, and Poetresse.    

The Poets good wishes for the most hopeful and handsome Prince, the Duke of York.  

MAy his pretty Duke-ship grow  
Like t'a Rose of Jericho:  
Sweeter far, then ever yet  
Showers or Sunshines could beget.  
May the Graces, and the Hours  
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  
Prince of Helicon, but Herald  
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.    

To Anthea, who may command him any thing.  

BId me to live, and I will live  
Thy Protestant to be:  
Or bid me love, and I will give  
A loving heart to thee.   

2.  
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.   

3.  
Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,  
To honour thy Decree:  
Or bid it languish quite away,  
an't shall do so for thee.   

4.  
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.   

5.  
Bid me despair, and I'll despair,  
Under that Cypress tree:  
Or bid me die, and I will dare  
Even Death, to die for thee.   

6.  
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.    

Prevision, or Provision.  

THat Prince takes soon enough the Victor's room,  
Who first provides, not to be overoome.    

Obedience in Subjects.  

THe Gods to Kings the Judgement give to sway:  
The Subjects only glory to obey.    

More potent, less peccant.  

HE that may sin, sins least; Leave to transgress  
Enfeebles much the seeds of wickedness.    

Upon a maid that died the day she was married.  

THat Morn which saw me made a Bride,  
The Evening witnessed that I died.  
Those holy lights, wherewith they guide  
Unto the bed the bashful Bride;  
Served, but as Tapers, for to burn,  
And light my Relics to their Urn.  
This Epitaph, which here you see,  
Supplied the Epithalamie.    

Upon Pink an ill-faced Painter. Epig.  

TO paint the Fiend, Pink would the Devil see;  
And so he may, if he'll be ruled by me:  
Let but Pink's face i'th' Looking-glass be shown,  
And Pink may paint the devil's by his own.    

Upon Brock. Epig.  

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 furred with oaths and blasphemies.    

To Meadows.  

1.  
YE have been fresh and green,  
Ye have been filled with flowers:  
And ye the Walks have been  
Where Maids have spent their hours.   

2.  
You have beheld, how they  
With Wicker Arks did come  
To kiss, and bear away  
The richer Cowslips home.   

3.  
Y'ave heard them sweetly sing,  
And seen them in a Round:  
Each Virgin, like a Spring,  
With Hony-succles crowned.   

4.  
But now, we see, none here,  
Whose silv'rie feet did tread,  
And with dishevelled Hair,  
Adorned this smother Mead.   

5.  
Like Unthrifts, having spent,  
Your stock, and needy grown,  
Y'are left here to lament  
Your poor estates, alone.    

Crosses.  

THough good things answer many good intents;  
Crosses do still bring forth the best events.    

Miseries.  

THough hourly comforts from the Gods we see,  
No life is yet life-proofe from misery.    

Laugh and lie down.  

Y'Ave laughed enough (sweet) vary now your Text;  
And laugh no more; or laugh, and lie down next.    

To his Household gods.  

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 humane foot, as yet, ne'er trod:  
Search worlds of Ice; and rather there  
Dwell, then in loathed Devonshire.    

To the Nightingale, and Robin-redbreast.  

WHen I departed am, ring thou my knell,  
Thou pitiful, and pretty Philomela:  
And when I'm laid out for a Corpse; then be  
Thou Sexton (Redbreast) for to cover me.    

To the Yew and Cypress to grace his Funeral.  

1.  
BOth you two have  
Relation to the grave:  
And where  
The Fun'rall-Trump sounds, you are there.   

2.  
I shall be made  
Ere long a fleeting shade:  
Pray come,  
And do some honour to my Tomb.   

3.  
Do not deny  
My last request; for I  
Will be  
Thankful to you, or friends, for me.    

I call and I call.  

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.    

On a perfumed Lady.  

YOu say y'are 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.    

A Nuptial Song, or Epithalamie, on Sir Clipseby Crew and his Lady.  

1.  
WHat's that we see from far? the spring of Day  
Bloomed from the East, or fair Injeweled May  
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 Tiffanie  
To move, or rather the  
Emergent Venus from the Sea?   

2.  
'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; Spiceing the Chafed Air with fumes of Paradise.  
Then come on, come on, and yield  
A savour like unto a blessed field,  
When the bedabled Morn  
Washes the golden ears of corn.   

3.  
See where she comes; and smell how all the street  
Breathes Vine-yards and Pomgranats: O how sweet!  
As a fired Altar, is each stone,  
Perspiring pounded Cinnamon.  
The Phoenix nest,  
Built up of odours, burneth in her breast.  
Who therein would not consume  
His soul to Ash-heaps in that rich perfume?  
Bestroaking Fate the while  
He burns to Embers on the Pile.   

4.  
Hymen, O Hymen! Tread the sacred ground;  
Show thy white feet, and head with Marjoram crowned  
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.   

5.  
Glide by the banks of Virgins then, and pass  
The Showers of Roses, lucky-foure-leaved 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;  
Blest is the Bride, on whom the Sun doth shine;  
And thousands gladly wish  
You multiply, as doth a Fish.   

6.  
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 slowly go, yet, howsoever, go.   

7.  
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 Nap'rie, not to express his wit;  
Each striving to devise  
Some gin, wherewith to catch your eyes.   

8.  
To bed, to bed, kind Turtles, now, and write  
This the shortest 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 Youngmen and the Bridemaids share  
Your Garters; and their joints  
Encircle with the Bridegrooms Points.   

9  
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  
Fowl in these noble pastimes, lest ye call  
Discord in, and so divide  
The youthful Bridegroom, and the fragrant Bride:  
Which Love forefend; but spoken,  
Be't to your praise, no peace was broken.   

10.  
Strip her of Springtime, tender-whimpring-maids,  
Now Autumne's come, when all those flowery aids  
Of her Delays must end; Dispose  
That Lady-smock, that Pansie, 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.   

11.  
And to enchant ye more, see every where  
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 tyre,  
Were she an Element of fire.   

12.  
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.   

13.  
The bed is ready, and the maze of Love  
Looks for the treaders; every where 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.   

14.  
If needs we must for Ceremonies-sake,  
Bless a Sack-posset; Luck go with it; take  
The Night-Charme quickly; you have spells,  
And magics for to end, and hells,  
To pass; but such  
And of such Torture as no one would grudge  
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.   

15.  
But since It must be done, dispatch, and sow  
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.   

16.  
All now is hushed in silence; Midwife-moone,  
With all her Owle-eyed issue begs a boon  
Which you must grant; that's entrance; with  
Which extract, all we can call pith  
And quintiscence  
Of Planetary bodies; so commence  
All fair Constellations  
Looking upon ye, that, That Nations  
Springing from two such Fires,  
May blaze the virtue of their Sires.    

The silken Snake.  

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'ad been a snake:  
The suddenness did me affright;  
But though it scared, it did not bite.    

Upon himself.  

IAm 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,  
What ere 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.    

Upon Love.  

LOve's a thing, (as I do hear)  
Ever full of pensive fear;  
Rather then 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.    

Reverence to Riches.  

LIke to the Income must be our expense;  
Man's Fortune must be had in reverence.    

Devotion makes the Deity.  

WHo forms a Godhead out of Gold or Stone,  
Makes not a God; but he that prays to one.    

To all young men that love.  

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, than  
Much good do't ye Gentlemen.  
I a merry heart will keep,  
While you wring your hands and weep.    

The Eyes.  

'TIs a known principle in War,  
The eyes be first, that conquered are.    

No fault in women.  

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 die  
Of white, where nature doth deny.  
No fault in women, to make show  
Of largeness, when theyare 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.    

Upon Shark. Epig.  

SHark when he goes to any public feast,  
Eats to ones 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 crammed up, and a silver Spoon.    

Oberon's Feast.  

SHapcot! To thee that Fairy State  
I with discretion, dedicate.  
Because thou prizest things that are  
Curious, and un-familiar.  
Take first the feast; these dishes gone;  
we'll see the Fairy-Court anon.   

ALittle mushroom table spread,  
After short prayers, they set on bread;  
A Moon-parcht grain of purest wheat,  
With some small glittering gritt, 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 served,  
We must not think his ear was starved:  
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 besweetned in a blue  
And pregnant violet; which done,  
His kitling eyes begin to run  
Quite through the table, where he spies  
The horns of paperie Butterflies,  
Of which he eats, and tastes a little  
Of that we call the Cuckoos spittle.  
A little Fuz-ball-pudding stands  
By, yet not blessed by his hands,  
That was too course; but then forthwith  
He ventures boldly on the pith  
Of sugared Rush, and eats the sagge  
And well bestrutted Bees sweet bag:  
Gladding his palate with some store  
Of Emits eggs; what would he more?  
But Beards of Mice, a Newt's stew'dthigh,  
A bloated Earwig, and a Fly;  
With the Red-capt worm, that's shut  
Within the concave of a Nut,  
Brown as his Tooth. A little Moth,  
Late fattened in a piece of cloth:  
With withered cherries; Mandrakes ears;  
Moles eyes; to these, the slain-Stags tears:  
The unctuous dewlaps of a Snail;  
The broke-heart of a Nightingale  
O'ercome 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 dainty daizie, which  
He fully quaffs up to bewitch  
His blood to height; this done, commended  
Grace by his Priest; The feast is ended.    

Event of things not in our power.  

BY Time, and Counsel, do the best we can,  
Th'event is never in the power of man.    

Upon her blush.  

WHen Julia blushes, she does show  
Cheeks like to Roses, when they blow.    

Merits make the man.  

OUr Honours, and our Commendations be  
Due to the Merits, not Authority.    

To Virgins.  

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 locked 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.    

Virtue.  

EAch must, in virtue, strive for to excel;  
That man lives twice, that lives the first life well.    

The Bellman.  

FRom noise of Scare-fires rest ye free,  
From Murders Benedicitie.  
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 aclock, and almost two,  
My Masters all, Good day to you.    

Bashfulness.  

OF all our parts, the eyes express  
The sweetest kind of bashfulness.    

To the most accomplished Gentleman, Master Edward Norgate, Clark of the Signet to His Majesty. Epig.  

FOr one so rarely tuned to fit all parts;  
For one to whom espoused are all the Arts;  
Long have I sought for: but could never see  
Them all concentered in one man, but Thee.  
Thus, thou, that man art, whom the Fates conspired  
To make but One (and that's thyself) admired.    

Upon Brudence Baldwin her sickness.  

PRue, my dearest Maid, is sick,  
Almost to be Lunatic:  
AEsculapius! come and bring  
Means for her recovering;  
And a gallant Cock shall be  
Offered up by Her, to Thee.    

To Apollo. A short Hymn.  

PHoebus! 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.    

A Hymn to Bacchus.  

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 g'en up to Thee.    

Upon Bungie.  

BUngie 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 Commandment:  
But being poor, and knowing Flesh is dear,  
He keeps not one, but many Lents i'th'yeare.    

On himself.  

HEre down my wearied limbs I'll lay;  
My Pilgrim's staff; my weed of grey:  
My Palmer's hat; my Scallops 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 uprising next, I shall,  
If not requite, yet thank ye all.  
Mean while, the Holy-Rood hence fright  
The fouler Fiend, and evil Spirit,  
From scaring you or yours this night.    

Casualties.  

GOod things, that come of course, far less do please,  
Then those, which come by sweet contingences.    

Bribes and Gifts get all.  

DEad falls the Cause, if once the Hand be mute;  
But let that speak, the Client gets the suit.    

The end.  

IF well thou hast begun, go on foreright;  
It is the End that crownes us, not the Fight.    

Upon a child that died.  

HEre she lies, a pretty bud,  
Lately made of flesh and blood:  
Who, as soon, fell fast asleep,  
As her lirtle eyes did peep.  
Give her strew; but not stir  
The earth, that lightly covers her.    

Upon Sneap. Epig.  

Sneap has a face so brittle, that it breaks  
Forth into blushes, whensoe'er he speaks.    

Content, not cates.  

'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.    

The Entertainment: or, Porch-verse, at the Marriage of Mr. Hen. Northly, and the most witty Mrs. Lettuce Yard.  

WEelcome! but yet no entrance, till we bless  
First you, than 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 betid  
You, the brisk Bridegroom, you the dainty Bride.  
Do all things sweetly, and in comely wise;  
Put on your Garlands first, than 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,  
Fishlike, increase then to a million:  
And millions of spring-times may ye have,  
Which spent, on death, bring to ye both one Grave.    

The good-night or Blessing.  

BLessings, in abundance come,  
To the Bride, and to her Groom;  
May the Bed, and this short night,  
Know the fullness 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 Grace's fall  
On ye both; Good-night to all.    

Upon Leech.  

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 credit's Physic, yet not trusts his Pill:  
And why? he knows he must of Cure despair,  
Who makes the sly Physician his Heir.    

To Daffodils.  

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see  
You haste away so soon:  
As yet the early-rising Sun  
Has not attained his Noon.  
Stay, stay,  
Until the hasting day  
Has run  
But to the Evensong;  
And, having prayed together, we  
Will go with you along.   

2.  
We have short time to stay, as you,  
We have as short a Spring;  
As quick a growth to meet Decay,  
As you, or any thing.  
We die,  
As your hours do, and dry  
Away,  
Like to the Summer's rain;  
Or as the pearls of Morning's dew  
Ne'er to be found again.    

To a Maid.  

YOu say, you love me; that I thus must prove;  
If that you lie, than I will swear you love.    

Upon a Lady that died in childbed, and left a daughter behind her.  

AS Gilly flowers do but stay  
To blow, and seed, and so away;  
So you sweetLady (sweet as May)  
The gardens-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.    

A New-year's gift sent to Sir Simeon Steward.  

NO news of Navies burnt at Seas;  
No noise of late spawned Tittyries:  
No closet plot, or open vent,  
That frights men with a Parliament:  
No new devise, or late found trick,  
To read by th'stars, the Kingdoms sick:  
No gin to catch the State, or wring  
The freeborn Nostril of the King,  
We send to you; but here a jolly  
Verse crowned with Yvie, and with Holly:  
That tells of Winter's Tales and Mirth,  
That Milkmaids make about the hearth,  
Of Christmas sports, the Wassell-boule,  
That tossed up, after Fox-i'th'hole:  
Of Blindman-buff, and of the care  
That young men have to shoe the Mare:  
Of Twelf-tide Cakes, of Pease, and Beans  
Wherewith ye make those merry Scenes,  
When as ye choose your King and Queen,  
And cry out, hay, for our town green.  
Of Ash-heapes, 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 in stead of New-year's gift.  
Read then, and when your faces shine  
With buxom meat and capering Wine:  
Remember us in Cups full crowned,  
And let our Citie-health go round,  
Quite through the young maids and the men,  
To the ninth number, if not ten;  
Until the fired Chestnuts 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 December's;  
But think on these, that are t'appear,  
As Daughters to the instant year:  
Sat crowned 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.    

Matins, or morning Prayer.  

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 every thing.  
Next to the Altar humbly kneel, and thence,  
Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense.  
Thy golden Censors filled with odours sweet,  
Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet.    

Evensong.  

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.    

The Braclet to Julia.  

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 are 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.    

The Christian Militant.  

A Man prepared 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-proofe against the Farms mis-haps,  
Undreadfull 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.    

A short Hymn to Larr.  

THough I cannot give thee fires  
Glit'ring to my free desires:  
These accept, and I'll be free,  
Offering Poppy unto thee.    

Another to Neptune.  

MIghty Neptune, may it please  
Thee, the Rector of the Seas,  
That my Bark may safely run  
Through thy watrie-region;  
And a Tunnie-fish shall be  
Offered up, with thanks to thee.    

Upon Greedy. Epig.  

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 jestn ithis appears,  
So old she was, that none could tell her years.    

His embalming to Julia.  

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.    

Gold, before Goodness.  

HOw rich a man is, all desire to know;  
But none inquires if good he be, or no.    

The Kiss. A Dialogue.  

1.  
AMong thy Fancies, tell me this,  
What is the thing we call a kiss?   

2.  
I shall resolve ye, what it is.   

It is a creature born and bred  
Between the lips, (all cherrie-red,)  
By love and warm desires fed,   Chor. 

And makes more soft the Bridal Bed.   

2.  
It is an active flame, that flies,  
First to the Babies of the eyes;  
And charms them there with lullabies;   Chor. 

And stills the Bride too, when she cries.   

2.  
Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,  
It frisks, and flies, now here, now there,  
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near;   Chor. 

And here, and there, and every where.   

1.  
Has it a speaking virtue? 2. Yes;  
1. How speaks it, say? 2. Do you but this,  
Part your joined lips, then speaks your kiss;   Chor. 

And this love's sweetest language is.   

1.  
Has it a body? 2. ay, and wings  
With thousand rare encolouring:  
And as it flies, it gently sings,   Chor. 

Love, honey yields; but never stings.    

The admonition.  

SEest thou those Diamonds which she wears  
In that rich Carcanet;  
Or those on her dishevelled 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,  
Congealed 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.    

To his honoured kinsman Sir William Soame. Epig.  

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 volumed 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 shence, but leave a name, as sweet,  
As Benjamin, and Storax, when they meet.    

On himself.  

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.    

To Larr.  

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 Larr stay here,  
Warm by a glittering chimney all the year.    

The departure of the good Demon.  

WHat can I do in Poetry,  
Now the good Spirit's gone from me?  
Why nothing now, but lonely fit,  
And overread what I have writ.    

Clemency.  

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 judgement fall.    

His age, dedicated to his peculiar friend, M. John Wickes, under the name of Posthumus.  

1.  
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 Proserpina.   

2.  
The pleasing wife, the house, the ground  
Must all be left, no one plant found  
To follow thee,  
Save only the Curst-Cipresse 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 wain;  
But they fill up their Ebbs again:  
But vanished man,  
Like to a Lilly-lost, ne'er can,  
Near can repullulate, or bring  
His days to see a second Spring.   

4.  
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,  
Le's make it full up, by our sport.   

5.  
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 Luckie stone.   

6.  
We are not poor; although we have  
No roofs of Cedar, nor our brave  
Baiae, 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.   

7.  
If we can meet, and so confer,  
Both by a shining Salt-seller;  
And have our Roof,  
Although not arched, yet weather proof,  
And ceiling free,  
From that cheap Candle bawdry:  
We'll eat our Bean with that full mirth  
As we were Lords of all the earth.   

8.  
Well then, on what Seas we are tossed,  
Our comfort is, we can't be lost.  
Let the winds drive  
Our Bark; 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.   

9  
Say, we must part (sweet mercy bless  
Us both i'th' Sea, Camp, Wilderness)  
Can we so far  
Stray, to become less circular,  
Then we are now?  
No, no, that self same heart, that vow,  
Which made us one, shall ne'er undo;  
Or ravell so, to make us two.   

10.  
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:   

11.  
And with a tear compare these last  
Lame, and bad times, with those are past,  
While Baucis by,  
My old lean wife, shall kiss it dry:  
And so we'll sit  
By ' th' fire, foretelling snow and slit,  
And weather by our aches, grown  
Now old enough to be our own   

12.  
True Calendars, as Pusses ear  
Washed o'rs, to tell what change is near  
Then to assuage  
The gripe 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.   

13.  
Then shall he read that flower of mine  
Enclosed within a crystal shrine:  
A Primrose next;  
A piece, then of a higher text:  
For to beget  
In me a more transcendent heat,  
Then that insinuating fire,  
Which crept into each aged Sire.   

14.  
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.   

15.  
Thus frantic crazy man (God wot)  
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.   

16.  
Then next I'll cause my hopeful Lad  
(If a wild Apple can be had)  
To crown the Hearth,  
(Larr thus conspiring with our mirth)  
Then to infuse  
Our browner Ale into the cruse:  
Which sweetly spiced, we'll first carouse  
Unto the Genius of the house.   

17.  
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:   

18.  
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 crickit;  
The untamed Heifer, or the Pricket,  
Until our tongues shall tell our ears,  
weare younger by a score of years.   

19  
Thus, till we see the fire less shine  
From th' embers, than the kitlings eyen,  
We'll still sit up,  
Sphering about the wassail cup,  
To all those times,  
Which gave me honour for my Rhimes,  
The coal once spent, we'll then to bed,  
far more than night bewearied.    

A short hymn to Venus.  

Goddess, I do love a Girl  
Rubie-lipt, and toothed with Pearl:  
If so be, I may but prove  
Luckie in this Maid I love:  
I will promise there shall be  
Myrtles offered up to Thee.    

To a Gentlewoman on just dealing.  

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.    

The hand and tongue.  

TWo parts of us successively command;  
The tongue in peace; but then in war the hand.    

Upon a delaying Lady.  

COme come away,  
Or let me go;  
Must I here stay,  
Because y'are slow;  
And will continue so?  
Troth Lady, no.   

2.  
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.   

3.  
If you desire  
My spark should glow,  
The peeping fire  
You must blow;  
Or I shall quickly grow,  
To Frost or Snow.    

To the Lady Mary Villars, Governess to the Princess Henretta.  

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, whoever did prefer  
You, above all Those Sweets of Westminster:  
Permit my Book to have a free access  
To kiss your hand, most Dainty Governess.    

Upon his Julia.  

WIll ye hear, what I can say  
Briefly of my Julia?  
Black and rolling is her eye,  
Double chinned, and forehead high:  
Lips she has, all Ruby red,  
Cheeks like Cream Enclarited:  
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.    

To Flowers.  

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.    

To my ill Reader.  

THou sayest my lines are hard;  
And I the truth will tell;  
They are both hard, and marred,  
If thou not readest them well.    

The power in the people.  

LEt Kings Command, and do the best they may,  
The saucy Subjects still will bear the sway.    

A Hymn to Venus, and Cupid.  

SEa-born Goddess, let me be,  
By thy son thus graced, and thee;  
That when ere I woo, I find  
Virgins coy, but not unkind.  
Let me when I kiss a maid,  
Taste her lips, so over-laid  
With Loves-sirrop; that I may,  
In your Temple, when I pray,  
Kiss the Altar, and confess  
there's in love, no bitterness.    

On Julia's Picture.  

HOw am I ravished! 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?    

Her Bed.  

SEe'st, thou that Cloud as silver clear,  
Plump, soft, & swelling every where?  
'tis Julia's Bed, and she sleeps there.    

Her Legs.  

Feign would I kiss my Julia's dainty Leg,  
Which is as white and hair-less as an egg.    

Upon her Alms.  

SEe how the poor do waiting stand,  
For the expansion of thy hand.  
A wafer Doled by thee, will swell  
Thousands to feed by miracle.    

Rewards.  

STill to our gains our chief respect is had;  
Reward it is, that makes us good or bad.    

Nothing new.  

NOthing is New: we walk where others went.  
there's no vice now, but has his precedent.    

The Rainbow.  

LOok, how the Rainbow doth appear  
But in one only Hemisphere:  
So likewise after our disseace,  
No more is seen the Arch of Peace.  
That Cov'nant's here; The under-bow,  
That nothing shoots, but war and woe.    

The meadow verse or Aniversary to Mistress Bridget Lowman.  

COme with the Springtime, forth Fair Maid, and he  
This year again, the meadows' 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.    

The parting verse, the feast there ended.  

Loath 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 filled upon my silver hairs;  
'Tis to be doubted whether I next year,  
Or no, shall give ye a remeeting here.  
If die I must, than 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 meddow-verse for you.    

Upon Judith. Epig.  

IUdith has cast her old-skin, and got new;  
And walks fresh varnished to the public view.  
Fowl Judith was; and foul she will be known,  
For all this fair Transfiguration.    

Long and lazy.  

THat was the Proverb. Let my mistress be  
Lazy to others, but be long to me.    

Upon Ralph. Epig.  

CUrse not the mice, no grist of thine they eat:  
But curse thy children, they consume thy wheat.    

To the right honourable, Philip, Earl of Pembroke, and Montgomerie.  

HOw dull and dead are books, that cannot show  
A Prince or 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 (Honoured 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 every where;  
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.    

An hymn to Juno.  

STately Goddess, do thou please,  
Who art 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.    

Upon Mess. Epig.  

MEase brags of Pullet's which he eats: but Mess  
Ne'er yet set tooth in stump, or rump of these.    

Upon Sappho, sweetly playing, and sweetly singing.  

WHen thou dost play, and sweetly sing,  
Whether it be the voice or string,  
Or both of them, that do agree  
Thus to en-trance and ravish me:  
This, this I know, I'm oft struck mute;  
And die away upon thy Lute.    

Upon Paske a Draper.  

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.    

Chop-Cherry.  

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.   

2.  
But I shall ne'er forget,  
How for to make thee merry;  
Thou mad'st me chop, but yet,  
Another snapped the Cherry.    

To the most learned, wise, and Arch-Antiquary, M. John Selden.  

I Who have favoured many, come to be  
Graced (now at last) or glorified by thee.  
Lo, ay, the Lyric Prophet, who have set  
On many a head the Delphic Coroner,  
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 crowned 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 Demigod.    

Upon himself.  

THou shalt not All die; for while Love's fire shines  
Upon his Altar, men shall read thy lines;  
And learned Musicians shall to honour Herricks  
Fame, and his Name, both set, and sing his Lyrics,    

Upon wrinkles.  

WRinkles no more are, or no less,  
Then beauty turned to sourness.    

Upon Prigg.  

PRigg, when he comes to houses, oft doth use  
(Rather than fail) to steal from thence old shoes:  
Sound or unsound, be they rend or whole,  
Prigg bears away the body and the sole.    

Upon Moon.  

MOon is an Usurer, whose gain,  
Seldom or never, knows a wain,  
Only Moon's conscience, we confess,  
That ebbs from pity less and less.    

Pray and prosper.  

FIrst offer Incense, than thy field and meads  
Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads.  
The spangling Dew dredged o'er the grass shall be  
Turned all to Mell, and Manna there for thee.  
Butter of Amber, Cream, and Wine, and Oil  
Shall run, as rivers all throughout thy soil.  
Wod'st thou to sincere-silver turn thy mould?  
Pray once, twice pray; and turn thy ground to gold.    

His Lacrimee or Mirth, turned to mourning.  

1.  
CAll me no more,  
As heretofore,  
The music of a Feast;  
Since now (alas)  
The mirth, that was  
In me, is dead or ceased.   

2.  
Before I went  
To banishment  
Into the loathed West;  
I could rehearse  
A Lyric verse,  
And speak it with the best.   

3.  
But Time (Ai me)  
Has laid, I see  
My Organ fast asleep;  
And turned my voice  
Into the noise  
Of those that sit and weep.    

Upon Shift.  

Shifted now has cast his clothes: got all things new;  
Save but his hat, and that he cannot mew.    

Upon Cuts.  

IF wounds in clothes, Cuts calls his rags, 'tis clear,  
His linings are the matter running there.    

Gain and Gettings.  

WHen others gain much by the present cast,  
The cobbler's getting time, is at the Last.    

To the most fair and lovely Mistress, Anne Soame, now Lady Abdie.  

SO smell those odours that do rise  
From out the wealthy spiceries:  
So smells the flower of blooming Clove;  
Or Roses smothered in the stove:  
So smells the Air of spiced wine;  
Or Essences of Jessimine:  
So smells the Breath about the hives,  
When well the work of honey thrives;  
And all the busy Factours come  
Laden with wax and honey home:  
So smell those neat and woven Bowers,  
All over-archt with Orange flowers,  
And Almond blossoms, that do mix  
To make rich these Aromatikes:  
So smell those bracelets, and those bands  
Of Amber chafed 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 mixed with them;  
Of roasted warden, or baked pear,  
These are not to be reckoned here;  
When as the meanest part of her,  
Smells like the maiden-Pomander.  
Thus sweet she smells, or what can be  
More liked by her, or loved by me.    

Upon his kinswoman Mistress Elizabeth Herrick.  

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 wont hours  
Shall come to strew thy earth with flowers.  
No, know (Blessed 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.    

A Panegyrics to Sir Lewis Pemberton.  

TIll I shall come again, let this suffice,  
I send my salt, my sacrifice  
To Thee, thy Lady, younglings, and as far  
As to thy Gonius and thy Larre;  
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, warped with large Ribs of Beef,  
Not represent, but give relief  
To the lanke-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-staffe 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 scourged 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 farced 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 knows 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 crabbed vizard: Thou hast learned thy Train,  
With heart and hand to entertain:  
And by the Armes-full (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 i 〈…〉 y Fames-pledge, thy Son.  
Thus, like a Roma 〈…〉 oune, thou thy gate  
Earl 〈…〉 tts open 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 〈…〉 iece he cuts, and by  
So 〈…〉 e pinch tells danger's nie  
A hand too desperate, or a knife that bites  
Skin deep into the Pork, or lights  
Upon some part of Kid, as if mistook,  
When checked by the Butlers 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 Bullocks thighs, thy Veals, thy fat  
Wethers, and never grudged at.  
The Pheasant, Partridge, Gotwit, Reeve, Ruff, Rail,  
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, then unto any one:  
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 scurrile jest; no open Scene is laid  
Here, for to make the face afraid;  
But temperate mirth dealt forth, and so discreetly that it makes the meat more sweet;  
And adds perfumes unto the Wine, which thou  
Dost rather pour forth, then 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 knowst order, Ethics, and has read  
All Economics, knowst to lead  
A House-dance neatly, and canst truly show,  
How far a Figure ought to go,  
Forward, or backward, side-ward, 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 while  
To last, but not their ever: Virtues Hand  
It is, which builds, against Fate to stand.  
Such is thy house, whose firm foundations trust  
Is more in thee, then in her dust,  
Or depth, these last may yield, and yearly shrink,  
When what is strongly built, no chink  
Or yawning rupture can the same devour,  
But fixed 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 raised by th'ill  
Of others; since no Stud, no Stone, no Piece,  
Was reared up by the Poor-man's fleece:  
No Widow's Tenement was racked to gild  
Or fret thy Ceiling, or to build  
A Sweating-Closset, to anoint the silkesoft-skin, or bathe in Ass' milk:  
No Orphan's pittance, left him, served 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, then 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.    

To his Valentine, on S. Valentine's day.  

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.    

Upon Doll. Epig.  

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.    

Upon Linnit. Epig.  

LInnit plays rarely on the Lute, we know;  
And sweetly sings, but yet his breath says no.    

Upon M. Ben. Johnson. Epig.  

AFter the rare Arch-Poet JOHNSON died,  
The Sock grew loathsome, and the Buskins pride,  
Together with the Stages glory stood  
Each like a poor and pitied widowhood.  
The Cirque profaned was; and all postures racked:  
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 frantick-fires did stir,  
Or flash about the spacious Theatre.  
No clap of hands, or shout, or praises-proofe  
Did crack the Playhouse 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 hist  
At thy unequalled 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.    

Another.  

THou hadst the wreath before, now take the Tree;  
That henceforth none be Laurel crowned but Thee.    

To his Nephew, to be prosperous in his art of Painting.  

ON, as thou hast begun, brave youth, and get  
The Palm from Urbino, Titian, Tintarret,  
Brugel and Coxu, and the works outdo,  
Of Holben, and That mighty Reuben too.  
So draw, and paint, as none may do the like,  
No, not the glory of the World, Vandike.    

Upon Glass. Epig.  

Glass, out of deep, and out of desperate want,  
Turned, from a Papist here, a Predicant.  
A Vicarige 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.    

A Vow to Mars.  

STore of courage to me grant,  
Now I'm turned a combatant:  
Help me so, that I my shield,  
(Fight) lose not in the field.  
That's the greatest shame of all,  
That in warfare can befall.  
Do but this; and there shall be  
Offered up a Wolf to thee.    

To his Maid Prew.  

THese Summer-Birds did with thy master stay  
The times of warmth; but then they flew away;  
Leaving their Poet (being now grown old)  
Exposed to all the coming Winters cold.  
But thou kind Prew didst with my fates abide,  
As well the Winters, as the Summer's Tide:  
For which thy love, live with thy master here,  
Not one, but all the seasons of the year.    

A Canticle to Apollo.  

PLay Poehbus on thy Lute;  
And we will sit all mute:  
By listening to thy Lyre,  
That sets all ears on fire.   

2.  
Hark, hark, the God does play!  
And as he leads the way  
Through heaven, the very Spears,  
As men, turn all to ears.    

A just man.  

A Just man's like a Rock that turns the wroth  
Of all the raging Waves, into a froth.    

Upon a hoarse Singer.  

SIng me to death; for till thy voice be clear,  
'twill never please the palate of mine care.    

How Pansies or Hart-case came first.  

Frolic Virgins once these were,  
Overloving, (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-houres.  
Gave them Hearts-ease turned to Flowers.    

To his peculiar friend Sir Edward Fish, Knight Baronet.  

SInce for thy full deserts (with all the rest  
Of these chaste spirits, that are here possessed  
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 forever; grounded with the good,  
Who hold fast here an endless lively food.    

Larr's portion, and the Poet's part.  

AT my homely Countryseat,  
I have there a little wheat;  
Which I work to Meal, and make  
Therewithal a Holy-cake:  
Part of which I give to Larr,  
Part is my peculiar.    

Upon man.  

MAn is composed here of a twofold part;  
The first of Nature and the next of Art:  
Art presupposes Nature; Nature she  
Preparos the way for man's docility.    

Liberty.  

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.    

Lots to be liked.  

LEarn this of me, where e'er thy Lot doth fall;  
Short lot, or not, to be content with all    

Griefs.  

IOve may afford us thousands of reliefs;  
Since man exposed is to a world of griefs.    

Upon Eels. Epig.  

Eels winds and turns, and cheats and steals; yet Eels  
Driving these sharking trades, is out at heels,    

The Dream.  

BY Dream I saw, one of the three  
Sisters of Fate appear to me.  
Close to my Bed's side she did stand  
Showing me there a fire brand;  
She told me too, as that did spend,  
So drew my life unto an end.  
Three quarters were consumed of it;  
Only remained a little bit,  
Which will be burnt up by and by;  
Then Juha weep, for I must die:    

Upon Raspe Epig.  

RAspe plays at Nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets  
Many a Taster by his game, and bets:  
But of his gettings there's but little sign;  
When one hole wastes more than he gets by Nine.    

Upon Centre a Spectacle-maker with a flat nose.  

Centre is known weak sighted, and he sells  
To others store of helpful spectacles.  
Why were she none? Because we may suppose,  
Where Leaven wants, there Levill lies the nose.    

Clothes do but cheat and cousin us.  

AWay with silks, away with Lawn,  
I'll have no Scenes, or Curtains drawn:  
Give me my Mistress, as she is,  
Dressed in her naked simplicities:  
For as my Heart, even so mine Eye  
Is won with flesh, not Drapery.    

To Dianeme.  

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 waste; Then let me there withal,  
By the Ascension of thy Lawn, see All.    

Upon Electra.  

WHen out of bed my Love doth spring,  
'Tis but as day a kindling:  
But when She's up and fully dressed,  
'Tis then broad Day throughout the East.    

To his Book.  

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, tattered in the bush;  
Those monstrous lies of little Robin Rush:  
Tom Chipperfeild, and pretty- lisping Ned,  
That doted on a Maid of Gingerbred:  
The flying Pilchard, and the frisking Dace;  
With all the rabble of Tim-Trundells race,  
(Bred from the dunghills, and adulterous rhimes,)  
Shall live, and thou not superlast all times?  
No, no, thy Stars have destined Thee to see  
The whole world die, and turn to dust with thee.  
He's greedy of his life, who will not fall,  
When as a public ruin bears down All.    

Of Love.  

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 frieze, but cannot frie.  
Yet out alas! the death's the same,  
Killed by a frost or by a flame.    

Upon himself.  

I Disliked but even now;  
Now I love I know not how.  
Was I idle, and that while  
Was I fired with a smile?  
I'll too work, or pray; and then  
I shall quite dislike again.    

Another.  

LOve he that will; it best likes me,  
To have my neck from Love's yoke-free.    

Upon Skins. Epig.  

Skins he dined well to day; how do you think?  
His Nails they were his meat, his Rheum the drink.    

Upon Peevish. Epig.  

Peevish doth boast, that he's the very first  
Of English Poets, and 'tis thought the Worst.    

Upon Jolly and Jilly, Epig.  

IOlly and Jillie, by't 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.    

The mad Maids song.  

1.  
GOod morrow to the Day so fair;  
Good morning Sir to you:  
Good morrow to mine own torn hair  
Bedabled with the dew.   

2.  
Good morning to this Primrose too;  
Good morrow to each maid;  
That will with flowers the Tomb bestrew,  
Wherein my Love is laid.   

3.  
Ah! woe woe woe woe woe is me,  
Alack and welladay!  
For pity, Sir, find out that Bee,  
Which bore my Love away.   

4.  
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 strawburies.   

5.  
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.   

6.  
Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,  
He knows well who do love him,  
And who with green-turfes rear his head,  
And who do rudely move him.   

7.  
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.    

To Springs and Fountains.  

I Herd ye could cool heat; and came  
With hope you would allay the same:  
Thrice I have washed, but feel no cold,  
Nor find that true, which was foretold.  
Me thinks like mine, your pulses beat;  
And labour with unequal heat:  
Cure, cure yourselves, for I descry,  
Ye boil with Love, as well as I.    

Upon Julia's unlacing herself.  

TEll, if thou canst, (and truly) whence doth come  
This Camphire, 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 bodies, but a breathing space:  
The passive Air such odour then assumed,  
As when to Jove Great Juno goes perfumed.  
Whose pure-Immortall body doth transmit  
A scent, that fills both Heaven and Earth with it.    

To Bacchus, a Canticle.  

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.    

The Lawn.  

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.    

The Frankincense.  

WHen my offering next I make,  
Be thy hand the hallowed Cake:  
And thy bed the Altar, whence  
Love may smell the Frankincense.    

Upon Patrick a footman, Epig.  

NOw Patrick with his footmanship has done,  
His eyes and ears strive which should fastest run.    

Upon Bridget. Epig.  

OF four teeth only Bridget was possessed;  
Two she spat out, a cough forced out the rest.    

To Sycamores.  

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.    

A Pastoral sung to the King: Montano, Silvio, and Mirtillo, Shepherds.  Mon. 

Bade are the times. Sil. And worse thenthey 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 used to lead the Country-round,  
Youthful Mirtillo, Here he comes, Grief drowned.  
Ambo Le's cheer him up. Sil. Behold him weeping ripe.   Mirt. 

Ah! Amarillis, farewell mirth and pipe;  
Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play,  
To these smooth Lawns, my mirthful Roundelay. (sweet  
Dear Amarillis! Mon. Hark! Sil. mark: Mir. this earth grew  
Where, Amarillis, Thou didst set thy feet.   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.   Mirt. 

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.   Mon. 

A sweet-sad passion.—   Mirt. 

In dewie-mornings' when she came this way,  
Sweet Bends wode 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 (Aim!) since she went hence to dwell,  
The voices Daughter ne'er spoke syllable.  
But she is gone. Sil. Mirtillo, tell us whether,   Mirt. 

Where she and I shall never meet together.   Mont. 

Forefend it Pan, and Pales do thou please  
Togive an end: Mir. To what? Scil. such griefs as these.   Mirt. 

Never, O never! Still I may endure  
The wound I suffer, never find a cure.   Mont. 

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: (old:   Mont. 

Set with the Sun, thy woes: Scil. The day grows  
And time it is our full-fed flocks to fold.   Chor. 

(row,  
The shades grow great; but greater grows our sore-  
But le's go steep  
Our eyes in sleep;  
And meet to weep  
To morrow.    

The Poet loves a Mistress, but not to marry.  

1.  
I Do not love to wed,  
Though I do like to woo;  
And for a maidenhead  
I'll beg, and buy it too.   

2.  
I'll praise, and I'll approve  
Those maids that never vary;  
And fervently I'll love;  
But yet I would not marry.   

3.  
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:   

4.  
For why? that man is poor,  
Who hath but one of many;  
But crowned he is with store,  
That single may have any.   

5.  
Why then, say, what is he  
(To freedom so unknown)  
Who having two or three,  
Will be content with one?    

Upon Flimsey. Epig.  

WHy walks Nick Flimsey like a Malcontent?  
Is it because his money all is spent?  
No, but because the Ding-thrift now is poor,  
And knows not where i'th' world to borrow more.    

Upon Shewbread. Epig.  

LAst night thou didst invite me home to eat;  
And show'st me there much Plate, but little meat  
Prithee, when next thou dost invite, bar State,  
And give me meat, or give me else thy Plate.    

The Willow Garland.  

A Willow Garland thou didst scnd  
Perfumed (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 dressed, so I  
Will, with my Willow-wreath also,  
Come forth and sweetly die.    

A Hymn to Sir Clipseby Crew.  

'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  
Companion,  
(My dearest Crew,)  
That me unkindly flew.   

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 Larr,  
Shall be familiar.   

But though we Sever  
My Crew shall see,  
That I will be  
Here faithless never;  
But love my Clipseby ever.    

Upon Roots. Epig.  

ROots had no money; yet he went o'th' score  
For a wrought Purse; can any tell wherefore?  
Say, What should Roots do with a Purse in print,  
That he'd nor Gold or Silver to put in't?    

Upon Craw.  

CRaw cracks in syrup; and does stinking say,  
Who can hold that (my friends) that will away?    

Observation.  

WHo to the North, or South, doth set  
His Bed, Male children shall beget.    

Empires.  

Empire's of Kings, are now, and ever were,  
(As Salnst saith) co-incident to fear.    

Felicity, quick of flight.  

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.    

Putrefaction.  

PUtrefaction is the end  
Of all that Nature doth intend.    

Passion.  

WEre there not a Matter known,  
There would be no Passion.    

Jack and Jill.  

SInce Jack and Jill both wicked be;  
It seems a wonder unto me,  
That they no better do agree.    

Upon Parson Beanes.  

OLd Parson Beanes hunts six days of the week,  
And on the seaventh, he has his Notes to seek.  
Six days he hollows so much breath away,  
That on the seaventh, he can nor preach, or pray.    

The crowd and company.  

IN holy meetings, there a man may be  
One of the crowd, not of the company.    

Short and long both likes.  

THis Lady's short, that Mistress she is tall;  
But long or short, I'm well content with all.    

Policy in Princes.  

THat Princes may possess a surer seat,  
'Tis fit they make no One with them too great.    

Upon Rook, Epig.  

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.    

Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast.  

HAve ye beheld (with much delight)  
A red-Rose peeping through a white?  
Or else a Cherry (double graced)  
Within a Lily? Centre placed?  
Or ever marked the pretty beam,  
A Strawberry shows half drowned 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.    

To Daisies, not to shut so soon.  

1.  
SHut not so soon; the dull-eyed night  
Has not as yet begun  
To make a seizure on the light,  
Or to seal up the Sun.   

2.  
No Marigolds yet closed are;  
No shadows great appear;  
Nor doth the early Shepherd's Star  
Shine like a spangle here.   

3.  
Stay but till my Julia close  
Her life-begetting eye;  
And let the whole world then dispose  
Itself to live or die.   

To the little Spinners.  
YE pretty Huswives, would ye know  
The work that I would putye 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 whipped,  
That of my skin, I all am stripped;  
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 too  
What here I promise, that no Broom  
Shall now, or ever after come  
To wrong a Spinner or her Loom.    

Oberon's Palace.  

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 much majesty.  
Which, done; and thence removed 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; we'll know his Guard  
Kings though theyare hated, will be feared.  
Wine lead him on. Thus to a Grove  
(Sometimes devoted unto Love)  
Tinseled with Twilight, He, and They  
Led by the shine of Snails; a way  
Beat with their numerous feet, which by  
Many a neat perplexity,  
Many a turn, and man ' 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,  
Which break from the Injeweld tires  
Of curious Brides; or like those mites  
Of Candied 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 ey'd-kines,  
Who as they low empearl with milk  
The four-leaved grass, or mosse-like silk.  
The breath of Monkeys met to mix  
With Musk-flies, are th' Aromaticks,  
Which cense this Arch; and here and there,  
And farther off, and every where,  
Throughout that Brave Mosaic yard  
Those Picks or Diamonds in the Card:  
With peeps of Hearts, of Club and Spade  
Are here most neatly inter-laid.  
Many a Counter, many a Die,  
Half rotten, and without an eye,  
Lies here abouts; 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 blewer Plum.  
The nails fallen off by Whit-flawes: 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: enfreezed throughout  
With eyes of Peacock's Trains, & Trout-flies curious wings; and these among  
Those silver-pences, that cut the tongue  
Of the red infant, neatly hung.  
The glow-worms eyes; the shining scales  
Of silv'rie fish; wheat-straws, the snails  
Soft Candle-light; the Kitling's eyen;  
Corrupted wood; serve here for shine.  
No glaring light of boldfaced 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 acquaint Taper-light he winds  
His Errors up; and now he finds  
His Moon-tanned Mab, as somewhat sick,  
And (Love knows) tender as a chick.  
Upon six plump Dandillions, high-  
Reared, lies her Elvish-majestie:  
Whose woollie-bubbles seemed to drown  
Her Mab-ship in obedient Down.  
For either sheet, was spread the Caule  
That doth the Infant's face enthrall,  
When it is born: (by some enstyled  
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, Spunge-like drinking in the dull-  
Light of the Moon, seemed to comply,  
Cloudlike, 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,  
Dropped from the eyes of ravished Girls  
Or writhing Brides; when, (panting) they  
Give unto Love the straighter way.  
For Music now; He has the cries  
Of fained-lost-Virginities;  
The which the Elves make to excite  
A more unconquered appetite.  
The Kings undressed; and now upon  
The Gnats-watch-word the Elves are gone.  
And now the bed, and Mab possessed  
Of this great-little-kingly-Guest.  
We'll nobly think, what's to be done,  
He'll do no doubt; This flax is spun.    

To his peculiar friend Master Thomas Shapcott, Lawyer.  

I'Ve paid Thee, what I promised; that's not All;  
Besides I give Thee here a Verse that shall  
(When hence thy Circum-mortall-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 Endlesse-Kalendar:  
Whose velome, and whose volume is the Sky,  
And the pure Stars the praising Poetry.  
Farewell.    

To Julia in the Temple.  

BEsides us two, i'th' Temple here's not one  
To make up now a Congregation.  
Let's to the Altar of perfumes than 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.    

To Oenone.  

1.  
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?   

2.  
For shame or pity now incline  
To play a loving part;  
Either to send me kindly thine,  
Or give me back my heart.   

3.  
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.    

His weakness in woes.  

I Cannot suffer; And in this, my part  
Of Patience wants. Grief breaks the stoutest Heart.    

Fame makes us forward.  

TO Print our Poems, the propulsive cause  
Is Fame, (the breath of popular applause.)    

To Groves.  

Ye silent shades, whose each tree here  
Some Relic 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 did for love; and their complaints:  
Their wounded hearts; and names we find  
Encarved upon the Leaves and Rind.  
Give way, give way to me, who come  
Scorched with the selfsame martyrdom:  
And have deserved as much (Love knows)  
As to be canonised amongst those,  
Whose deeds, and deaths here written are  
Within your Greenie-Kalendar:  
By all those Virgin's Fillets hung  
Upon your Boughs, and Requiems sung  
For Saints and Souls departed hence,  
(Here honoured 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 carved on every tree,  
By sweet S. Phillis; pity me:  
By dear S. 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.    

An Epitaph upon a Virgin.  

HEre a solemn Fast we keep,  
While all beauty lies asleep  
Hushed be all things; (no noise here)  
But the toning of a tear:  
Or a sigh of such as bring  
Cowslips for her covering.    

To the right gracious Prince, Lodowick, Duke of Richmond and Lenox.  

OF all those three-brave-brothers, fallen i'th'Warre,  
(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 Fam's white Trumpet, This I'll Tell,  
Worthy their everlasting Chronicle,  
Never since first Bellona used a Shield,  
Such Three brave Brothers fell in Mars his Field.  
These were those Three Horatij Rome did boast,  
Roms where these Three Horatij we have lost.  
One Cordelion had that Age long since;  
This, Three; which Three, you make up Four Brave Prince.    

To Jealousy.  

O Jealousy, that art  
The Canker of the heart:  
And mak'st all hell  
Where thou dost dwell;  
For pity be  
No Fury, or no Firebrand to me.   

2.  
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.    

To live Freely.  

LEt's live in haste; use pleasures while we may:  
Could life return, 'twod never lose a day.    

Upon Sponge. Epig.  

Sponge makes his boasts that he's the only man  
Can hold of Beer and Ale an Ocean;  
Is this his Glory? then his Triumphs Poor;  
I know the Tun of Hidleberge holds more.    

His Alms.  

HEre, here I live,  
And somewhat give,  
Of what I have,  
To those, who crave.  
Little or much,  
My Almnes is such:  
But if my deal  
Of Oil and Meal  
Shall fuller grow,  
More I'll bestow:  
Mean time be it  
Even but a bit,  
Or else a crumb,  
The scrip hath some.    

Upon himself.  

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 smother Sphere,  
Decree thy everlasting Topick there.  
And to the Farm-house ne'er return at all,  
Though Granges do not love thee, Cities shall.    

To enjoy the Time.  

WHile Fates permits 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.    

Upon Love.  

1.  
LOve, I have broke  
Thy yoke;  
The neck is free:  
But when I'm next  
Love vexed,  
Then shackell me.   

2.  
'Tis better yet  
To fret  
The feet or hands;  
Then to enthrall,  
Or gall  
The neck with bands.    

To the right Honourable Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland..  

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 Sibyls Leaves, throughout the ample world?  
What is a Jewel if it be not set  
Forth by a Ring, or some rich Carcanet?  
But being so; then the beholders cry,  
See, see a Gem (as rare as Baelus eye.)  
Then public praise does run upon the Stone,  
For a most rich, a rare, a precious One.  
Expose your jewels then unto the view,  
That we may praise Them, or themselves prize You.  
Virtue concealed (with Horace you'll confess)  
Differs not much from drowsy slothfulness.    

The Plunder.  

I Am of all berefe;  
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.    

Littleness no cause of Leanness.  

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.    

Upon one who said she was always young.  

YOu say y'are young; but when your Teeth are told  
To be but three, Black-eyed, we'll think y'are old.    

Upon Hunks. Epig.  

Hunks has no money (he does swear, or say)  
About him, when the Taverns shot's to pay.  
If he has none in's pockets, trust me, Hunks  
Has none at home, in Coffers, Desks, or Trunks.    

The Jimmall Ring, or True-love-knot.  

THou sentest to me a True-love-knot; but I  
Returned a Ring of Jimmals, to imply  
Thy Love had one knot, mine a triple tye.    

The parting Verse, or charge to his supposed Wife when he traveled.  

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 settest their hearts, yet 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 dost walk the street)  
Me, or my shadow thou dost meet.  
I know a thousand greedy eyes  
Will on thy Feature tyrannize,  
In my short absence; yet behold  
Them like some Picture, or some Mould  
Fashioned like Thee; which though ' tave 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'lt 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 enstile Thee Fairest fair,  
The Pearl of Princes, yet despairè  
That so thou art, because thou must  
Believe, Love speaks it not, but Lust;  
And this their Flatt'rie 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 thyself, 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 skaile  
Thy Fortress, and will needs prevail;  
And wildly force a passaage in,  
Banish consent, and 'tis no sin  
Of Thine; so Lucrece fell, and the  
Chaste Syracusian Cyane.  
So Medullina fell, yet none  
Of these had imputation  
For the least trespass; 'cause the mind  
Here was not with the act combined.  
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 overlong 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-blew-ruler of the Seas;  
Not many full-fac't-moons shall wain,  
Lean-horned, before I come again  
As one triumphant; when I find  
In thee, all faith of Womankind.  
Nor would I have thee think, that Thou  
Hadst pour thyself to keep this vow;  
But having scaped temptations shelf,  
Know virtue taught thee, not thyself.    

To his Kinsman, Sir Tho. Soame.  

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.    

To Blossoms.  

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.   

2.  
What, were ye borne to be  
An hour or half's delight;  
And so to bid goodnight?  
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth  
Merely to show your worth,  
And lose you quite.   

3.  
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's dying-place uncertain.  

MAn knows where first he ships himself; but he  
Never can tell, where shall his Landing be.    

Nothing Free-cost.  

NOthing comes Free-cost here; Jove will not let  
His gifts go from him; if not bought with sweat.    

Few fortunate.  

MAny we are, and yet but few possess  
Those Fields of everlasting happiness.    

To Perenna.  

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.    

To the Ladies.  

TRust me Ladies, I will do  
Nothing to distemper you;  
If I any fret or vex,  
Men they shall be, not your sex.    

The old Wife's Prayer.  

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.    

Upon a cheap Laundress. Epig.  

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 reeume?    

Upon his departure hence.  

THus I  
Pass by,  
And die:  
As One,  
Unknown,  
And gone:  
I'm made  
A shade,  
And laid  
I'th' grave,  
There have  
My Cave.  
Where tell  
I dwell,  
Farewell.    

The Wassail.  

1.  
GIve way, give way ye Gates, and win  
An easy blessing to your Been,  
And Basket, by our entering in.   

2.  
May both with manchet stand replete;  
Your Larders too so hung with meat,  
That though a thousand, thousand eat;   

3.  
Yet, ere twelve Moons shall whirl about  
Their silv'rie Spheres, there's none may doubt,  
But more's sent in, then was served out.   

4.  
Next, may your Dairies Prosper so,  
As that your pans no Ebb may know;  
But if they do, the more to flow.   

5.  
Like to a solemn sober Stream  
Bankt all with Lilies, and the Cream  
Of sweetest Cowslips filling Them.   

6.  
Then, may your Plants be pressed with Fruit,  
Nor Bee, or Hive you have be mute;  
But sweetly sounding like a Lute.   

7.  
Next may your Duck and teeming Hen  
Both to the Cocks-tread say Amen;  
And for their two eggs render tea.   

8.  
Last, may your Harrows, Shares and Ploughs,  
Your Stacks, your Stocks, your sweetest Mows,  
All prosper by your Virgin-vowes.   

9  
Alas! we bless, but see none here,  
That brings us either Ale or Beer;  
In a drie-house all things are near.   

10.  
Let's leave a longer time to wait,  
Where Rust and Cobwebs bind the gate;  
And all live here with needy Fate.   

11.  
Where Chimneys do for ever weep,  
For want of warmth, and Stomaches keep  
With noise, the servants eyes from sleep.   

12.  
It is in vain to sing, or stay  
Our free-feets here; but we'll away:  
Yet to the Lares this we'll say,   

13.  
The time will come, when you'll be sad,  
And reckon this for fortune bad,  
T'ave lost the good ye might have had.    

Upon a Lady fair, but fruitless.  

TWice has Pudica been a Bride, and led  
By holy Hymen to the Nuptial Bed.  
Two Youths sha's known, thrice two, and twice 3. 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.    

How Springs came first.  

THese Springs were Maidens once that loved  
But lost to that they most approved:  
My Story tells, by Love they were  
Turned 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 changed but in their name.    

To Rosemary and Bayss.  

MY wooings ended: now my wedding's near;  
When Gloves are giving, Guilded be you there.    

Upon scurf.  

scurf by his Nine-bones swears, and well he may,  
All know a Felon eat the Tenth away.    

Upon a Scarre in a Virgin's Face.  

'tIs Heresy in others: In your face  
That Scarr's no Schism, but the sign of grace.    

Upon his eyesight failing him.  

I Begin to wain in sight;  
Shortly I shall bid goodnight:  
Then no gazing more about,  
When the Tapers once are out.    

To his worthy Friend, M. Tho. Falconbirge.  

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 designed.  
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'it thine Age all turned to gold,  
Remember what thy Herrick thou foretold,  
When at the holy Threshold of thine house,  
He Boded good-luck to thyself and Spouse.  
Lastly, be mindful (when thou art grown great)  
That Towers high reared dread most the lightnings threat:  
When as the humble Cottages not fear  
The cleaving Bolt of Jove the Thunderer.    

Upon Julia's hair filled with Dew.  

Due sat on Julia's hair,  
And spangled too,  
Like Leaves that laden are  
With trembling Dew:  
Or glittered to my sight,  
As when the Beams  
Have their reflected light,  
Danced by the Streams.    

Another on her.  

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.    

Loss from the least.  

GReat men by small means oft are overthrown:  
He's Lord of thy life, who contemns his own.    

Reward and punishments.  

ALL things are open to these two events,  
Or to Rewards, or else to Punishments.    

Shame, no Statist.  

SHame is a bad attendant to a State:  
He rends his Crown, That fears the People's hate.    

To Sir Clisebie Crew.  

SInce to th' Country first I came,  
I have lost my former flame:  
And, methinks, I not inherit,  
As I did, my ravished 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.    

Upon himself.  

I Could never love indeed;  
Never see mine own heart bleed:  
Never crucify my life;  
Or for Widow, Maid, or Wife.   

2.  
I could never seek to please  
One, or many Mistresses:  
Never like their lips, to swear  
Oil of Roses still smelled there.   

3.  
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.)   

4.  
I could never walk alone;  
Put a shirt of sackcloth on:  
Never keep a fast, or pray  
For good luck in love (that day.)   

5.  
But have hitherto lived free,  
As the air that circle's me:  
And kept credit with my heart,  
Neither broke i'th' whole, or part.    

Fresh Cheese and Cream.  

Would ye have fresh Cheese and Cream?  
Julia's Breast can give you them:  
And if more; Each Nipple cries,  
To your Cream, her's Straw berries.    

An Eclogue, or Pastoral between Endymion Porter and Lycidas Herrick,, set and sung.  Endym. 

AH! Lycidas, come tell me why  
Thy whilom merry Oat  
By thee doth so neglected lie;  
And never purls a Note?   

2.  
I prithee speak: Lyc. ay will. End. Say on:   Lyc. 

'Tis thou, and only thou,  
That art the cause Endymion;   End. 

For Loves-sake, tell me how.   Lyc. 

3.  
In this regard, that thou dost play  
Upon an other Plain:  
And for a Rural Roundelay,  
Strik'st now a Courtly strain.   

4.  
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.   

5.  
I mean the Court: Let Latmos be  
My loved Endymion's Court;   End. 

But I the Courtly State would see:   Lyc. 

Then see it in report.   

6.  
What has the Court to do with Swains,  
Where Phillis is not known?  
Nor does it mind the Rustic strains  
Of us, or Coridon.   

7.  
Break, if thou lov'st us, this delay;   End. 

Dear Lycidas, e'er long,  
I vow by Pan, to come away  
And Pipe unto thy Song.   

8.  
Then Jessimine, with Florabell;  
And dainty Amarillis,  
With handsome-handed Drosomell  
Shall prank thy Hook with Lilies.   Lyc. 

9  
Then Tityrus, and Coridon,  
And Thyrsis, they shall follow  
With all the rest; while thou alone  
Shalt lead, like young Apollo.   

10.  
And till thou comest, 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:  
Mean time, let Lycidas have leave to Pipe to thee.    

To a Bed of Tulips.  

1.  
BRight Tulips, we do know,  
You had your coming hither;  
And Fading-time does show,  
That Ye must quickly wither.   

2.  
Your Sister-hoods may stay,  
And smile here for your hour;  
But die ye must away:  
Even as the meanest Flower.   

3.  
Come Virgins then, and see  
Your frailties; and bemoan ye;  
For lost like these, 'twill be,  
As Time had never known ye.    

A Caution.  

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.    

To the Water Nymphs, drinking at the Fountain.  

1.  
REach, with your whiter hands, to me,  
Some Crystal of the Spring;  
And I, about the Cup shall see  
Fresh Lilies flourishing.   

2.  
Or else sweet Nymphs do you but this;  
To''th' Glass your lips incline;  
And I shall see by that one kiss,  
The Water turned to Wine.    

To his Honoured Kinsman, Sir Richard Stone.  

TO this white Temple of my Heroes, here  
Beset with stately Figures (every where)  
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 fixed by These,  
Set up Thine own eternal Images.    

Upon a Flie.  

A Golden Fly one showed to me,  
Closed in a Box of Ivory: (have  
Where both seemed proud; the Fly to  
His burial in an ivory grave:  
The ivory took State to hold  
A Corpse as bright as burnished 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'is burying.  
Not Marshal'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 
* Sparrow  Phil, that lately was  
With Lilies Tombed up in a Glass;  
More honour had, than this same Fly;  
Dead, and closed up in Ivory.    

Upon Jack and Jill. Epig.  

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.    

To Julia.  

IUlia ' when thy Herrick dies,  
Close thou up thy Poet's eyes:  
And his last breath, let it be  
Taken in by none but Thee.    

To Mistress Dorothy Parsons.  

IF thou ask me (Dear) wherefore  
I do write of thee no more:  
I must answer (Sweet) thy part  
Less is here, then in my heart.    

Upon Parrot.  

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 Caned his Ribs last night.    

How he would drink his Wine.  

FIll me my Wine in Crystal; thus, and thus  
I see't in's puris naturalibus:  
Unmixed. I love to have it smirk and shine,  
'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throttle Wine.  
What Mad-man's he, that when it sparkles so,  
Will cool his flames, or quench his fires with snow?    

How Marigolds came yellow.  

Jealous Girls these sometimes were,  
While they lived, or lasted here:  
Turned to Flowers, still they be  
Yellow, marked for Jealousy.    

The broken Crystal.  

TO Fetch me Wine my Lucia went,  
Bearing a Crystal continent:  
But making haste, it came to pass,  
She broke in two the purer Glass,  
Then smiled, and sweetly chid her speed;  
So with a blush, beshrewed the deed.    

Precepts.  

GOod Precepts we must firmly hold,  
By daily Learning we wax old.    

To the right Honourable Edward Earl of Dorset.  

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 judgement upon it.  
What need I care, though some dislike me should,  
If Dorset say, what Herrick writes, is good?  
We know y'are learned 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.    

Upon himself.  

thouart 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,  
Marked in thy Book for faithful Witnesses.    

Hope well and Have well: or, Fair after Fowl weather.  

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.    

Upon Love.  

I Held Love's head while it did ache;  
But so it chanced to be;  
The cruel pain did his forsake,  
And forthwith came to me.   

2.  
Ai me! How shall my grief be styled?  
Or where else shall we find  
One like to me, who must be killed  
For being too-too-kind?    

To his Kinswoman, Mrs. Penelope Wheeler.  

NExt is your lot (Fair) to be numbered one,  
Here, in my Book's Canonization:  
Late you come in; but you a Saint shall be,  
In Chief, in this Poetic Liturgy.    

Another upon her.  

FIrst, for your shape, the curious cannot show  
Any one part that's dissonant in you:  
And against 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.    

Kissing and bussing..  

KIssing and bussing differ both in this;  
We buss our Wantoness, but our Wives we kiss.    

Cross and Pile.  

Fair and foul days trip Cross and Pile; The fair  
Far less in number, than our foul days are.    

To the Lady Crew, upon the death of her Child.  

WHy, Madam, will ye longer weep,  
When as your Baby's lulled 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.    

His Winding-sheet.  

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, thou my sheet.  
Come then, and be to my chaste side  
Both Bed, and Bride.  
We two (as Relics 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 Prisoners be  
From Shackles free:  
And weeping Widows long oppressed  
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-Bils 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 lulled asleep;  
Or for a little time we'll lie,  
As Robes laid by;  
To be another day re-worne,  
Turned, but not torn:  
Or like old Testaments engrossed,  
Locked up, not lost:  
And for a while lie here concealed,  
To be revealed  
Next, at that great Platonic year,  
And then meet here.    

To Mistress Mary Willand.  

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.    

Change gives content.  

WHat now we like, anon we disapprove:  
The new successor drives away old Love.    

Upon Maggot a frequenter of Ordinaries.  

Maggot frequents those houses of good-cheere,  
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 nor his hindrance such?    

On himself.  

BOrne 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, & crowned with flowers.    

Fortune favours.  

FOrtune did never favour one  
Fully, without exception;  
Though free she be, there's something yet  
Still wanting to her Favourite.    

To Phillis to love, and live with him.  

LIve, live with me, and thou shalt 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 overspread:  
By which the silver-shedding streams  
Shall gently melt thee into dreams.  
Thy clothing next, shall be a Gown  
Made of the Fleeces 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 Redbreast 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 Sheering-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 shalt 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 Shepharling)  
The blushing Apple, bashful Pear,  
And shamefaced Plum, (all simpering there)  
Walk in the Groves, and thou shalt find  
The name of Phillis in the Rind  
Of every strait, and smooth-skin tree;  
Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.  
To thee a Sheephook I will send,  
Be-pranckt with Ribbons, to this end,  
This, this alluring Hook might be  
Less for to catch a sheep, then 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 glittering Hearth.  
Thou shalt have Ribbons, 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.    

To his Kinswoman, Mistress Susanna Herrick.  

WHen I consider (Dearest) thou dost stay  
But here a while, to languish and decay;  
Like to these Garden-glories, which here be  
The Flowrie-sweet resemblances of Thee:  
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry,  
Would thou hast ne'er been born; or mightst not die.    

Upon Mistress Susanna Southwell her cheeks.  

RAre are thy cheeks Susanna, which do show  
Ripe Cherries smiling, while that others blow.    

Upon her Eyes.  

Clear are her eyes,  
Like purest Skies.  
Discovering from thence  
A Baby there  
That turns each Sphere,  
Like an Intelligence.    

Upon her feet.  

HEr pretty feet  
Like snails did creep  
A little out, and then,  
As if they played at Bopeep,  
Did soon draw in again.    

To his honoured friend, Sir John Mince.  

FOr civil, clean, and circumcised wit,  
And for the comely carriage of it;  
Thou art The Man, the only Man best known,  
Marked for the True-wit of a Million:  
From whom we'll reckon. Wit came in, but since  
The Calculation of thy Birth, Brave Mince.    

Upon his grey hairs.  

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.    

Accusation.  

IF Accusation only can draw blood,  
None shall be guiltless, be he ne'er so good.    

Pride allowable in Poets.  

AS thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let  
The Muse give thee the Delphic Coronet.    

A Vow to Minerva.  

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-faced Owl shall be  
Offered up with Vows to Thee.    

On Joan.  

IOne would go tell her hairs; and well she might,  
Having but seven in all; three black, four white.    

Upon Lecher. Epig.  

Lecher 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.    

Upon Dundrige.  

DVndrige his Issue hath; but is not styled  
For all his Issue, Father of one Child.    

To Electra.  

'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.   

2.  
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.   

3.  
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.    

Discord not disadvantageous.  

FOrtune no higher Project can devise,  
Then to sow Discord amongst the Enemies.    

Ill Government.  

PReposterous is that Government, (and rude)  
When Kings obey the wilder Multitude.    

To Marygolds.  

GIve way, and be ye ravished by the Sun,  
(And hang the head when as the Act is done)  
Spread as He spreads; wax less as He does wane;  
And as He shuts, close up to Maids again.    

To Dianeme.  

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.    

To Julia, the Flaminica Dialis, or Queen-Priest.  

THou knowst, my Julia, that it is thy turn  
This Morning's Incense to prepare, and bury.  
The Chaplet, and 
* A twig of a Pomegranate, which the queen-priest did use to wear on her head at sacrificing.  Inarculum 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-Priestresse! make a Peace for us.  
For our neglect, Love did our Death decree,  
That we escape. Redemption comes by Thee.    

Anacreontike.  

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.    

Meat without mirth.  

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.    

Large Bounds do but bury us.  

ALL things o'r-ruled are here by Chance;  
The greatest man's Inheritance.  
Where ere the lucky Lot doth fall,  
Serves but for place of Burial.    

Upon Ursley.  

VRsley, she thinks those Velvet Patches grace  
The Candid Temples of her comely face:  
But he will say, who e'er those Circlets seeth,  
They be but signs of Ursleys hollow teeth.    

An Ode to Sir Clipsebie Crew.  

1.  
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.   

2.  
If full we charm; then call upon  
Anacreon  
To grace the frantic Thyrse:  
And having drunk, we raise a shout  
Throughout  
To praise his Verse.   

3.  
Then cause we Horace to be read,  
Which sung, or said,  
A Goblet, to the brim,  
Of Lyric Wine, both swelled and crowned,  
A Round  
We quaff to him.   

4.  
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.   

5.  
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.   

6.  
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  
Of Clipseby Crew.    

To his worthy Kinsman, Mr. Stephen Soame.  

NOr is my Number full, till I inscribe  
Thee sprightly Soame, one of my righteous Tribe:  
A Tribe of one Lip; Leven, and of One  
Civil Behaviour, and Religion.  
A Stock of Saints; where every one doth wear  
A stole of white, (and Canonised here)  
Among which Holies, be Thou ever known,  
Brave Kinsman, marked out with the whiter stone:  
Which seals Thy Glory; since I do prefer  
Thee here in my eternal Calendar.    

To his Tomb-maker.  

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.  
Strew need none, every flower  
Is in this word, Bachelor.    

Great Spirits supervive.  

OUr mortal parts may wrapped in Sear-clothes lie:  
Great Spirits never with their bodies die.    

None free from fault.  

OUt of the world he must, who once comes in:  
No man exempted is from Death, or sin.    

Upon himself being buried.  

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.    

Pity to the prostrate.  

'tIs worse then barbarous cruelty to show  
No part of pity on a conquered foe.    

Way in a crowd.  

ONce on a Lord-Mayors day, in Cheapside, when  
Skulls could not well pass through that scum of men.  
For quick dispatch, Sculls made no longer stay,  
Then but to breath, and every one gave way:  
For as he breathed, the People swore from thence  
A Fart flew out, or a Sir-reverence.    

His content in the Country.  

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,  
What ever 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,  
Swelled with the Lard of others meat.  
We bless our Fortunes, when we see  
Our own beloved privacy:  
And like our living, where weare known  
To very few, or else to none.    

The credit of the Conqueror.  

HE who commends the vanquished, speaks the Power,  
And glorifies the worthy Conqueror.    

On himself.  

SOme parts may perish; die thou canst not all:  
The most of Thee shall scape the funeral.    

Upon one-eyed Broomsted. Epig.  

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.    

The Fairies.  

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;  
Sluts are loathsome to the Fairies:  
Sweep your house: Who doth not so,  
Mab will pinch her by the toe.    

To his honoured friend, M. John Wear, Counsellor.  

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 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 every 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 Wolfe-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 destined forth to golden Sovereignty:  
A Prince I'd be, that I might Thee prefer  
To be my Counsel both, and chancellor.    

The Watch.  

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 than do cease;  
And Man's Pulse stopped, All Passions sleep in Peace.    

Lines have their Linings, and Books their Buckram.  

AS in our clothes, so likewise he who looks,  
Shall find much farcing Buckram in our Books.    

Art above Nature, to Julia.  

WHen I behold a Forest spread  
With silken trees upon thyhead;  
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 Lawnie 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, then on Art.    

Upon Sibilla.  

WIth paste of Almonds, Syb her hands doth scour;  
Then gives it to the children to devour.  
In Cream she baths her thighs (more soft than silk)  
Then to the poor she freely gives the milk.    

Upon his kinswoman Mistress Bridget Herrick.  

SWeet Bridget blushed, & therewithal,  
Fresh blossoms from her cheeks did fall  
I thought at first 'twas but a dream,  
Till after I had handled them;  
And smelled them, than they smelled to me,  
As Blossoms of the Almond Tree.    

Upon Love.  

I Played with Love, as with the fire  
The wanton Satire did;  
Nor did I know, or could descry  
What under there was hid.   

2.  
That Satire he but burned his lips;  
(But min's the greater smart)  
For kissing Loves dissembling chips,  
The fire scorctht my heart.    

Upon a comely, and curious Maid.  

IF Men can say that beauty dies;  
Marbles will swear that here it lies.  
If Reader than thou canst forbear,  
In public loss to shed a Tear:  
The Dew of grief upon this stone  
Will tell thee Pity thou hast none.    

Upon the loss of his Finger.  

ONe of the five strait branches of my hand  
Is lopped already; and the rest but stand  
Expecting when to fall: which soon will be;  
First dies the Leaf, the Bough next, next the Tree.    

Upon Irene.  

ANgry if Irene be  
But a Minute's life with me:  
Such a fire I espy  
Walking in and out her eye,  
As at once I frieze, and frie.    

Upon Electra's Tears.  

Upon her cheeks she wept, and from those showers.  
Sprang up a sweet Nativity of Flowers.    

Upon Tooly.  

THe Eggs of Pheasants wrie-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 any one.    

A Hymn to the Graces.  

WHen I love, (as some have told,  
Love I shall when I am old)  
O ye Graces I 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.    

To Silvia.  

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.    

Upon Blanch. Epig.  

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.    

Upon Umber. Epig.  

Umber was painting of a Lion fierce,  
And working it, by chance from umbers Erse  
Flew out a crack, so mighty, that the Fart,  
(As Umber swears) did make his Lion start.    

The Poet hath lost his pipe.  

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.    

True Friendship.  

WIlt thou my true Friend be?  
Then love not mine, but me.    

The Apparition of his Mistress calling him to Elysium.  

Desunt nonnulla—  
COme then, and like two Doves with silv'rie wings,  
Let our souls fly to'th'shades, where ever springs  
Sat smiling in the Meads; where Balm and Oil,  
Roses and Cassia crown the untilled soil.  
Where no disease reigns, or infection comes  
To blast the Air, but Ambergris and Gums.  
This, that, and every Thicket doth transpire  
More sweet, than Storax from the hallowed fire:  
Where every tree a wealthy issue bears  
Of fragrant Apples, blushing Plums, or Pears:  
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, show  
Like Morning-Sun-shine tinsilling the dew.  
Here in green Meadows sits eternal May,  
Purfling the Margins, 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 Virgin's kisses; which when done,  
Then unto Dancing forth the learned Round  
Commixed they meet, with endless Roses crowned.  
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 Musoeus sing  
Of Hero, and Leander; then I'll bring  
Thee to the Stand, where honoured Homer reads  
His Odisees, 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 Anacreòn,  
Quaffing his full-crowned 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,  
Besmeared 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, wh'le he sleeps.  
Then soft Catullus, sharp-fanged Martial,  
And towering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal,  
And Snaky Perseus, these, and those, whom Rage  
(Dropped for the jars of heaven) filled t'engage  
All times unto their frenzies; Thou shalt there  
Behold them in a spacious Theatre.  
Among which glories, (crowned with sacred Bays,  
And flattering Ivy) Two recite their Plays,  
Beumont and Fletcher, Swans, to whom all ears  
Listen, while they (like Sirens in their Spheres)  
Sing their Evadne; and still more for thee  
There yet remains to know, than thou canst see  
By glimmering of a fancy: Do but come,  
And there I'll show thee that capacious room  
In which thy Father Johnson now is placed,  
As in a Globe of Radiant fire, and graced  
To be in that Orb crowned (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.    

Life is the Bodies Light.  

LIfe is the Body's light; which once declining,  
Those crimson clouds i'th'cheeks & 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 than doth smutch the face.    

Upon Urles. Epig.  

VRles 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.    

Upon Franck.  

FRanck ne'er wore silk she swears; but I reply,  
She now wears silk to hide her bloodshot eye.    

Love lightly pleased.  

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 pleased 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.    

The Primrose.  

Ask me why I send you here  
This sweet Infanta of the year?  
Ask me why I send to you  
This Primrose, thus bepearled with dew?  
I will whisper to your ears,  
The sweets of Love are mixed with tears.   

2.  
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.    

The Tithe. To the Bride.  

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 Bridebed numerous.  
If children you have ten, Sir John  
Won't for his tenth part ask you one.    

A Frolic.  

BRing me my Rosebuds, Drawer come;  
So, while I thus sit crowned;  
I'll drink the aged Cecubum,  
Until the roof turn round.    

Change common to all.  

ALL things subjected are to Fate;  
Whom this Morn sees most fortünate,  
The Evening sees in poor estate.    

To Julia.  

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 Tentrall sung by Virgins o'er thy Grave:  
Mean time we two will sing the Dirge of these;  
Who dead, deserve our best remembrances.    

No luck in Love.  

IDoe love I know not what;  
Sometimes this, & sometimes that:  
All conditions I aim at.   

2.  
But, as luckless, I have yet  
Many shrewd disasters met,  
To gain her whom I would get.   

3.  
Therefore now I'll love no more,  
As I've doted heretofore:  
He who must be, shall be poor.    

In the dark none dainty.  

NIght hides our thefts; all faults then pardoned 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 selfsame prized complexion.  
Then please alike the Pewter and the Plate;  
The chosen Ruby, and the Reprobate.    

A charm, or an allay for Love.  

IF so be a Toad be laid  
In a Sheeps-skin newly flaid,  
And that tied to man'twill sever  
Him and his affections ever.    

Upon a free Maid, with a foul breath.  

YOu say you'll kiss me, and I thank you for it:  
But stinking breath, I do as hell abhor it.    

Upon Coone. Epig.  

WHat is the reason Coone so dully smells?  
His Nose is over-cooled with Icicles.    

To his Brother in Law Master John Wingfield.  

FOr being comely, consonant, and free  
To most of men, but most of all to me:  
For so decrecing, 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'r-laid 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 Winckfield only, not a Brother.    

The Headache.  

MY head doth ache,  
O Sapph! take  
Thy fillit,  
And bind the pain;  
Or bring some bane  
To kill it.   

2.  
But less that part,  
Then my poor heart,  
Now is sick:  
One kiss from thee  
Will counsel be,  
And Physic.    

On himself.  

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.    

Upon a Maid.  

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.    

Upon Spalt.  

OF Pushes Spalt has such a knotty race,  
He needs a. Tucker for to burle his face.    

Of Horn a Comb-maker.  

Horn sells to others teeth; but has not one  
To grace his own Gums, or of Box, or bone.    

Upon the trouble some times.  

O! Times most bad,  
Without the scope  
Of hope  
Of better to be had!   

2.  
Where shall I go,  
Or whither run  
To shun  
This public overthrow?   

3.  
No places are  
(This I am sure)  
Secure  
In this our wasting War.   

4.  
Some storms w'ave passed;  
Yet we must all  
Down fall,  
And perish at the last.    

Cruelty base in Commanders.  

NOthing can be more loathsome, then to see  
Power conjoined with Nature's Cruelty.    

Upon a fowre-breath Lady. Epig.  

FIe, (quoth my Lady) what a stink is here?  
When 'twas her breath that was the Carrionere.    

Upon Lucia.  

IAskt my Lucia but a kiss;  
And she with scorn denied me this.  
Say then, how ill should I have sped,  
Had I then asked her Maidenhead?    

Little and loud.  

LIttle you are; for Woman's sake be proud;  
For my sake next, (though little) be not loud.    

Shipwreck.  

HE, who has suffered Shipwreck, fears to sail  
Upon the Seas, though with a gentle gale.    

Pains without profit.  

A Long-lifes-day I've taken pains  
For very little, or no gains:  
The Ev'ning's come; here now I'll stop,  
And work no more; but shut up Shop.    

To his Book.  

BE bold my Book, nor be abashed, or fear  
The cutting Thumb-naile, or the Brow severe.  
But by the Muses swear, all here is good,  
If but well read; or ill read, understood.    

His Prayer to Ben. Johnson.  

WHen I a Verse shall make,  
Know I have prayed thee,  
For old Religion's sake,  
Saint Ben to aid me.   

2.  
Make the way smooth for me,  
When I, thy Herrick,  
Honouring thee, on my knee  
Offer my Lyric,   

3.  
Candles I'll give to thee,  
And a new Altar;  
And thou Saint Ben, shalt be  
Writ in my Psalter.    

Poverty and Riches.  

GIve Want her welcome if she comes; we find,  
Riches to be but burdens to the mind.    

Again.  

WHo with a little cannot be content,  
Endures an everlasting punishment.    

The Covetous still Captives.  

LEt's live with that small pittance that we have;  
Who covets more, is evermore a slave.    

Laws.  

WHen Laws full power have to sway, we see  
Little or no part there of Tyranny,    

Of Love.  

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.    

Upon Cock.  

COck calls his Wife his Hen: when Cock goes too't,  
Cock treads his Hen, but treads her underfoot.    

To his Muse.  

GO woo young Charles no more to look,  
Then 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 Starre-led-birth of Charles the Prince.    

The bad season makes the Poet sad.  

DUll to myself, and almost dead to these  
My many fresh and fragrant Mistresses:  
Lost to all Music now; since every thing  
Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing.  
Sick is the Land to''th' heart; and doth endure  
More dangerous faintings by her desperate cure.  
But if that golden Age would come again,  
And Charles here Rule, as he before did Reign;  
If smooth and unperplext the Seasons were,  
As when the Sweet Maria lived here:  
I should delight to have my Curls half drowned  
In Tyrian Dews, and Head with Roses crowned.  
And once more yet (ere I am laid out dead)  
Knock at a Star with my exalted Head.    

To Vulcan.  

THy sooty Godhead, I desire  
Still to be ready with thy fire:  
That should my Book despised be,  
Acceptance it might find of thee.    

Like Pattern, like People.  

THis is the height of Justice, that to do  
Thyself, which thou puttest other men unto.  
As great men lead; the meaner follow on,  
Or to the good, or cvill action.    

Purposes.  

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.    

To the Maids to walk abroad.  

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,  
Playing at Questions and Commands:  
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 Phillis, whom hard Fate forc'ton,  
To kill herself for Demophon.  
But Fables we'll relate; how fove.  
Put on all shapes to get a Love:  
As now a satire, than 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; & 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 Bayss and Rosemary:  
What Posies for our Wedding Rings;  
What Gloves we'll give, and Ribanings:  
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.    

His own Epitaph.  

A Swearied Pilgrims, once possessed  
Of longed-for lodging, go to rest:  
So I, now having rid my way;  
Fix here my Buttoned Staff and stay.  
Youth (I confess) hath me misled;  
But Age hath brought me right to Bed.    

A Nuptial Verse to Mistress Elizabeth Lee, now Lady Tracie.  

Spring with the Lark, most comely Bride, and meet  
Your eager Bridegroom with auspicious feet.  
The Morn's far spent; and the immortal Sun  
Corrols his cheek, to see those Rites not done.  
Fie, Lovely maid! Indeed you are too flow,  
When to the Temple Love should run, not go.  
Dispatch your dressing then; and quickly wed:  
Then feast, and coyed 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 armed, but such an easy Foe,  
As will if you yield, lie down conquered too.  
The Field is pitched; but such must be your wars,  
As that your kisses must outvie the Stars.  
Fall down together vanquished both, and lie  
Drowned in the blood of Rubies there, not die.    

The Night-piece, to Julia.  

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.   

2.  
No Will-o'th'-Wispe mis-light thee;  
Nor Snake, or Slowworm by't thee:  
But on, on thy way  
Not making a stay,  
Since Ghost there's none to affright thee.   

3.  
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.   

4.  
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.    

To Sir Cilpseby Crew.  

GIve me wine, and give me meat,  
To create in me a heat,  
That my Pulses high may beat.   

2.  
Cold and hunger never yet  
Could a noble Verse beget;  
But your Bowls with Sack replete.   

3.  
Give me these (my Knight) and try  
In a Minute's space how I  
Can run mad, and Prophesy.   

4.  
Then if any Piece proves new,  
And rare, I'll say (my dearest Crew)  
It was full inspired by you.    

Good Luck not lasting.  

IF well the Dice run, le's applaud the cast:  
The happy fortune will not always last.    

A Kiss.  

WHat is a Kiss? Why this, ' as some approve;  
The sure sweet-Sement, Glue, and Lime of Love.    

Glory.  

I Make no haste to have my Numbers read.  
Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.    

Poets.  

Wantoness we are; and though our words be such,  
Our Lives do differ from our Lines by much.    

No despite to the dead.  

REproach we may the living; not the dead:  
'Tis cowardice to bite the buried.    

To his Verses.  

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 fit?  
Although ye have a stock of wit,  
Already coined 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 Westmor land;  
Or gallant Newark; which brave two  
May fost'ring fathers be to you.  
If not; expect to be no less  
Ill used, than Babes left fatherless.    

His charge to Julia at his death.  

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,    

Upon Love.  

IN a Dream, Love bade me go  
To the Galleys there to Row;  
In the Vision I asked, why?  
Love as briefly did reply;  
'twas better there to toil, then 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.    

The Cobbler's Catch.  

COme sit we by the fires side;  
And roundly drink we here;  
Till that we see our checks Ale-dyed  
And noses tanned with Beer.    

Upon Bran. Epig.  

WHat made that mirth last night? the neighbours  
That Bran the Baker did his Breech bewray: (say,  
I rather think (though they may speak the worst)  
'twas to his Batch, but Leaven laid there first.    

Upon Snare, an Usurer.  

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:  
Say, who's the worst, th' exactor, or the whore?    

Upon Grudge.  

Grudge turns bread to stones, when to the Poor  
He gives an alms, and chides them from his door.  
Connubii Flores, or the well-wishes at Weddings    

Chorus Sacerdotum.  

1.  
FRom the Temple to your home  
May a thousand blessings come!  
And a sweet concurring stream  
Of all joys, to join with them.    

Chorus Juvenum.  

2.  
HAppy day  
Make no long stay  
Here  
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.  

3.  
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.  

4.  
Lucky signs we have descried  
To encourage on the Bride;  
And to these we have espied,  
Not a kissing Cupid flies  
Here about, but has his eyes,  
To imply your Love is wise.    

Chorus Pastorum.  

5.  
HEre we present a fleece  
To make a piece  
Of cloth;  
Nor Fair, must you be loath  
Your Finger to apply  
To huswiferie.  
Then, then begin  
To spin:  
And (Sweetling) mark you, what a Web will come  
Into your Chests, drawn by your painful Thumb.    

Chorus Matronarum.  

6.  
SEt you to your Wheel, and wax  
SRich, by the Ductile Wool and Flax.  
Yarn is an Income; and the Huswives thread  
The Larder fills with meat; the Been with bread.    

Chorus Senum.  

7.  
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 gripes too hard the dry and slip'rie sand,  
Holds none at all, or little in his hand.    

Chorus Virginum.  

8.  
Goddess of Pleasure, Youth and Peace,  
Give them the blessing of increase:  
And thou Lucina, that do't hear  
The vows of those, that children bear:  
When as her April ●●  
draws near,  
Be thou then propitious there.    

Chorus Fuvenum.  

9  
Fare hence be all speech, that may anger move:  
Sweet words must nourish soft and gentle Love.    

Chorus omnium.  

10.  
LIve in the Love of Doves, and having told  
The Raven's years, go hence more Ripe than old    

To his lovely Mistresses.  

ONe night i'th'yeare, my dearest Beauties, come  
And bring those dewed in●-offerings to my Tomb.  
When thence ye see my reverend Ghost to kiss,  
And there to liek th'effuied sacrifice:  
Though paleness be the Livery that I wear,  
Look ye not wan, or colourlesse 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.  
Then these, no fears more on your Fancies fall,  
Though then I smile, and speak no words at all.    

Upon Love.  

A Crystal Viol Cupid brought,  
Which had a juice in it:  
Of which who drank, he said no thought  
Of Love he should admit.   

2.  
I greedy of the prize, did drink,  
And emptied soon the glass;  
Which burned me so, that I do think  
The fire of hell it was.   

3.  
Give me my earthen Cups again,  
The Crystal I contemn;  
Which, though enchased with Pearls, contain  
A deadly draught in them.   

4.  
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.    

Upon Gander. Epig.  

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.    

Upon Lungs. Epig.  

LUngs (as some, say) ne'er sets him down to eat,  
But that his breath does Fly-blow all the meat.    

The Beggar to Mab, the Fairy Queen.  

PLease your Grace, from out your Store,  
Give an Alms to one that's poor,  
That your much, may have more.  
Black I'm grown for want of meat;  
Give me then an Ant to eat;  
Or the clest ear of a Mouse  
Over-sowred in drink of Souse:  
Or sweet Lady reach to me  
The Abdomen of a Bee;  
Or commend a Crickets-hip,  
Or his Huckson, to my Scrip.  
Give for bread, a little bit  
Of a Pease, that begins to chit,  
And my full thanks take for it.  
Flower of Fuz-balls, that's too good  
For a man in needy-hood:  
But the Meal of Mill-dust 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 Prisoners Panier.  
So a blessing light upon  
You, and mighty Oberon:  
That your plenty last till when,  
I return your Alms again.    

An end decreed.  

LEt's be jocund while we may;  
All things have an ending day:  
And when once the Work is done;  
Fates revolve no Flax th'ave spun.    

Upon a child.  

HEre a pretty Baby lies  
Sung asleep with Lullabies:  
Pray be silent, and not stir  
Th' easy earth that covers her.    

Painting sometimes permitted.  

IF Nature do deny  
Colours, let Art supply.    

Farewell Frost, or welcome the Spring.  

FLed are the Frosts, and now the Fields appear  
Re-clothed in fresh and verdant Diaper.  
Thawed are the snows, and now the lusty Spring  
Gives to each Mead a neat enameling.  
The Palms put forth their Gems, and every Tree  
Now swaggers in her Levy gallantry.  
The while the Daulian Minstrel sweetly sings,  
With warbling Notes, her Tyrrean suff rings.  
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 rear  
A stubborn Oak, or Holme (long growing there)  
But lulled 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.    

The Hag.  

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.   

2.  
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,   

3.  
No Beast, for his food,  
Dares now range the wood;  
But hushed in his lair he lies lurking:  
While mischiefs, by these,  
On Land and on Seas,  
At noon of Night are a working,   

4.  
The storm will arise,  
And trouble the skies;  
This night, and more for the wonder,  
The ghost from the Tomb  
Affrighted shall come,  
Called out by the clap of the Thunder.    

Upon an old man a Residenciarie.  

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.    

Upon Tears.  

Tears, though theyare here below the sinner's brine,  
Above they are the Angels spiced wine.    

Physicians.  

Physicians fight not against men; but these  
Combat for men, by conquering the disease.    

The Primitiae to Parents.  

OUr Household-gods our Parents be;  
And manners good requires, that we  
The first Fruits give to them, who gave  
Us hands to get what here we have.    

Upon Cob. Epig.  

COb clouts his shoes, and as the story tells,  
His thumb-nailes-pared, afford him sperrables.    

Upon Lucy. Epig.  

SOund Teeth has Lucy, pure as Pearl, and small,  
With mellow Lips, and luscious there withal.    

Upon Skoles. Epig.  

Skoles stinks so deadly, that his Breeches loath  
His dampish Buttocks furthermore to clothe:  
Cloyed they are up with Arse; but hope, one blast  
Will whirl about, and blow them thence at last.    

To Silvia.  

I Am holy, while I stand  
Circum-crost by thy pure hand:  
But when that is gone; Again,  
I, as others, am Profane.    

To his Closet-Gods.  

WHen I go Hence ye Closet-Gods, I fear  
Never again to have ingression here:  
Where I have had, what ever 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, & sealed,  
Be it, O be it, never more revealed!  
Keep here still, Closet-gods, 'fore whom I've set  
Oblations oft, of sweetest Marmelet.    

A Bacchanalian Verse.  

FIll me a mighty Bowl  
Up to the brim:  
That I may drink  
Unto my Jonson's soul.   

2.  
Crown it again again;  
And thrice repeat  
That happy heat;  
To drink to Thee my Ben.   

3.  
Well I can quaff, I see,  
To th'number five,  
Or nine; but thrive  
In frenzy ne'er like thee.    

Long looked for comes at last.  

THough long it be, years may repay the debt;  
None loseth that, which he in time may get.    

To Youth.  

DRink Wine, and live here blithefull, while ye may:  
The morrow's life too late is, Live to day.    

Never too late to die.  

NO man comes late unto that place from whence  
Never man yet had a regredience.    

A Hymn to the Muses.  

O! You the Virgin's 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 etetnall fire:  
And make me one entire  
Composer in your Quire.  
Then I'll your Altars strew  
With Roses sweet and new;  
And ever live a true  
Acknowledger of you.    

On himself.  

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  
I'll write no more, nor will I tell or sing (Flowers:  
Of Cupid, and his witty cozening:  
I'll sing no more of death, or shall the grave  
No more my Dirges, and my Trentals have.    

Upon Joan and Jane.  

I One is a wench that's painted;  
June is a Girl that's tainted;  
Yet Joan 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.    

To Momus.  

WHo readest this Book that I have writ,  
And canst not mend, but carp at it:  
By all the muses! thou shalt be  
Anathema to it, and me.    

Ambition.  

IN ways to greatness, think on this,  
That slippery all Ambition is.   

The Country life, to the honoured M. End. Porter,  
Groom of the Bedchamber to His Maj.   

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 Plow'st the Ocean's foam  
To seek, and bring rough Pepper home:  
Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove  
To bringfrom thence the scorched Clove.  
Nor, with the loss of thy loved 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 walkest about thine own dear bounds,  
Not envying others larger grounds:  
For well thou knowst, 'tis not th'extent  
Of Land makes life, but sweet content.  
When now the Cock (the Ploughman's Horn)  
Calls forth the lilly-wristed Morn;  
Then to thy cornfields thou dost go,  
Which though well soiled, yet thou dost know,  
That the best compost for the Lands  
Is the wise Master's Feet, and Hands.  
There at the Plough thou findest thy Team,  
With a Hind whistling there to them:  
And cheerest them up, by singing how  
The Kingdom's portion is the Blow.  
This done, then to th'adopted Meads  
Thou go'st; and as thy foot there treads,  
Thou seest a present Godlike Power  
Imprinted in each Herb and Flower:  
And smellest the breath of great-eyed Kine,  
Sweet as the blossoms of the Vine.  
Here thou beholdest thy large sleek Neat  
Unto the Dew-laps up in meat:  
And, as thou look'st, the wanton Steere,  
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 findest 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 Pagentrie, 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 crowned.  
Thy Wakes, thy Quintels, here thou hast,  
Thy Maypoles too with Garlands graced:  
Thy Morris-dance; thy Whitsun-ale;  
Thy Sheering-feast, which never fail.  
Thy Harvest home; thy Wassail bowl,  
That's tossed up after Fox i'th'Hole.  
Thy Mummeries; thy Twelse tide Kings  
And Queens; thy Christmas revel:  
Thy Nutbrown 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'trecherous Snow:  
Thy witty wiles to draw, and get  
The Lark into the Trammell net:  
Thou hast thy Cockrood, and thy Glade  
To take the precious Pheasant made:  
Thy Lime-twigs, Snares, and Pitfalls 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.   
Caetera desunt—   

To Electra.  

I Dare not ask a kiss;  
I dare not beg a smile;  
Lest having that, or this,  
I might grow proud the while.   

2.  
No, no, the utmost share  
Of my desire, shall be  
Only to kiss that Air,  
That lately kissed thee.    

To his worthy friend, M. Arthur Bartly.  

WHen after many Lustres thou shalt be  
Wrapped up in Cerecloth with thine Ancestry:  
When of thy ragged 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.    

What kind of Mistress he would have.  

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 pasers by:  
And each Ringlet of her hair,  
An Enchantment, or a Snare,  
For to catch the Looker's on;  
But herself held fast by none.  
Let her Lucrece all day be,  
Thais in the night, to me.  
Be she such, as neither will  
Famish me, nor overfill.    

Upon Zealot.  

IS Zealot pure? he is: ye see he wears  
The sign of Circumcision in his ears.    

The Rosemaire branch.  

GRow for two ends, it matters not at all,  
Be't for my Bridal, or my Burial.    

Upon Madam Ursly, Epig.  

FOr ropes of pearl, first Madam Vrsly shows  
A chain of Corns, picked from her ears and toes:  
Then, next, to match Tradescant's curious shells,  
Nails from her fingers mewed, she shows: what else?  
Why then (forsooth) a Carcanet is shown  
Of teeth, as deaf as nuts, and all her own.    

Upon Crab, Epigr.  

CRab faces gowns with sundry Furs; 'tis known,  
He keeps the Fox-furre for to face his own.    

A Paranaeticall, or Advisive Verse, to his friend, M. John Wicks.  

IS this a life, to break thy sleep?  
To rise as soon as day doth peep?  
To ' tyre 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 circle's thee)  
And crown thy temples too, and let  
Thy servant, not thy own self, sweat,  
To strut thy barns with sheaves 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, then 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.    

Once seen, and no more.  

THousands each day pass by, which we,  
Once past and gone, no more shall see.    

Love.  

THis Axiom I have often heard,  
Kings ought to be more loved, then feared.    

To M. Denham, on his Prospective Poem.  

OR looked I back unto the Times hence flown,  
To praise those Muses, and dislike our own?  
Or did I walk those Pean-Gardens through,  
To kick the Flowers, and scorn their odours too?  
I might (and justly) be reputed (here)  
One nicely mad; or peevithly 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 called (rare Denham) to be gone,  
Take from thy Herrick this conclusion:  
'Tis dignity in others, if they be  
Crowned Poets; yet live Princes under thee:  
The while their wreaths and Purple Robes do shine;  
Less by their own jemms, than those beams of thine.    

A Hymn, to the Lares.  

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 inoffenfive mirth here;  
That while the Wassail Bowl here  
With North-down Ale doth troll here,  
No syllable doth fall here,  
To mar the mirth at all here.  
For which, o Chimney-keepers!  
(I dare not call ye Sweeper's)  
So long as I am able  
To keep a countrey-table,  
Great be my fare, or small cheer,  
I'll eat and drink up all here.    

Denial in women no disheartening to men.  

WOmen, although they ne'er so goodly make it,  
Their fashion is, but to say no, to take it.    

Adversity.  

LOve is maintained by wealth; when all is spent,  
Adversity then breeds the discontent.    

To Fortune.  

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 feared infection:  
Yet scarre-crow-like I'll walk, as one,  
Neglecting thy derision.    

To Anthea.  

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.    

Cruelties.  

NEro commanded; but withdrew his eyes  
From the beholding Death, and cruelties.    

Perseverance.  

HAst thou begun an act? ne'er then give o'er:  
No man despairs to do what's done before.    

Upon his Verses.  

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 touched (like lawful plate)  
And no Verse illegitimate.    

Distance betters Dignities.  

KIngs must not oft be seen by public eyes;  
State at a distance adds to dignities.    

Health.  

HEalth is no other (as the learned hold)  
But a just measure both of Heat and Cold.    

To Dianeme. A Ceremony in Gloucester.  

I'll to thee a Simnell bring,  
Against thou go'st a mothering,  
So that, when she blesseth thee,  
Half that blessing thou'lt give me.    

To the King.  

GIve way, give way, now, now my Charles shines here,  
A Public Light (in this immensive Sphere.)  
Some stars were fixed before; but these are dim,  
Compared (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 looked 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 bleer.    

The Funeral Rites of the Rose.  

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 other wept,  
But all a solemn Fast there kept.  
The holy Sisters some among  
The sacred Dirge and Trent all sung.  
But ah! what sweets smelled every where,  
As Heaven had spent all perfumes there.  
At last, when prayers for the dead,  
And Rites were all accomplished;  
They, weeping, spread a Lawnie Loom,  
And closed her up, as in a Tomb.    

The Rainbow: or curious Covenant.  

MIne eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain,  
And as they thus did entertain  
The gentle Beams from Julia's sight  
To mine eyes levelled opposite:  
O Thing admired! there did appear  
A curious Rainbow smiling there;  
Which was the Covenant, that she  
No more would drown mine eyes, or me.    

The last stroke strike sure.  

THough by well-warding many blows w'ave passed,  
That struck most feared is, which is struck the last.    

Fortune.  

Fortunes a blind profuser of her own,  
Too much she gives to some, enough to none.    

Stoolball.  

1  
AT Stoolball, Lucia, let us play,  
For Sugar-cakes and Wine;  
Or for a tansy let us pay,  
The loss or thine, or mine.   

2  
If thou, my Deer, a winner be  
At trundling of the Ball,  
The wager thou shalt have, and me,  
And my misfortunes all.   

3  
But if (my Sweetest) I shall get,  
Then I desire but this;  
That likewise I may pay the Bet,  
And have for all a kisfe.    

To Sapph.  

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.    

On Poet Prat, Epigr.  

PRat He writes Satyrs; but herein's the fault,  
In no one Satire there's a mite of salt.    

Upon Tuck, Epigr.  

AT Post and Pair, or Slam, Tom Tuck would play  
This Christmas, but his want wherewith, says Nay.    

Biting of Beggars.  

WHo, railing, drives the Lazar from his door,  
Instead of alms, sets dogs upon the poor.    

The Maypole.  

THe Maypole 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 crowned 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.    

Men mind no state in sickness.  

THat flow of Gallants which approach  
To kiss thy hand from out the coach;  
That fleet of Lackeys, which do run  
Before thy swift Postilion;  
Those strong-hoofed Mules, which we behold,  
Reined 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.  

ADversity hurts none, but only such  
Whom whitest Fortune dandled has too much.    

Want.  

Needs is no vice at all; though here it be,  
With men, a loathed inconveniency.    

Grief.  

Sorrows divided amongst many, less  
Discruciate a man in deep distress.    

Love palpable.  

IPrest my Julia's lips, and in the kiss  
Her Soul and Love were palpable in this.    

No action hard to affection.  

NOthing hard, or harsh can prove  
Unto those that truly love.    

Mean things overcome mighty.  

BY the weakest means things mighty are o'erthrown,  
He's Lord of thy life, who contemns his own.    

Upon Trigg, Epig.  

TRigg having turned his suit, he struts in state,  
And tells the world, he's now regenerate.    

Upon Smeaton.  

HOw could Luke Smeaton wear a shoe, or boot,  
Who two and thirty corns had on a foot.    

The Bracelet of Pearl: to Silvia.  

I Broke 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,  
Then ever, dearest Silvia, yet  
Was drunk to Antony.   

Or, for revenge, I'll tell thee what  
Thou for the breach shalt do;  
First, crack the strings, and after that,  
Cleave thou my heart in two.    

How Roses came red.  

'tIs said, as Cupid danced among  
The Gods, he down the Nectar flung;  
Which, on the white Rose being shed,  
Made it for ever after red.    

Kings.  

MEn are not born Kings, but are men renowned;  
Chose first, confirmed next, & at last are crowned.    

First work, and then wages.  

Preposterous is that order, when we run  
To ask our wages, ere our work be done.    

Tears, and Laughter.  

Knewest thou, one month would take thy life away,  
Thou'dst weep; but laugh, should it not last a day.    

Glory.  

GLory no other thing is (Tully says)  
Then a man's frequent Fame, spoke out with praise.    

Possessions.  

THose possessions short-lived are,  
Into the which we come by war.    

Laxare fibulam.  

TO lose the button, is no less,  
Then to cast off all bashfulness.    

His return to London.  

FRom the dull confines of the drooping West,  
To see the day spring from the pregnant East,  
Ravished in spirit, I come, nay more, I fly  
To thee, blessed place of my Nativity!  
Thus, thus with hallowed foot I touch the ground,  
With thousand blessings by thy Fortune crowned.  
O fruitful Genius! that bestowest here  
An everlasting plenty, year by year.  
O Place! O People! Manners! framed to please  
All Nations, Customs, Kindred's, Languages!  
I am a freeborn 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 called back; henceforward let me be,  
O native country, repossessed 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.    

Not every day fit for Verse.  

'TIs not every 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 enraged, my lines are hurled,  
Like the Sybells, 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.    

Poverty the greatest pack.  

TO mortal men great loads allotted be,  
But of all packs, no pack like poverty.    

A Beucolick, or discourse of Neat-herds.  

1  
COme blithefull Neat-herds, let us lay  
A wager, who the best shall play,  
Of thee, or I, the Roundelay,  
That fits the business of the Day.   Chor. 

And Lallage the Judge shall be,  
To give the prize to thee, or me.   

2  
Content, begin, and I will bet  
A Heifer smooth, and black as jet,  
In every part alike complete,  
And wanton as a Kid as yet.   Chor. 

And Lallage (with cow-like eyes)  
Shall be Disposeresse of the prize.   

1  
Against thy Heifer, I will here  
Lay to thy stake a lusty Steere,  
With gilded horns, and burnished clear.   Chor. 

Why then begin, and let us hear  
The soft, the sweet, the mellow note  
That gently purls from either's Oat.   

2  
The stakes are laid: let's now apply  
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.  
[He plays.   

1  
That's sweetly touched, I must confess:  
Thou art a man of worthiness:  
But hark how I can now express  
My love unto my Neatherdesse.  
[He sings.   Chor. 

A sugared note! and sound as sweet  
As Kine, when they at milking meet.   

4  
Now for to win thy Heifer fair,  
I'll strike thee such a nimble Air,  
That thou shalt say (thy self) 'tis rare;  
And title me without compare.   Chor. 

Lay by a while your Pipes, and rest,  
Since both have here deserved best.   

2  
To get thy Steerling, once again,  
I'll play thee such another strain;  
That thou thalt swear, my Pipe does reign  
Over thine Oat, as Sovereign.  
[He sings.   Chor. 

And Lallage shall tell by this,  
Whose now the prize and wager is.   

1 Give me the prize: 2. The day is mine:  
1 Not so; my Pipe has silenced thine:  
And hadst thou wagered twenty Kine,  
They were mine own. Lal. In love combine.   Chor. 

And lay we down our Pipes together,  
As weary, not o'ercome by either.    

True safety.  

'TIs not the Walls, or purple, that defends  
A Prince from Foes; but 'tis his Fort of Friends.    

A Prognostic.  

AS many Laws and Lawyers do express  
Nought but a Kingdoms ill-affectednesse:  
Even so, those streets and houses do but show  
Store of diseases, where Physicians flow.    

Upon Julia's sweat.  

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 breath, or let her blow,  
All rich spices thence will flow.    

Proof to no purpose.  

YOu see this gentle stream, that glides,  
Shoved 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 poares and caverns back again  
Induced that inadultrate 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 Remaines;  
After a thousand Lustres hurled,  
By ruffling winds, about the world.    

Fame.  

'TIs still observed, that Fame ne'er sings  
The order, but the Sum of things.    

By use comes easiness.  

OFt bend the Bow, and thou with ease shalt do,  
What others can't with all their strength put to.    

To the Genius of his house.  

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.  
Fulfil the Larders, and with strengthening bread  
Be evermore these Bynns 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 weatherproof.    

His Grange, or private wealth.  

THough Clock,  
To tell how night draws hence, I're 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,  
Le's lose  
Her tongue, to tell what danger's near.  
A Lamb  
I keep (tame) with my morsels fed,  
Whose Dam  
An Orphan left him (lately dead.)  
A Cat  
I keep, that plays about my House,  
Grown fat,  
With eating many a miching Mouse.  
To these  
A 
* His Spaniel.  Trasy I do keep, whereby  
I please  
The more my rural privacy:  
Which are  
But toys, to give my heart some ease:  
Where care  
None is, slight things do lightly please.    

Good precepts, or counsel.  

IN all thy need, be thou possessed  
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 struck the ear.    

Money makes the mirth.  

WHen all Birds else do of their music fail,  
Money's the still-sweet-singing Nightingale.    

Up tails all.  

BEgin with a kiss,  
Go on too with this:  
And thus, thus, thus let us smother  
Our lips for a while,  
But let's not beguile  
Our hope of one for the other.   

This play, be assured,  
Long enough has endured,  
Since more and more is exacted;  
For love he doth call  
For his Uptails all;  
And that's the part to be acted.    

Upon Franck.  

FRanck would go scour her teeth; and setting to't,  
Twice two fell out, all rotten at the root.    

Upon Lucia dabbled in the dew.  

MY Lucia in the dew did go,  
And prettily bedabled so,  
Her clothes held up, she showed withal  
Her decent legs, clean, long and small.  
I followed after to descry  
Part of the naked sincerity;  
But still the envious Scene between  
Denied the Mask I would have seen.    

Charon and Phylomel, a Dialogue sung.  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 Phylomel.   Ch. 

What's that to me, I waft nor fish or fowls,  
Nor Beasts (fond thing) but only humane 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 & tears Ch. can tears pay scores  
For mending sails, for patching Boat and Oars?   Ch. 

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 Stugian Lake,  
Thou & I'll sing to make these dull Shades merry,  
Who else with tears would doubtless drown my ferry    

Upon Paul. Epigr.  

Pauls' 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 aught we know.    

Upon Sibb. Epigr.  

SIbb when she saw her face how hard it was,  
For anger spat on thee her Looking-glass:  
But weep not Crystal; for the shame was meant  
Not unto thee, but That thou didst present.    

A ternary of littles, upon a pipkin of Jelly sent to a Lady.  

1  
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.   

2  
A little Seed best fits a little Soil,  
A little Trade best fits a little Toil:  
As my small Jarre best fits my little Oil.   

3  
A little Been best fits a little Bread,  
A little Garland fits a little Head:  
As my small stuff best fits my little Shed.   

4  
A little Hearth best fits a little Fire,  
A little Chapel fits a little Choir,  
As my small Bell best fits my little Spire.   

5  
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.   

6  
A little meat best fits a little belly,  
As sweetly Lady, give me leave to tell ye,  
This little Pipkin fits this little Jelly.    

Upon the Roses in Julias bosom.  

THrice happy Roses, so much graced, 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.    

Maid's nay's are nothing.  

Maid's nay's are nothing, they are shy  
But to desire what they deny.    

The smell of the Sacrifice.  

THe Gods require the thighs  
Of Beefs for sacrifice;  
Which roasted, we the steam  
Must sacrifice to them:  
Who though they do not eat,  
Yet love the smell of meat.    

Lover's how they come and part.  

Agyges' 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 Aire-like, leave no pression to be seen  
Where ere they met, or parting place has been.    

To women, to hide their teeth, if they be rotten or rusty.  

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.    

In praise of women.  

OJupiter, should I speak ill  
Of womankind, first die I will;  
Since that I know, 'mong all the rest  
Of creatures, woman is the best.    

The Apron of Flowers.  

To gather Flowers Sappha went,  
And homeward she did bring  
Within her Lawnie Continent,  
The treasure of the Spring.   

She smiling blushed, and blushing smiled,  
And sweetly blushing thus,  
She looked as she'd been got with child  
By young Favonius.   

Her Apron gave (as she did pass)  
An Odour more divine,  
More pleasing too, then ever was  
The lap of Proserpina.    

The Candour of Julias teeth.  

WHite as Zenobias teeth, the which the Girls  
Of Rome did wear for their most precious  
(Pearls.    

Upon her weeping.  

SHe wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,  
She seemed to quench loves fires that there did glow.    

Another upon her weeping.  

SHe by the River sat, and sitting there,  
She wept, and made it deeper by a tear.    

Delay.  

BReak off Delay, since we but read of one  
That ever prospered by Cunctation.    

To Sir John Berkley, Governor of Exeter.  

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:  
Bat 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 circumflankt with brass,  
Yet if thou wert not, Berkley, loyal proof,  
The Senators down tumbling with the Roof,  
Would into praised (but pitied) ruins fall,  
Leaving no show, where stood the Capitol.  
But thou art just and itchlesse, and dost please  
Thy Genius with two strengthening Buttresses,  
Faith, and Affection: which will never slip  
To weaken this thy great Dictatorship.    

To Electra. Love looks for Love.  

LOve love begets, than never be  
Unsoft to him who's smooth to thee.  
Tigers and Bears (I've heard some say)  
For proffered love will love repay:  
None are so harsh, but if they find  
Softness in others, will be kind;  
Affection will affection move,  
Than you must like, because I love.    

Regression spoils Resolution.  

HAst thou attempted greatness? then go on,  
Back-turning slackens Resolution.    

Contention.  

DIscreet and prudent we that Discord call,  
That either profits, or not hurts at all.    

Consultation.  

COnsult ere thou beginnest, that done, go on  
With all wise speed for execution.    

Love dislikes nothing.  

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 incurled of other hair;  
I shall find enchantment there.   

Be she whole, or be she rend,  
So my fancy be content,  
She's to me most excellent.   

Be she fat, or be she lean,  
Be she sluttish, be she clean,  
I'm a man for every Scene.    

Our own sins unseen.  

OTher men's sins we ever bear in mind;  
None sees the farthel of his faults behind.    

No Pains, no Gains.  

IF little lalour, little are our gains:  
Man's fortunes are according to his pains.    

Upon Slouch.  

SLouch he packs up, and goes to several Fairs,  
And weekly Markets for to sell his wares:  
Mean time that he from place to place does room,  
His wife her own ware sells as fast at home.    

Virtue best united.  

BY so much, virtue is the less,  
By how much, near to singleness.    

The eye.  

A Wanton and lascivious eye  
Betrays the Heart's Adultery.    

To Prince Charles upon his coming to Exeter.  

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 destined 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.  
Mean time thy Prophet's Watch by Watch shall pray;  
While young Charles fights, and fight 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.    

A Song.  

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 Favourites.  

PRinces and favourites 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, or like Prince, like People.  

Example's lead us, and we likely see,  
Such as the Prince is, will his People be.    

Potentates.  

LOve and the Graces evermore do wait  
Upon the man that is a Potentate.    

The Wake.  

COme Anthea let us two  
Go to Feast, as others do.  
Tarts and Gustards, Creams and Cakes,  
Are the Junketts still at Wakes:  
Unto which the Tribes resort,  
Where the business is the sport:  
Morris-dancers thou shalt see,  
Marian too in Pagentrie:  
And a Mimic to devise  
Many grinning properties.  
Player's 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 Cudgell-Play,  
Where a Coxcomb will be broke,  
Ere a good word can be spoke:  
But the anger ends all here,  
Drenched in Ale, or drowned in Beer.  
Happy Rustics, best content  
With the cheapest Merriment:  
And possess no other fear,  
Then to want the Wake next Year.    

The Peter-penny.  

FResh strowings 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 Roster,  
Shall hear his Clerk say,  
By yea and by nay,  
No penny, no Pater Noster.    

To Doctor Alabaster.  

NOr art thou less esteemed, that I have placed  
(Amongst mine honoured) thou (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 Dinastie must fall  
Down to a Fillit more Imperiall.  
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 unsealed)  
Shall by the mighty Angel be revealed:  
And when the Trumpet which thou late hast found  
Shall call to Judgement; tell us when the sound  
Of this or that great April day shall be,  
And next the Gospel we will credit thee.  
Mean time like Earthworms we will crawl below,  
And wonder at Those Things that thou dost know.    

Upon his Kinswoman Mrs. M. S.  

HEre lies a Virgin, and as sweet  
As ere was wrapped 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.    

Felicity knows no Fence.  

OF both our Fortune's 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.    

Death ends all woe.  

TIme is the Bound of things, where e'er we go,  
Fate gives a meeting. Death's the end of woe.    

A Conjuration, to Electra.  

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:  
O my Electra! be  
In love with none, but me.    

Courage cooled.  

I Cannot love, as I have loved before:  
For, I'm grown old; &, with mine age, grown poor:  
Love must be fed by wealth: this blood of mine  
Must needs wax cold, if wanting bread and wine.    

The Spell.  

HOly Water come and bring;  
Cast in Salt, for seasoning:  
Set the Brush for sprinkling:  
Sacred spital 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 Spirit.    

His wish to privacy.  

GIve me a Cell  
To dwell,  
Where no foot hath  
A path:  
There will I spend,  
And end  
My wearied years  
In tears.    

A good Husband.  

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 gleab, but with such care, that where  
He sets his foot, he leaves rich compost there.    

A Hymn to Bacchus.  

I Sing thy praise jacchus,  
Who with thy Thyrse dost thwack us:  
And yet thou so dost back us  
With boldness that we fear  
No Brutus entering 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 stiches,  
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:  
O Bacchus! let us be  
From cares and troubles free;  
And thou shalt hear how we  
Will chant new Hymns to thee.    

Upon Pusse and her Apprentice. Epig.  

PUsse and her Apprentice both at Draw-gloves 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.    

Blame the reward of Princes.  

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, than Kings, not Soldiers bear the blame.    

Clemency in Kings.  

KIngs must not only cherish up the good,  
But must be niggards of the meanest blood.    

Anger.  

WRongs if neglected, vanish in short time;  
But heard with anger, we confess the crime.    

A Psalm or Hymn to the Graces.  

GLory be to the Graces!  
That do in public places,  
Drive thence what ere encumbers,  
The listening to my numbers.   

Honour be to the Graces!  
Who do with sweet embraces,  
Show they are well contented  
With what I have invented.   

Worship be to the Graces!  
Who do from sour faces,  
And lungs that would infect me,  
For evermore protect me.    

An Hymn to the Muses.  

HOnour to you who sit!  
near to the well of wit;  
And drink you 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.    

Upon Julia's Clothes.  

WHen as in silks my Julia goes, (flows  
Ther, then (me thinks) how sweetly  
That liquefaction of her clothes.  
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see  
That brave Vibration each way free;  
O how that glittering taketh me!    

Moderation.  

IN things a moderation keep,  
Kings ought to shear, not skin their sheep.    

To Anthea.  

LE'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 kind le by and by.  
The nimble hours woo us on to wed,  
And Genius waits to have us both to bed.  
Behold, for us the Naked Graces ●…ay  
With mands 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 fond dread  
The loss of that we call a Maidenhead?  
Come, I'll instruct thee. Know, the vestal fire  
Is not by marriage quenched, but flames the higher.    

Upon Prew his Maid.  

IN this little Urn is laid  
Prewdence Baldwin (once my maid)  
From whose happy spark here let  
Spring the purple Violet.    

The Invitation.  

TO sup with thee thou didst me home invite;  
And mad'st a promise that mine appetite  
Should meet and tyre, on such lautitious meat,  
The like not Heliogabalus did eat:  
And richer Wine wouldst give to me (thy guest)  
Then Roman Sylla poured out at his feast.  
I came; ('tis true) and looked for Fowl of price,  
The bastard Phoenix; bird of Paradise;  
And for no less than Aromatic Wine  
Of Maydens-blush, commixed with Jessimine.  
Clean was the hearth, the mantle larded jet;  
Which wanting Lar, and smoke, hung weeping wet;  
At last, i'th' noon of winter, did appear  
A ragd-soust-neats-foot with sick vinegar:  
And in a burnished Flagonet stood by  
Beer small as Comfort, dead as Charity.  
At which amazed, and pondering on the food,  
How cold it was, and how it child my blood;  
I cursed the master; and I damned the souse;  
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.    

Ceremonies for Christmas.  

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 years 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.    

Christmasse-Eve, another Ceremony.  

COme guard this night the Christmas-Pie,  
That the Thief, though ne'er so sly,  
With his Fleshhooks, 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.    

Another to the Maids.  

WAsh your hands, or else the fire  
Will not teend to your desire;  
Unwashed hands, ye Maidens, know,  
Dead the Fire, though ye blow.    

Another.  

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.    

Power and Peace.  

'TIs never, or but seldom known,  
Power and Peace to keep one Throne.    

To his dear Valentine, Mistress Margaret Falconbrige.  

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.    

To Oenone.  

SWeet Oenone, do but say  
Love thou dost, though Love says Nay.  
Speak me fair; for Lovers be  
Gently killed by Flattery.    

Verses.  

Who will not honour Noble Numbers, when  
Verses outlive the bravest deeds of men?    

Happiness.  

THat Happiness does still the longest thrive,  
Where Joys and Griefs have 〈◊〉 Alternative.    

Things of choice, long a coming.  

WE pray against War, yet we enjoy no Peace;  
Desire deferred is, that it may increase.    

Poetry perpetuates the Poet.  

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.    

Upon Bice.  

BIce laughs, when no man speaks; and doth protest  
It is his own breech there that breaks the jest.    

Upon Trencherman.  

TOm shifts the Trenchers; yet he never can  
Endure that lukewarm name of Servingman;  
Serve or not serve, let Tom do what he can,  
He is a serving, who's a Trencherman.    

Kisses.  

GIve me the food that satisfies a Guest:  
Kisses are but dry banquets to a Feast.    

Orpheus.  

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.    

Upon Comely a good speaker but an ill singer, Epig.  

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 cursed for singing out of tune than he.    

Any way for wealth.  

E'en all Religious courses to be rich  
Hath been rehearsed, by Joell 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 Devil, so he land's the gold.    

Upon an old Woman.  

OLd widow Prouse to do her neighbours evil  
Would give (some say) her soul unto the Devil.  
Well, when sh'as killed, that Pig, Goose, Cock or Hen,  
What would she give to get that soul again?    

Upon Perch. Epig.  

THou writes in Prose, how sweet all Virgins be;  
But there's not one, doth praise the smell of thee.    

To Sappho.  

SApho, 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.    

To his faithful friend, Master John Crofts, Cupbearer to the King.  

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 travailed 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 fixed 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 satisfied in part.  
As for the rest, being too great a sum  
Here to be paid; I'll paid i'th'world to come.    

The Bridecake.  

THis day my Julia thou must make  
For Mistress Bride, the wedding Cake:  
Knead but the Dow and it will be  
To passed of Almonds turned by thee:  
Or kiss it thou, but once, or twice,  
And for the Bridecake therer'l be Spice.    

To be merry.  

LE's now take out time;  
While weare in our Prime;  
And old, old Age is a far off:  
For the evil evil days  
Will come on apace;  
Before we can be aware of.    

Burial.  

MAn may want Land to live in; but for all,  
Nature finds out some place for burial.    

Lenity.  

'tIs the Chirurgeons praise, and height of Art,  
Not to cut off, but cure the vicious part.    

Penitence.  

WHo after his transgression doth repent,  
Is half, or altogether innocent.    

Grief.  

COnsider sorrows, how they are aright:  
Grief, if't be great, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light.    

The Maiden-blush.  

SO look the mornings when the Sun  
Paints them with fresh Vermilion:  
So Cherries blush, and Kathern Pears,  
And Apricocks, in youthful years:  
So Corrolls look more lovely Red,  
And Rubies lately polished:  
So purest Diaper doth shine,  
Stained by the Beams of Claret wine:  
As Julia looks when she doth dress  
Her either cheek with bashfulness.    

The Mean.  

Imparity doth ever discord bring:  
The Mean the Music makes in every thing.    

Haste hurtful.  

HAste is unhappy: What we Rashly do  
Is both unlucky; I, and foolish too.  
Where War with rashness is attempted, there  
The Soldiers leave the Field with equal fear.    

Purgatory.  

REaders wee enteat ye pray  
For the soul of Lucia;  
That in little time she be  
From her Purgatory free:  
In th' interim she desires  
That your tears may cool her fires.    

The Cloud.  

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.)    

Upon Loach.  

Seealed up with Night-gum, Loach each morning lies,  
Till his Wife licking, so unglews his eyes.  
No question then, but such a lick is sweet,  
When a warm tongue does with such Ambers meet.    

The Amber Bead.  

I Saw a Fly within a Beade  
Of Amber cleanly buried:  
The Urn was little, but the room  
More rich than Cleopatra's Tomb.    

To my dearest Sister M. Mercy Herrick.  

WHen ere I go, or what so ere befalls  
Me in mine Áge, or foreign Funerals,  
This Blessing I will leave thee, ere I go,  
Prosper thy Basket, and therein thy Dow.  
Feed on the paste of Filberts, or else knead  
And Bake the flower of Amber for thy bread.  
Balm may thy Trees drop, and thy Springs run  
And everlasting Harvest crown thy Soil! (oil  
These I but wish for; but they self shall see,  
The Blessing fall in mellow times on Thee.    

The Transfiguration.  

Immortal clothing I put on,  
So soon as Julia I am gone  
To mine eternal Mansion.   

Thou, thou art here, to humane sight  
Clothed all with incorrupted light;  
But yet how more admir'dly bright   

Wilt thou appear, when thou art set  
In thy refulgent Thronelet,  
That shinest thus in thy counterfeit?    

Suffer that thou canst not shift.  

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.    

To the Passenger.  

IF I lie unburied Sir,  
These my Relics, (pray) inter:  
'Tis religious 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 Tomhe,    

Upon Nodes.  

WHere ever 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?    

TO THE KING, Upon his taking of Leicester.  

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.    

To Julia, in her Dawn, or Daybreak.  

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 naked, 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 shrined in Crystal, so  
Do thou to me appear;  
Or Damask Roses, when they grow  
To sweet acquaintance there.    

Counsel.  

'TWas Caesar's saying: Kings no less Conquerors are  
By their wise Counsel, than they be by War.    

Bad Princes pill their People.  

LIke those infernal Deities which eat  
The best of all the sacrificed meat;  
And leave their servants, but the smoke & 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.    

Most Words, less Works.  

IN desperate cases, all, or most are known  
Commanders, few for execution.    

To Dianeme.  

I Could but see thee yesterday  
Stung by a fretful Bee;  
And I the Javelin sucked away,  
And healed the wound in thee.   

A thousand thorns, and Briars & 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 stench the blood the while.   

If thou composed of gentle mould  
Art so unkind to me;  
What dismal Stories will be told  
Of those that cruel be?    

Upon Tap.  

TAp (better known then trusted) as we hear  
Sold his old Mother's Spectacles for Beer:  
And not unlikely; rather too then fail,  
He'll sell her Eyes, and Nose, for Beer and Ale.    

His Loss.  

ALL has been plundered from me, but my wit;  
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.    

Draw, and Drink.  

MIlk still your Fountains, and your Springs, for why?  
The more theyare drawn, the less they will grow dry.    

Upon Punchin. Epig.  

GIve me a reason why men call  
Punchin a dry plant-animall.  
Because as Plants by water grow,  
Punchin by Beer and Ale; spreads so    

To Oenone.  

THou sayest 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?    

Upon Blinks. Epig.  

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.    

Upon Adam Peapes. Epig.  

PEapes he does strut, and pick his Teeth, as if  
His jaws had tired on some large Chine of Beef.  
But nothing so; The Dinner Adam had,  
Was cheese full ripe with Tears, with Bread as sad.    

To Electra.  

SHall I go to Love and tell,  
Thou art all turned icicle?  
Shall I say her Altars be  
Disadorned, and scorned by thee?  
O beware! in time submit;  
Love has yet no wrathful fit:  
If her patience turns to ire,  
Love is then consuming fire.    

To Mistress Amie Potter.  

A I me! I love, give him your hand to kiss  
Who both your wooer, and your Poet is.  
Nature has precompose 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 (ay) Blush-guiltinesse 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 differing Parts;  
Wooers have Tongues of Ice, but burning hearts.    

Upon a Maid.  

HEre she lies (in Bed of Spice)  
Fair as Eve in Paradise:  
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.    

Upon Love.  

LOve is a Circle, and an Endless Sphere;  
From good to good, revolving here, & there.    

Beauty.  

beauty's no other but a lovely Grace  
Of lively colours, flowing from the face.    

Upon Love.  

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.    

Upon Haunch a Schoolmaster. Epig.  

Haunch, 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.    

Upon Peason. Epig.  

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, (been.  
That Stubble stands, where once large ears have    

To his Book.  

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 Pasterie:  
Or see thy injured Leaves serve well,  
To make loose Gowns for Mackerell:  
Or see the Grocers in a trice,  
Make hoods of thee to serve out Spice.    

Readiness.  

THe readiness of doing, doth express  
No other, but the doers willingness.    

Writing.  

WHen words we want, Love teacheth to indite;  
And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.    

Society.  

TWo things do make society to stand;  
The first Commerce is, & the next Command.    

Upon a Maid.  

Go 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.    

Satisfaction for sufferings.  

FOr all our works, a recompense is sure:  
'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t'endure.    

The delaying Bride.  

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'racted 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'ave your blushes seen by day.    

To M. Henry Laws, the excellent Composer of his Lyrics.  

TOuch but thy Lyre (my Harrie) and I hear  
From thee some raptures of the rare Gotire.  
Then if thy voice commingle with the String  
I hear in thee the rare Laniere to sing;  
Or curious Wilson: Tell me, canst thou be  
Less than Apollo, that usurpest such Three?  
Three, unto whom the whole world give applause;  
Yet their Three praises, praise but One; that's Laws.    

Age unfit for Love.  

Maiden's 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.    

The Bed-man, or Grave-maker.  

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'Church-yard, made, one Tenement for me.    

To Anthea.  

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.    

Need.  

WHo begs to die for fear of humane need,  
Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.    

To Julia.  

I Am zeallesse, prithee pray  
For my welfare (Julia)  
For I think the gods require  
Male perfumes, but Female fire.    

On Julias lips.  

SWeet are my Julia's lips and clean,  
As if o'er washed in Hippocrene.    

Twilight.  

TWilight, no other thing is, Poets say,  
Then the last part of night, and first of day.    

To his Friend, Master J. Jincks.  

LOve, love me now, because I place  
Thee here among myrighteous race:  
The bastard Slips may droop and die  
Wanting both Root, and Earth; but thy  
Immortal self, shall boldly trust  
To live for ever, with my Just.    

On himself.  

IF that my Fate has now fulfilled my year,  
And so soon stopped 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.    

Kings and Tyrants.  

'twixt Kings & Tyrant's there's this difference known;  
Kings seek their Subjects good: Tyrants their own.    

Crosses.  

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.    

Upon Love.  

LOve brought me to a silent Grove,  
And showed me there a Tree,  
Where some had hanged themselves for love,  
And gave a Twist to me.   

The Halter was of silk, and gold,  
That he reached forth unto me:  
No otherwise, then 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 desperate fears, in love, had seen  
Mine Execution.    

No difference i'th'dark.  

NIght makes no difference 'twixt the Priest and Clark;  
Joan as my Lady is as good i'th'dark.    

The Body.  

THe Body is the Souls poor house, or home,  
Whose Ribs the Laths are, & whose Flesh the Loame.    

To Sappho.  

THou sayest 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.    

Out of Time, out of Tune.  

WE blame, nay we despise her pains  
That wets her Garden when it raines:  
But when the drought has dried the knot;  
Then let her use the watering pot.  
We pray for showers (at our need)  
To drench, but not to drown our seed.    

To his Book.  

TAke mine advice, and go not near  
Those faces (sour as Vinegar.)  
For these, and Nobler numbers can  
Ne'er please the supercilious man.    

To his Honoured friend, Sir Thomas Heale.  

STand by the Magic of my powerful Rhymes  
Against 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 Immort all seed.    

The Sacrifice, by way of Discourse betwixt himself and Julia.  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   Jul. 

Ready here? All well prepared,  
With the Wine that must be shed  
('twixt the horns) upon the head  
Of the holy Beast we bring  
For our Trespasse-offering.   Herr. 

All is well; now next to these  
Put we on pure Surplices;  
And with Chaplets crowned, we'll roast  
With perfumes the Holocaust:  
And (while we the gods invoke)  
Read acceptance by the smoke.    

To Apollo.  

THou mighty Lord and master of the Lyre,  
Unshorn Apollo, come, and reinspire  
My fingers so, the Lyrick-strings to move,  
That I may play, and sing a Hymn to Love.    

On Love.  

Love is a kind of war; Hence those who fear,  
No cowards must his royal Ensigns bear.    

Another.  

WHere love begins, there dead thy first desire:  
A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.    

An Hymn to Cupid.  

THou, thou that bearest the sway  
With whom the Sea-nymphs play;  
And Venus, every way:  
When I embrace thy knee;  
And make short prayers to thee:  
In love, then prosper me.  
This day I go to woo;  
Instruct me how to do  
This work thou puttest me too.  
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.    

To Electra.  

LEt not thy Tombstone ere 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.    

How his soul came ensnared.  

MY soul would one day go and seek  
For Roses, and in Julia's cheek,  
A richesse of those sweets she found,  
(As in an other Rosamond.)  
But gathering Roses as she was;  
(Not knowing what would come to pass)  
It chanced 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.    

Factions.  

THe factions of the great ones call,  
To side with them, the Commons all.    

Kisses Loathsome.  

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 rufse is set elsewhere?    

Upon Reap.  

Reaps eyes so raw are, that (it seems) the flies  
Mistake the flesh, and flye-blow both his eyes;  
So that an Angler, for a day's expense,  
May bait his hook, with maggots taken thence.    

Upon Teage.  

TEage has told lies so long, that when Teage tells  
Truth, yet Teages truths are untruths, (nothing else.)    

Upon Julia's hair, bundled up in a golden net.  

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 Mashes and those snares.  
Set free thy Tresses, let them flow  
As airs do breathe, or winds do blow:  
And let such curious Networks be  
Less set for them, then spread for me.    

Upon Truggin.  

TRuggin a Footman was; but now, grown lame,  
Truggin now lives but to belie his name.    

The shower of Blossoms.  

LOve in a shower of Blossoms came  
Down, and half drowned me with the same:  
The Blooms that fell were white and red;  
But with such sweets commingled;  
As whether (this) I cannot tell  
My sight was pleased more, or my smell:  
But true it was, as I rolled there,  
Without a thought of hurt, or fear;  
Love turned 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.    

Upon Spenke.  

SPenke has a strong breath, yet short Prayers saith:  
Not out of want of breath, but want of faith.    

A defence for Women.  

NAught are all Women: I say no,  
Since for one Bad, one Good I know:  
For Clytaemnestra most unkind,  
Loving Alcestis there we find:  
For one Medea that was bad,  
A good Penelope was had:  
For wanton Lais, than we have  
Chaste Lucrece, or a wife as grave:  
And thus through Womankind we see  
A Good and Bad. Sirs credit me.    

Upon Lulls.  

LUlls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose  
By his Probossis that he is all nose.    

Slavery.  

'tIs liberty to serve one Lord; but he  
Who many serves, serves base servility.    

Charms.  

BRing the holy crust of Bread,  
Lay it underneath the head;  
'Tis a certain Charm to keep  
Hags away, while Children sleep.    

Another.  

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 amongst other mystic charms  
Keeps the sleeping child from harms.    

Another to bring in the Witch.  

TO house the Hag, you must do this;  
Commix with Meal a little Piss  
Of him bewitched: then forthwith make  
A little Wafer or a Cake;  
And this rawly baked will bring  
The old Hag in. No surer thing.    

Another Charm for Stables.  

Hung 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 observed, the Manes shall be  
Of your horses, all knot free.    

Ceremonies for Candlemas Eve.  

DOwn with the Rosemary and Bays,  
Down with the Misleto;  
In stead 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 Easters 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 Bends,  
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.    

The Ceremonies for Candlemas day.  

KIndle the Christmas Brand and then  
Till Sunset, let it burn;  
Which quenched, then lay it up again,  
Tiil 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.)    

Upon Candlemas day.  

ENd now the White-loafe, & the Pie,  
And let all sports with Christmas die.    

Surfeits.  

Bade are all surfeits: but Physicians call  
That surfeit took by bread, the worst of all.    

Upon Nis.  

NIs, he makes Verses; but the Lines he writes,  
Serve but for matter to make Paper-kites.    

To Biancha, to bless him.  

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 Wizzards, 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 kissed, or blest by thee.    

Julia's Churching, or Purification.  

PUt on thy Holy Fillitings, and so  
To th' Temple with the sober Midwife go.  
Attended thus (in a most solemn wise)  
By those who serve the Childbed mysteries.  
Burn first thine incense; next, when as 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 Bridecake) home:  
Where ceremonious Hymen shall for thee  
Provide a second Epithalamie.  
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.    

To his Book.  

BEfore the Press scarce one could see  
A little-peeping-part of thee:  
But since thouart Printed, thou dost call  
To show thy nakedness to all.  
My care for thee is now the less;  
(Having resigned thy shamefacedness:)  
Go with thy Faults and Fates; yet stay  
And take this sentence, than away;  
Whom one beloved will not suffice,  
She'll run to all adulteries.    

Tears.  

Tears most prevail; with tears too thou mayst move  
Rocks to relent, and coyest maids to love.    

To his friend to avoid contention of words.  

Word's 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,  
Then for to murder friendship, by dispute.    

Truth.  

TRuth is best found out by the time, and eyes;  
Falsehood wins credit by uncertainties.    

Upon Prickles. Epig.  

PRickles is waspish, and puts forth his sting,  
For Bread, Drink, Butter, Cheese; for every thing  
That Prickles buys, puts Prickles out of frame;  
How well his nature's fitted to hisname!    

The Eyes before the Ears.  

WE credit most our sight; one eye doth please  
Our trust far more ten then eare-witnesses.    

Want.  

WAnt is a softer Wax, that takes thereon,  
This, that, and every base impression.    

To a Friend.  

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.    

Upon M. William Laws, the rare Musician.  

Should I not put on Blacks, when each one here  
Comes with his Cypress, and devotes a tear?  
Should I not grieve (my Laws) when every Lute,  
Viol, and Voice, is (by thy loss) struck mute?  
Thy loss brave man! whose Numbers have been hurled,  
And no less praised, then spread throughout the world.  
Some have Thee called Amphion; some of us,  
named thee Terpander, or sweet Orpheus:  
Some this, some that, but all in this agree,  
Music had both her birth, and death with Thee.    

A song upon Silvia.  

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.    

The Honeycomb.  

IF thou hast found an honiecombe,  
Eat thou not all, but taste on some:  
For if thou eatest it to excess;  
That sweetness turns to Loathsomeness.  
Taste it to Temper; then 'twill be  
Marrow, and Manna unto thee    

Upon Ben. Johnson.  

HEre lies Johnson with the rest  
Of the Poets; but the Best.  
Reader, wouldst thou more have known?  
Ask his Story, not this Stone.  
That will speak what this can't tell  
Of his glory. So farewell.    

An Ode for him.  

AH Ben!  
Say how, or when  
Shall we thy Guests  
Meet at those Lyric Feasts,  
Made at the Sun,  
The Dog, the triple Tun?  
Where we such clusters had,  
As made us nobly wild, not mad;  
And yet each Verse of thine  
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.  
My Ben  
Or come again:  
Or send to us,  
Thy wits 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.    

Upon a Virgin.  

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 strew will bring hither,  
far faster than the first can wither.    

Blame.  

IN Battles what disasters fall,  
The King he bears the blame of all.    

A request to the Graces.  

POnder my words, if so that any be  
Known guilty here of incivility:  
Let what is graceless, discomposed, and rude,  
With sweetness, smoothness, softness, be endued.  
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.    

Upon himself.  

I Lately fried, but now behold  
I frieze as fast, and shake for cold.  
And in good faith I'd thought it strange  
T'ave 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 selfsame part.    

Multitude.  

WE Trust not to the multitude in War,  
But to the stout; and those that skilful are.    

Fear.  

MAn must do well out of a good intent;  
Not for the servile fear of punishment.    

To M. Kellam.  

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 Tearce.    

Happiness to hospitality, or a hearty wish to good house-keeping.  

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 Christening year by year;  
And this good blessing back them still,  
T'ave 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  
Untouched by cold sterility;  
But in their springing blood so play,  
As that in Lustres few they may,  
By laughing too, and lying down,  
People a City or a Town.    

Cunctation in Correction.  

THe Lictors bundled up their rods: beside,  
Knit them with knots (with much ado untied)  
That if (unknitting) men would yet repent,  
They might escape the lash of punishment.    

Present Government grievous.  

MEn are suspicious; prone to discontent:  
Subjects still loath the present Government.    

Rest Refreshes.  

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.    

Revenge.  

Man's disposition is for to requite  
An injury, before a benefit:  
Thanks giving is a burden, and a pain;  
Revenge is pleasing to us, as our gain.    

The first mars or makes.  

IN all our high designments, 'twill appear,  
The first event breeds confidence or fear.    

Beginning, difficult.  

Heard are the two first stairs unto a Crown;  
Which got, the third, bids him a King come down.    

Faith foursquare.  

FAith is a thing that's foursquare; let it fall  
This way or that, it not declines at all.    

The present time best pleaseth.  

PRaise they that will Times past, I joy to see  
Myself now live: this age best pleaseth me.    

clothes, are conspirators.  

THough from without no foes at all we fear;  
We shall be wounded by the clothes we wear.    

Cruelty.  

'tIs but a doglike 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.    

Fair after foul.  

Tears quickly dry: griefs will in time decay:  
A clear will come after a cloúdy day.    

Hunger.  

Ask me what hunger is, and I'll reply,  
'Tis but a fierce desire of hot and dry.    

Bad wages for good service.  

IN this misfortune Kings do most excel,  
To hear the worst from men, when they do well.    

The End.  

COnquer we shall, but we must first contend;  
'Tis not the Fight that crowns us, but the end.    

The Bondman.  

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.    

Choose for the best.  

GIve houseroom to the best; 'Tis never known  
Virtue and pleasure, both to dwell in one.    

To Silvia.  

PArdon my trespass (Silvia) I confess,  
My kiss outwent the bounds of shamefastness:  
None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove  
Himself, at one time, can be wise, and Love.    

Fair shows deceive.  

SMooth was the Sea, and seemed to call  
To pretty girls to play withal:  
Who paddling there, the Sea soon frowned,  
And on a sudden both were drowned.  
What credit can we give to seas,  
Who, kissing, kill such Saints as these?    

His wish.  

FAt be my Hind; unlearned be my wife;  
Peaceful by night; my day devoid of strife:  
To these a comely offspring I desire,  
Singing about my everlasting fire.    

Upon Julia's washing herself in the river.  

HOw fierce was I, when I did see  
My Julia wash herself in thee!  
So Lilies through 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 kissed thee too;  
And more had done (it is confessed)  
Had not thy waves forbade the rest.    

A Mean in our Means.  

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.    

Upon Clunn.  

A Roll of Parchment Clunn about him bears,  
Charged with the Arms of all his Ancestors:  
And seems half ravished, 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 Clun have in that Coat, or this,  
When as his own still out at elbows is?    

Upon Cupid.  

LOve, like a Beggar, came to me  
With Hose and Doublet torn:  
His Shirt bedangling from his knee,  
With Hat and Shoes outworn.   

He asked 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 turned  
(In faith I know not how)  
He touched me so, as that I burn,  
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.    

Upon Bliss.  

Bliss (last night drunk) did kiss his mother's knee:  
Where he will kiss (next drunk) conjecture ye.    

Upon Burr.  

BUrr is a smell-feast, and a man alone,  
That (where meat is) will be a hanger on.    

Upon Megg.  

MEgg yesterday was troubled with a Pose,  
Which, this night hardened, sodders up her nose.    

An Hymn to Love.  

I Will confess  
With Cheerfulness,  
Love is a thing so likes me,  
That let her lay  
On me all day,  
I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.   

2.  
I will not, I,  
Now blubb'ring, cry,  
It (Ah!) too late reputes me,  
That I did fall  
To love at all,  
Since love so much contents me.   

3.  
No, no, I'll be  
In fetters free;  
While others they sit wring  
Their hands for pain;  
I'll entertain  
The wounds of love with singing.   

4.  
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.    

To his honoured and most Ingenious friend Mr. Charles Cotton.  

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 readest what we do write,  
And giv'st our Numbers Euphonie, and weight.  
Tell'st when a Verse springs high, how understood  
To be, or not borne of the Royall-blood.  
What State above, what Symmetry below,  
Lines have, or should have, thou the best canst show.  
For which (my Charles) it is my pride to be,  
Not so much known, as to be loved of thee.  
Long may I live so, and my wreath of Bays,  
Be less another's Laurel, than thy praise.    

Women useless.  

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 Warlike 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 fight race.  
If this can be, say then, what need  
Have we of Women or their seed?    

Love is a syrup.  

LOve is a syrup; and who ere we see  
Sick and surcharged with this satiety:  
Shall by this pleasing trespass quickly prove,  
there's loathsomeness even in the sweets of love.    

Leven.  

LOve is a Leven, and a loving kiss  
The Leven of a loving sweetheart is.    

Repletion.  

Physicians say Repletion springs  
More from the sweet then sour things.    

On Himself.  

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 without Money.  

NO man such rare parts hath, that he can swim,  
If favour or occasion help not him.    

On Himself.  

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.    

To M. Leonard Willan his peculiar friend.  

I Will be short, and having quickly hurled  
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.  
Canst write the Comic, Tragic strain, and fall  
From these to pen the pleasing Pastoral:  
Who fli'st at all heights: Prose and Verse runnest through;  
Findest 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.    

To his worthy friend M. John Hall, Student of Grays-inn.  

TEll me young man, or did the Muses bring  
Thee less to taste, then 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 hadst, and hast thy mighty influence,  
That makes thee loved, and of the men desired,  
And no less praised, then 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 Quire.    

To Julia.  

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.    

To the most comely and proper M. Elizabeth Finch.  

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.    

Upon Ralph.  

RAlph pares his nails, his warts, his corns, and Ralph  
In several tills, and boxes keeps 'em safe;  
Instead of Hartshorn (if he speaks the troth)  
To make a lustie-gellie for his broth.    

To his Book.  

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 washed thee, close thee in a chest  
With spice; that done, I'll leave thee to thy rest.    

TO THE KING, Upon his welcome to Hampton-Court. Set and Sung.  

Welcome, Great Cesar, 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 longed-for home.  
A thousand Altars smoke; a thousand thighs  
Of Beefs 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 safeties new foundation:  
That done; O Cesar, 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.    

Ultimus Heroum: OR, To the most learned, and to the right Honourable, Henry, marquis of Dorchester.  

ANd as time passed when Cato the Severe  
Entered the circumspacious Theatre;  
In reverence of his person, every one  
Stood as he had been turned from flesh to stone:  
E'en so my numbers will astonished be  
If but looked on; struck dead, if scanned by Thee.    

To his Muse, another to the same.  

TEll that Brave Man, fain thou wouldst have access  
To kiss his hands, but that for fearfulness;  
Or else because thouart like a modest Bride,  
Ready to blush to death, should he but chide.    

Upon Vinegar.  

Vinegar is no other I define,  
Then the dead Corpse, or carcase of the Wine.    

Upon Mudge.  

MUdge every morning to the Postern comes,  
(His teeth all out) to rinse and wash his gums.    

To his learned friend M. Jo. Harmar, Physician to the College of Westminster.  

WHen first I find those Numbers thou dost write;  
To be most soft, terce, sweet, and perpolite:  
Next, when I see Thee towering in the sky,  
In an expansion no less large, then high;  
Then, in that compass, sailing here and there,  
And with Circumgyration every where;  
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 Marshal then, and Thee.  
But this I know, should Jupiter again  
Descend from heaven, to re-converse with men;  
The Roman Language full, and superfine,  
If jove would speak, he would accept of thine.    

Upon his Spaniel Tracie.  

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.    

The deluge.  

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  
Threatened ruin unto all?  
Yet the deluge here was known,  
Of a world to drown but One.    

Upon Lupes.  

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 carbage for his clothes as yet.    

Rags.  

What are our patches, tatters, rags, and rents,  
But the base dregs and lees of vestments?    

Strength to support Sovereignty.  

LEt Kings and Rulers, learn this line from me;  
Where power is weak, unsafe is Majesty.    

Upon Tubbs.  

FOr thirty years, Tubbs has been proud and poor,  
'Tis now his habit, which he can't give o'er.    

Crutches.  

THou seest me Lucia this year droop,  
Three Zodiaks filled more I shall stoop;  
Let Crutches then provided be  
To shore up my debility.  
Then while thou laughest; I'll, sighing, cry,  
A Ruin underpropt am I:  
Don will I then my Beadsmans' 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 withered hand  
To Jove the Mighty for to stand  
Thy faithful friend, and to pour down  
Upon thee many a Benison.    

To Julia.  

HOly waters hither bring  
For the sacred sprinkling:  
Raptize 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 Saerorum,  
Thou the Queen of Peace and Quorum.    

Upon Case.  

CAse is a Lawyer, that near pleads alone,  
But when he hears the like confusion,  
As when the disagreeing Commons throw  
About their House, their clamorous I, or No:  
Then Case, as loud as any Sergeant there,  
Cries out (my Lord, my Lord) the Case is clear:  
But when all's hushed, Case then a fish more mute,  
Bestirs his Hand, but starves in hand the Suit.    

To Perenna.  

I A Dirge will pen for thee;  
Thou a Trental 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.    

To his Sister in Law, M. Susanna Herrick.  

THe Person crowns the Place; your lot doth fall  
Last, yet to be with These a Principal.  
How ere it fortuned; know for Truth, I meant  
You a fore-leader in this Testament.    

Upon the Lady Crew.  

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.    

On Tomasin Parsons.  

GRow up in Beauty, as thou dost begin,  
And be of all admired, Tomasin.    

Ceremony upon Candlemas Eve.  

DOwn with the Rosemary, and so  
Down with the Bayss, & misletoe:  
Down with the Holly, Ivy, all,  
Wherewith ye dressed the Christmas Hall:  
That so the superstitious find  
No one lest Branch there left behind:  
For look how many leaves there be  
Neglected there (maids trust to me)  
So many Goblins you shall see.    

Suspicion makes secure.  

HE that will live of all cares dispossessed,  
Must shun the bad, I, and suspect the best.    

Upon Spokes.  

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.    

To his kinsman M. Tho: Herrick, who desired to be in his Book.  

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.    

A Bucolick betwixt Two: Lacon and Thyrsis.  Lacon. 

FOr a kiss or two, confess,  
What doth cause this pensiveness?  
Thou most lovely Neat-heardesse:  
Why so lonely on the hill?  
Why thy pipe by thee so still,  
That ere while was heard so shrill?   

Tell me, do thy kine now fail  
To fulfil the milkin-paile?  
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 coloured 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,  
Enterplaced with ribbanings.  
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 (ai me) (ai me.) Last night  
Came a mad dog, and did bite,  
I, and killed my dear delight.   Lacon. 

Alack for grief!   Thyr. 

But I'll be brief,   

Hence I must, for time doth call  
Me, and my sad Play-mates all,  
To his Evening Funeral.  
Live long, Lacon, so adieu.   Lacon. 

Mournful maid farewell to you;  
Earth afford ye flowers to strew.    

Upon Sappho.  

LOok upon Sapho's lip, and you will swear,  
There is a love-like-leven rising there.    

Upon Faunus.  

WE read how Faunus, he the shepherd's God,  
His wife to death whipped with a Myrtle Rod.  
The Rod (perhaps) was bettered by the name;  
But had it been of Birch, the death's the same.    

The Quintell.  

UP with the Quintill, 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.    

A Bachanalian Verse.  

Drink up  
Your Cup,  
But not spill Wine;  
For if you  
Do,  
'Tis an ill sign;   

2.  
That we  
Foresee,  
You are cloyed here,  
If so, no  
Ho,  
But avoid here.    

Care a good keeper.  

CAre keeps the Conquest; 'tis no less renown,  
To keep a City, then to win a Town.    

Rules for our reach.  

MEn must have Bounds how far to walk; for we  
Are made far worse, by lawless liberty.    

To Biancha.  

AH Biancha! now I see,  
It is Noon and past with me:  
In a while it will strike one;  
Then Biancha, I am gone.  
Some effusions let me have,  
Offered on my holy Grave;  
Then, Biancha, let me rest  
With my face towards the East.    

To the handsome Mistress Grace Potter.  

AS is your name, so is your comely face,  
Touched every where with such diffused grace,  
As that in all that admirable round,  
There is not one lest solecism found;  
And as that part, so every portion else,  
Keeps line for line with Beauty's Parallels.    

Anacreontike.  

I Must  
Not trust  
Here to any;  
Bereaved,  
Deceived  
By so many:  
As one  
Undone  
By my losses;  
Comply  
Will I  
With my crosses.  
Yet still  
I will  
Not be grieving;  
Since thence  
And hence  
Comes relieving.  
But this  
Sweet is  
In our mourning;  
Times bad  
And sad  
Are a turning:  
And he  
Whom we  
See dejected;  
Next day  
We may  
See erected.    

More modest, more manly.  

'tIs still observed, those men most valiant are,  
That are most modest ere they come to war.    

Not to covet much where tittle is the charge.  

WHy should we covet much, when as we know,  
W'ave more to bear our charge, than way to go?    

Anacrontick Verse.  

BRisk methinks I am, and fine,  
When I drink my capering wine:  
Then to love I do incline;  
When I drink my wanton wine:  
And I wish all maiden's 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.    

Upon Penny.  

BRown bread Tom Penny eats, and must of right,  
Because his stock will not hold out for white.    

Patience in Princes.  

KIngs must not use the Axe for each offence:  
Princes cure some faults by their patience.    

Fear gets force.  

Despair takes heart, when there's no hope to speed:  
The Coward than takes Arms, and does the deed.    

Parcell-gil't-Poetry.  

LEt's strive to be the best; the Gods, we know it,  
Pillars and men, hate an indifferent Poet.    

Upon Love, by way of question and answer.  

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.    

To the Lord Hopton, on his fight in Cornwall.  

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.    

His Grange.  

HOw well contented in this private Grange  
Spend I my life (that's subject unto change:)  
Under whose Roof with Mosse-worke wrought, there I  
Kiss my Brown wife, and black Posterity.    

Leprosy in houses.  

WHen to a House I come, and see  
The Genius wasteful, more than free:  
The servants thumblesse, yet to eat,  
With lawless tooth the flower 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 shamefacedness:  
The Husband drunk, the Wife to be  
A Band to incivility:  
I must confess, I there descry,  
A House spread through with Leprosy.    

Good manners at meat.  

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.    

Anthea's Retractation.  

ANthea laughed, and fearing lest excess  
Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness:  
She with a dainty blush rebuked her face;  
And called each line back to his rule and space.    

Comforts in Crosses.  

BE not dismayed, though crosses cast thee down;  
Thy fall is but the rising to a Crown.    

Seek and find.  

ATtempt the end, and never stand to doubt;  
Nothing's so hard, but search will find it out.    

Rest.  

ON with thy work, though thou be'st hardly pressed;  
Labour is held up, by the hope of rest.    

Leprosy in clothes.  

WHen slowing garments I behold  
Inspired 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 wearers rich immodesty;  
So plain and simple clothes doeshow  
Where virtue walks, not those that flow.    

Upon Buggins.  

BUggins is Drunk all night, all day he sleeps;  
This is the Levell-coyle that Buggins keeps.    

Great Maladies, long Medicines.  

TO an old soar a long cure must go on;  
Great faults require great satisfaction.    

His Answer to a friend.  

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.    

The Beggar.  

SHall I a daily Beggar be,  
For love's sake ask 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.    

Bastards.  

OUr Bastard-childrens are but like to Plate,  
Made by the Coiners illegitimate.    

His change.  

MY many cares and much distress,  
Has made me like a wilderness:  
Or (discompo'sd) I'm like a rude,  
And all confused multitude:  
Out of my comely manners worn;  
And as in means, in mind all torn.    

The Vision.  

ME thought 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 spoke, his mouth ran o'er with wine.  
Tippled he was; and tippling lispt 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 smiled; he kissed; and kissing, culled her too;  
And being cupshot, more he could not do.  
For which (me thought) in pretty anger she  
Snatched off his Crown, and gave the wreath to me:  
Since when (me thinks) my brains about do swim,  
And I am wild and wanton like to him.    

A vow to Venus.  

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.    

On his Book.  

THe bound (almost) now of my book I see,  
But yet no end of those therein or me:  
Here we begin new life; while thousands quite  
Are lost, and theirs, in everlasting night.    

A sonnet of Perilla.  

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 embalmed to live again;  
And that's to love me; in which state  
I'll live as one Regenerate.    

Bad may be better.  

MAn may at first transgress, but next do well:  
Vice doth in some but lodge a while, not dwell.    

Posting to Printing.  

LEt others to the Printing Press run fast,  
Since after death comes glory, I'll not haste.    

Rapine brings Ruin.  

WHat's got by Justice is established sure;  
No Kingdoms got by Rapine long endure.    

Comfort to a youth that had lost his Love.  

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 changed above,  
She likes not there,  
As she did here,  
Thy Love.  
Forbear therefore,  
And Lull asleep  
Thy woes and weep  
No more.    

Upon Boreman. Epig.  

BOreman takes toll, cheats, flatters, lies, yet Boreman,  
For all the Devil helps, will be a poor man.    

Saint Distaffs day, or the morrow after twelfth day.  

PArtly work and partly play  
Ye must on S. Distaffs day:  
From the Plough soon free your team;  
Then come home and father them.  
If the Maids a spinning go,  
Burn the flax, and fire the tow:  
Scorch their plackets, but beware  
That ye sing 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, every one  
To his own vocation.    

Sufferance.  

IN the hope of ease to come,  
Let's endure one Martyrdom.    

His tears to Thamasis.  

I Send, I send here my supremest kiss  
To thee my silver-footed Thamasis.  
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 a long thy crystal glide,  
In Barge (with boughs and rushes beautified)  
With soft-smooth Virgins (for our chaste disport)  
To Richmond, Kingston, and to Hampton-Court:  
Never again shall I with Finnie-Ore  
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-cheap-side, 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 & 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 Naides.  
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.    

Pardons.  

THose ends in War the best contentment bring,  
Whose Peace is made up with a Pardoning.    

Peace not Permanent.  

GReat Cities seldom rest: If there be none  
T'invade from far: They'll find worse foes at home.    

Truth and Error.  

'twixt Truth and Error, there's this difference known,  
Error is fruitful, Truth is only one.    

Things mortal still mutable.  

THings are uncertain, and the more we get,  
The more on icy pavements we are set.    

Studies to be supported.  

Study's themselves will languish and decay,  
When either price, or praise is ta'en away.    

Wit punished, prospers most.  

DRead not the shackles: on with thine intent;  
Good wits get more fame by their punishment.    

Twelve night, or King and Queen.  

NOw, now the mirth comes  
With the cake full of plums,  
Where Beane'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 Twelve-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 unurged 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 lambs-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.    

His desire.  

GIve me a man that is not dull,  
When all the world with rifts is full,  
But unamazed dares clearly sing,  
When as the roof's a tottering:  
And, though it falls, continueth still  
Tickling the Cittern with his quill.    

Caution in Council.  

KNow when to speak; for many times it brings  
Danger to give the best advice to Kings.    

Moderation.  

LEt moderation on thy passions wait  
Who loves too much, too much the loved will hate.    

Advice the best actor.  

STill take àdvice; though counsels when they fly  
At random, sometimes hit most happily.    

Conformity is comely.  

COnformity gives comeliness to things.  
And equal shares exclude all murmurings.    

Laws.  

WHo violates the Customs, hurts the Health,  
Not of one man, but all the Commonwealth.    

The mean.  

'tIs much among the filthy to be clean;  
Our heat of youth can hardly keep the mean.    

Like loves his like.  

LIke will to like, each Creature loves his kind;  
Chaste words proceed still from a bashful mind.    

His hope or sheat-Anchor.  

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  
Wildred in this vast watery Region.    

Comfort in Calamity.  

'tIs no discomfort in the world to fall,  
When the great Crack not Crushes one, but all.    

Twilight.  

THe Twilight is no other thing (we say)  
Then Night now gone, and yet not sprung the Day.    

False Mourning.  

HE who wears Blacks, and mourns not for the Dead,  
Does but deride the Party buried.    

The will makes the work, or consent makes the Cure.  

NO grief is grown so desperate, but the ill  
Is half way cured, if the party will.    

Diet.  

IF wholesome Diet can recure a man,  
What need of Physic, or Physician?    

Smart.  

STripes justly given yerk us (with their fall)  
But causeless whipping smarts the most of all.    

The Tinker's Song.  

ALong, come along,  
Let's meet in a throng  
Here of Tinkers;  
And quaff up a Bowl  
As big as a Cowle  
To Beer Drinkers.  
The pole of the Hop  
Place in the Ale-shop to Bethwack us;  
If ever we think  
So much as to drink  
Unto Bacchus.  
Who frolic will be,  
For little cost he  
Must not vary,  
From Beer-broth at all,  
So much as to call  
For Canary.    

His Comfort.  

THe only comfort of my life  
Is, that I never yet had wife;  
Nor will hereafter; since I know  
Who Weds, ore-buyes his weal with woe    

Sincerity.  

WAsh clean the Vessel, lest ye sour  
What ever Liquor in ye power.    

To Anthea.  

SIck is Anthea, sickly is the spring,  
The Primrose sick, and sickly every thing:  
The while my deer Anthea does but droop,  
The Tulips, Lilies, Daffodils do stoop;  
But when again sh'as got her healthful hour,  
Each bending then, will rise a proper flower.    

Nor buying or selling.  

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.    

To his peculiar friend M. Jo: Wicks.  

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-leven-looks in thee,  
To sour the Bread, and turn the Beer  
To an exalted vinegar;  
Or shouldst thou prise me as a Dish  
Of thrice-boyl'd-worts, or third day's fish;  
I'd rather hungry go and come,  
Then to thy house be Burdensome;  
Yet, in my depth of grief, I'd be  
One that should drop his Beads for thee.    

The more mighty, the more merciful.  

WHo may do most, does least: The bravest will  
Show mercy there, where they have power to kill.    

After Autumn, Winter.  

DIe ere long I'm sure, I shall;  
After leaves, the tree must fall.    

A good death.  

FOr truth I may this sentence tell,  
No man dies ill, that liveth well.    

Recompense.  

Who plants an Olive, but to eat the Oil?  
Reward, we know, is the chief end of toil.    

On Fortune.  

THis is my comfort, when she's most unkind,  
She can but spoil me of my Means, not Mind.    

To Sir George Parrie, Doctor of the Civil Law.  

I Have my Laurel Chaplet on my head,  
If'mongst these many Numbers to be read,  
But one by you be hug'd and cherished.   

Peruse my Measures thoroughly, and where  
Your judgement 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 BraveMan, here to the public sight;  
And in my Book now claim a two-folrd right:  
The first as Doctor, and the last as Knight.    

Charms.  

THis I'll tell ye by the way,  
Maidens when ye Leavens lay,  
Cross your Dow, and your dispatch,  
Will be better for your Batch.    

Another.  

IN the morning when ye rise (eyes.  
Wash your hands, and cleanse your  
Next be sure ye have a care,  
To disperse the water far.  
For as far as that doth light,  
So far keeps the evil Spirit.    

Another.  

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.    

Upon Gorgonius.  

Unto Pastillus rank Gorgonius came,  
To have a tooth twitched out of's native frame.  
Drawn was his tooth; but stanke so, that some say,  
The Barber stopped his Nose, and ran away.    

Gentleness.  

THat Prince must govern with a gentle hand,  
Who will have love comply with his command.    

A Dialogue betwixt himself and Mistress Eliza: Wheeler, under the name of Amarillis.  

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.   Amaril. 

In country Meadows pearled with Dew,  
And set about with Lilies;  
There filling Mands with Cowslips, you  
May find your Amarillis.   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 Poesies, since 'tis fitter  
For thee with richest Gems to shine,  
And like the Stars to glitter.   Amaril. 

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. (Am.) I must away,  
Le's kiss first, then we'll sever.   Ambo. 

And though we bid adieu to day,  
We shall not part for ever.    

To Julia.  

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.    

To Roses in Julia's Bosom.  

ROses, you can never die,  
Since the place wherein ye lie,  
Heat and moisture mixed are so,  
As to make ye ever grow.    

To the Honoured, Master Endymion Porter.  

WHen to thy Porch I come, and (ravished) see  
The State of Poets there attending Thee:  
Those Bards, and I, all in a Chorus sing,  
We are Thy Prophet's Porter; Thou our King.    

Speak in season.  

WHen times are troubled, then forbear; but speak,  
When a clear day, out of a Cloud does break.    

Obedience.  

THe Power of Princes rests in the Consent  
Of only those, who are obedient:  
Which if away, proud Sceptres than will lie  
Low, and of Thrones the Ancient Majesty.    

Another on the same.  

NO man so well a Kingdom Rules, as He,  
Who hath himself obeyed the Sovereignty.    

Of Love.  

Instruct me now what love will do;  
'Twill make a tongless man to woo.  
Inform me next, what love will do;  
'Twill strangely make a one of too.  
Teach me besides, what love will do;  
'Twill quickly mar, & make ye too.  
Tell me, now last, what love will do;  
'Twill hurt and heal a heart pierced through.    

Upon Trap.  

TRap, of a Player turned a Priest now is;  
Behold a sudden Metamorphosis.  
If Tythe-pigs fail, then will he shift the scene,  
And, from a Priest, turn Player once again.    

Upon Grubs.  

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 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 rents, and while he thus doth tear,  
His Wife and Children fast to death for fear.    

Upon Dol.  

NO question but Dolls cheeks would soon roast dry,  
Were they not basted by her either eye.    

Upon Hog.  

HOg has a place i'th' Kitchen, and his share  
The flimsie Livers, and blue Gizzards are.    

The School or Perl of Putney, the Mistress of all singular manners, Mistress Portman.  

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, Sirens, 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  
Confused in utter Admiration.  
Me thought I saw them stir, and gently move,  
And look as all were capable of Love:  
And in their motion smelled much like to flowers  
Inspired by th' Sunbeams after dews & showers.  
There did I see the Reverend Rectress stand,  
Who with her eyes-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 compulsinve Law,  
Or fear of it, but Love keeps all in awe.)  
Live you great Mistress of your Arts, and be  
A a nursing Mother so to Majesty;  
As those your Ladies may in time be seen,  
For Grace and Carriage, every one 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.    

To Perenna.  

THou sayest I'm dull; if edge-lesse so I be,  
I'll whet my lips, and sharpen Love on thee.    

On himself.  

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.    

On Love.  

THat love 'twixt men does ever longest last  
Where War and Peace the Dice by turns do cast.    

Another on Love.  

LOve's of itself, too sweet; the best of all  
Is, when loves honey has a dash of gall.    

Upon Gut.  

SCience puffs up, says Gut, when either Pease  
Make him thus swell, or windy Cabbages,    

Upon Chub.  

WHen Chubb brings in his harvest, still he cries,  
Aha my boys! here's wheat for Christmas Pies!  
Soon after, he for beer so scores his wheat,  
That at the tide, he has not bread to eat.    

Pleasure's Pernicious.  

WHere Pleasures rule a Kingdom, never there  
Is sober virtue, seen to move her sphere.    

On himself.  

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 lustres tell,  
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well.  
One man has reatched his sixty years, but he  
Of all those threescore, has not lived half three:  
He lives, who lives to virtue: men who cast  
Their ends for Pleasure, do not live, but last.    

To M. Laurence Swetnaham.  

REad thou my Lines, my Swetnaham, if there be  
A fault, 'tis hid, if it be voiced by thee.  
Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please;  
How will it drop pure honey, speaking these?    

His Covenant or Protestation to Julia.  

WHy dost thou wound, & 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 spangeled 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 returned before I go.    

On himself.  

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.    

To the most accomplished Gentleman Master Michael Oulsworth.  

NOr think that Thou in this my Book art worst,  
Because not placed 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 Fames reared 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.    

To his Girls who would have him sportful.  

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 and falsehood.  

TRuth by her own simplicity is known,  
Falsehood by Varnish and Vermilion.    

His last request to Julia.  

I Have been wanton, and too bold I fear,  
To chafe o'er much 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.    

On himself.  

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.    

Upon Kings.  

KIngs must be dauntless: Subjects will contemn  
Those, who want Hearts, and wear a Diadem.    

To his Girls.  

WAnton Wenches do not bring  
For my hairs black colouring:  
For my Locks (Girls) let'em be  
Grace or white, all's one to me.    

Upon Spur.  

SPur jingles now, and swears by no mean oaths,  
He's double honoured since h'as 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.    

To his Brother Nicolas Herrick.  

What others have with cheapness seen, and ease,  
In Varnished maps; byth' help of Compasses:  
Or read in Volumes, and those Books (with all  
Their large Narrations, Incanonicall)  
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 canst now relate  
This Kingdom's fortune, and that Empire's fate:  
Canst talk to us of Sharon; where a spring  
Of Roses have an endless flourishing.  
Of Zion, Sinai, Nebo, and with them,  
Make known to us the now Jerusalem.  
The Mount of Olives; Calverie, 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 be his hearing quickly come to see  
The truth of Travails less in books then Thee.    

The Voice and Viol.  

RAre is the voice itself; but when we sing  
Toth' Lute or Viol, then 'tis ravishing.    

War.  

IF Kings and kingdoms, once distracted be,  
The sword of war must try the Sovereignty.    

A King and no King.  

THat Prince, who may do nothing but what's just,  
Rules but by leave, ana takes his Crown on trust.    

Plots not still prosperous.  

ALl are not ill Plots, that do sometimes fail;  
Nor those false vows, which oft times don't prevail.    

Flattery.  

WHat is't that wafts a Prince? example shows,  
'Tis flattery spends a King, more than his foes.    

Upon Rump.  

RUmpe is a Turn-broach, yet he seldom can  
Steal a swollen sop out of the Dripping pan.    

Upon Shopter.  

OLd Widow Shopter, when so ere she cries,  
Le's drip a certain Gravy from her eyes.    

Upon Deb.  

IF felt and heard, (unseen) thou dost me please;  
If seen, thou lik'st me, Deb, in none of these,    

Excess.  

Excess is sluttish: keep the mean; for why?  
virtue's clean Conclave is sobriety.    

Upon Croot.  

ONe silver spoon shines in the house of Croot;  
Who cannot buy, or steal a second to't.    

The soul is the salt.  

THe body's salt, the soul is; which when gone,  
The flesh soon sucks in putrefaction.    

Upon Flood, or a thankful man.  

FLood, if he has for him and his a bit,  
He says his fore and after Grace for it:  
If meat he wants, than Grace he says to see  
His hungry belly borne by Legs Jaile-free.  
Thus have, or have not, all alike is good,  
To this our poor, yet ever patient Flood.    

Upon Pimp.  

WHen Pimps feet sweat (as they do often use)  
There springs a sope-like-lather in his shoes.    

Upon Luske.  

IN Den'-shire Kerzie 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.    

Foolishness.  

IN's Tusc'lanes, Tully doth confess,  
No plague there's like to foolishness.    

Upon Rush.  

RUsh saves his shoes, in wet and snowy wether;  
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.    

Abstinence.  

AGainst diseases here the strongest fence  
Is the defensive virtue, Abstinence.    

No danger to men desperate.  

When fear admits no hope of safety, than  
Necessity makes dastards valiant men.    

Sauce for sorrows.  

ALthough our suffering meet with no relief,  
An equal mind is the best sauce for grief.    

To Cupid.  

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 be frost, or I by quenchless fire:  
Extremes are fatal, where they once do strike,  
And bring to''th' heart destruction both alike.    

Distrust.  

WHat ever men for Loyalty pretend,  
'Tis Wisdoms part to doubt a faithful friend.    

The Hagg.  

THe staff is now greased,  
And very well pleased,  
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 Hairlace  
She leads on a brace  
Of black-bore-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.    

The mount of the Muses.  

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 assured, thou shalt have one  
Not subject to corruption.    

On Himself.  

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.    

To his Book.  

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 knowst not where to dwell,  
See, the fier's by: Farewell.    

The end of his work.  

Partly of the work remains; one part is past:  
And here my ship rides having Anchor cast.    

To Crown it.  

MY wearied Bark, O Let it now be Crowned!  
The Haven reached to which I first was bound.    

On Himself.  

THe work is done: young men, and maidens set  
Upon my curls the Myrtle Coronet,  
Washed with sweet omtments; Thus at last I come  
To suffer in the Muse's Martyrdom:  
But with this comfort, if my blood be shed,  
The Muses will wear blacks, when I am dead.    

The pillar of Fame.  

Fame's pillar here, at last, we set,  
Out-during Marble, Brass, or Jet,  
Charmed and enchanted so,  
As to withstand the blow  
Of overthrow:  
Nor shall the seas,  
Or OUTRAGES  
Of storms orebear  
What we up-rear,  
Tho Kingdoms fall,  
This pillar never shall  
Decline or waste at all;  
But stand for ever by his own  
Firm and well fixed foundation.    


To his Book's end this last line he'd have placed,  
Jocund his Muse was; but his Life was chaste.    
FINIS.