l&en treasury A SELECTION FROM THE LYRICAL POEMS OF ROBERT HERRICK ARRANGED WITH NOTES EY FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE I.ATE FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD Hie nullus labor est, ruborque nullus : Hoc iuvit, iuvat, et diu iuvabit lon&on MACMILLAN AND CO AND NEW YORK 1892 l-'ifst /'i/ilivn printed May 1877. Reprinted October 1877, 1880, 1884, 1888, i TO THE LAD\r BEATRIX MAUD CECIL My dear Maud: This selection, over 'which I have hesitated for many months, has been made in the. hope of rendering a poet, hitherto little known in proportion to his charm and his deserts, accessible tc readers in general. HerricKs merits may be said to have placed him beyond the sympathy of his own age; his blemishes, beyond that of later times. Ye* he was eminent for the felicity with which he unitea natural gifts to mastery over his beautiful art : and, from this happy union, unlike the majority of his contemporaries, he may be still listened to with b vi DEDICA TION pleasure as a true Jiving -voice, after the lapse oj more than two centuries. Nor, unless I greatly overrate the value of his verse, will future ages ' willingly let it die] whilst the love of beauty, and the magic of the past, two strong powers, retain their hold upon Englishir.en. Fair maidens, we read in the ancient tale, even whilst the dragon kept ward against all others, were free to range within the famous ' Gardens of the West.' Such, I please myself with anticipating, alone with Nature in those fortunate times of leisure which fall of te nest to their share, 'woman's quiet houts] will enjoy the ' golden apples' 1 which are here gathered together from Her rick's old ' Hesperides? England is painted by him as she was left by Elizabeth; Nature and the human heart, spring and autumn, joy and sorrow, he paints as they are nmu and always have been. He may be ead and read again: A t 's book is of that peculiarly delightful and attrac- tive kit*3 which we think of, rather, as a companion & a friend* DEDJCA TION vii These reasons, to which, as a pleasure to myself I must add your own pure taste and ability in art, have made me desirous to dedicate my book to you. It is not, indeed, a moment specially propitious to poetry / The gate of Europe, like that other seen in vision by Milton, is now With dreadful faces throned, and fiery arms : meti's minds are not in tune with the music of Helicon. Yet hence, also, a contrast arises which makes Poetry even more precious. ' The svueet Muses before every- thing? ' dulces ante omnia Musae,' carry us with them to another and a better, if a more shadowy, world. We can there, it is true, have no abiding habitation : yet at times, quitting reality, with its hard dissonances, its restless revolution, it is lawful for us to dwell in the 'larger aether and purple light' which clothe the Elysian fields of art. That atjnosphere some, (and you among theni), breathe rather as natives than as visitors : there at least, whatever the loud world may be pursuing, are grace and harmony ; there are peace b 2 viii DEDICA. TION and permanence. Permanence, indeed, so far as man's work am seem to attain it, is to be found only in such record of noble deeds or lovely thoughts and images, is sculptor and painter, ' music and sweet poetry,' can provide. Is that gift oj enduring charm, beauty that will not fade, reserved for the verse contained in this little book ? I should not have cared to grace it with your name, were I not convinced that such will be HerricKs portion. F. T. PALGRA VE . 13:1877 ROBERT HERRICK: BORN 1591 : DIED 16/4 THOSE who most admire the Poet from whose many pieces a selection only is here offered, will, it is pro- bable, feel most strongly (with the Editor) that excuse is needed for an attempt of an obviously presumptuous nature. The choice made by any selector invites challenge : the admission, perhaps, of some poems, the absence of more, will be censured : Whilst others may wholly condemn the process, in virtue of an argu- ment not unfrequently advanced of late, that a writer's judgment on his own work is to be considered final } and his book to be taken as he left it, or left alto- gether ; a literal reproduction of the original text being occasionally included in this requirement. If poetry were composed solely for her faithful band of true lovers and true students, such a facsimile as that last indicated would have claims irresistible ; but if the first and last object of this, as of the other Fine Arts, may be defined in language borrowed from a t rREFACE different range of thought, as ' the greatest pleasure of the greatest number,' it is certain that less stringent forms of reproduction are required and justified. The great majority of readers cannot bring either leisure or taste, or information sufficient to take them through a large mass (at any rate) of ancient verse, not even if it be Spenser's or Milton's. Manners and modes of speech, again, have changed ; and much that was admissible centuries since, or at least sought admission, has now, by a law against which protest is idle, lapsed into the indecorous. Even unaccustomed forms of spelling are an effort to the eye ; a kind of friction, which diminishes the ease and enjoyment of the reader. These hindrances and clogs, of very diverse nature, cannot be disregarded by Poetry. In common with everything which aims at human benefit, she must work not only for the ' faithful ' : she has also the duty of ' conversion.' Like a messenger from heaven, it is hers to inspire, to console, to elevate : to convert the world, in a word, to herself. Every rough place that slackens her footsteps must be made smooth : nor, in this Art, need there be fear that the way will ever be vulgarized by too much ease, nor that she will be loved less by the elect, for being loved more widely. Passing from these general considerations, it is true that a selection framed in conformity with them, espe- cially if one of our older poets be concerned, parts with a certain portion of the pleasure which poetry may confer. A writer is most thoroughly to be judged by the whole of what he printed. A selector inevitably holds too despotic a position over his author. The frankness of speech which we have abandoned is an PREFACE xi interesting evidence how the tone of manners changes. The poet's own spelling and punctuation bear, or may bear, a gleam of his personality. But such last drops of pleasure are the reward of fully-formed taste ; and fully-formed taste cannot be reached without full knowledge. This, we have noticed, most readers cannot bring. Hence, despite all drawbarks, an anthology may have its place. A book which tempts many to read a little, will guide some to that more profound and loving study of which the result is, the full accomplishment of the poet's mission. We have, probably, no poet to whom the reasons here advanced to justify the invidious task of selection apply more fully and forcibly than to Herrick. Highly as he is to be rated among our lyrists, no one who reads through his fourteen hundred pieces can rea- sonably doubt that whatever may have been the in- fluences, wholly unknown to us, which determined the contents of his volume, severe taste was not one of them. Peccat fortiter : his exquisite directness and simplicity of speech repeatedly take such form that the book cannot be offered to a very large number of those readers who would most enjoy it. The spelling is at once arbitrary and obsolete. Lastly, the complete reproduction of the original text, with explanatory notes, edited by Mr Grosart, supplies materials equally full and interesting for those who may, haply, be allured by this little book to master one of our most attractive poets in his integrity. In Herrick's single own edition of Hesperides and Noble Numbers, but little arrangement is traceable : nor have we more than a few internal signs of date in composition. It would hence be unwise to atteinpt xn PREFACE grouping the poems on a strict plan : and the divisions under which they are here ranged must be regarded rather as progressive aspects of a landscape than as territorial demarcations. Pieces bearing on the poet as such are placed first ; then, those vaguely definable as of idyllic character, ' his girls,' epigrams, poems on natural objects, on character and life ; lastly, a few in his religious vein. For the text, although reference has been made to the original of 1647-8, Mr Grosart's excellent reprint has been mainly followed. And to that edition this book is indebted for many valuable exegetical notes, kindly placed at the Editor's dis- posal. But for much fuller elucidation both of words and allusions, and of the persons mentioned, readers are referred to Mr Grosart's volumes, which (like the same scholar's 'Sidney' and 'Donne'), for the first time give Herrick a place among books not printed only, but edited. Robert Herrick's personal fate is in one point like Shakespeare's. We know or seem to know them both, through their works, with singular intimacy. But with this our knowledge substantially ends. No private letter of Shakespeare, no record of his conver- sation, no account of the circumstances in which his writings were published, remains : hardly any state- ment how his greatest contemporaries ranked him A group of Herrick's youthful letters on business has, indeed, been preserved ; of his life and studies, of his reputation during his own time, almost nothing. For whatever facts affectionate diligence could now gather, readers aie referred to Mr Grosart's 'Introduction.' rREFACE xiii But if, to supplement the picture, inevitably imperfect, which this gives, we turn to Herrick's own book, we learn little, biographically, except the names of a few friends, that his general sympathies were with the Royal cause, and that he wearied in Devonshire for London. So far as is known, he published but this one volume, and that, when not far from his sixtieth year. Some pieces may be traced in earlier collections ; some few carry ascertainable dates ; the rest lie over a period of near forty years, during a great portion of which we have no distinct account where Herrick lived, or what were his employments. We know that he shone with Ben Jonson and the wits at the nights and suppers of those gods of our glorious early literature : we may fancy him at Beaumanor, or Houghton, with his uncle and cousins, keeping a Leicestershire Christmas in the Manor-house : or, again, in some sweet southern county with Julia and Anthea, Corinna and Dianeme by his side (familiar then by other names now never to be remembered), sitting merry, but with just the sadness of one who hears sweet music, in some meadow among his favourite flowers of spring-time ; there, or 'where the rose lingers latest.' .... But 'the dream, the fancy,' is all that Time has spared us. And if it be curious that his contemporaries should have left so little record of this delightful poet and (as we should infer from the book) genial-hearted man, it is not less so that the single first edition should have satisfied the seven- teenth century, and that, before the present, notices of Herrick should be of the rarest occurrence. The artist's ' claim to exist ' is, however, always far less to be looked for in his life, than in his art, upon the xiv PREFACE secret of which the fullest biography can tell us little as little, perhaps, as criticism can analyse its charm. But there are few of our poets who stand less in need than Herrick of commentaries of this description, in which too often we find little more than a dull or florid prose version of what the author has given us admir- ably in verse. Apart from obsolete words or allusions, Herrick is the best commentator upon Herrick. A few lines only need therefore here be added, aiming rather to set forth his place in the sequence of English poets, nncl especially in regard to those near his own time, than to point out in detail beauties which he unveils in his own way, and so most durably and delightfully. When our Muses, silent or sick for a century and more after Chaucer's death, during the years of war and revolution, reappeared, they brought with them foreign modes of art, ancient and contemporary, in the forms of which they began to set to music the new material which the age supplied. At the very outset, indeed, the moralizing philosophy which has charac- terized the English from the beginning of our national history, appears in the writers of the troubled times lying between the last regnal years of Henry VIII and the first of his great daughter. But with the happier hopes of Elizabeth's accession, poetry was once more distinctly followed, not only as a means of conveying thought, but as a Fine Art. And hence something constrained and artificial blends with the freshness of the Elizabethan literature. For its great underlying elements it necessarily reverts to those embodied in our own earlier poets, Chaucer above all, to whom, after barely one hundred and fifty years, men looked up as PREFACE xv a tather of song : but in points of style and treatment, the poets of tfoe sixteenth century lie under a double external influence that of the poets of Greece and Rome (known either in their own tongues or by translation), and that of the modern literatures which had themselves undergone the same classical impulse. Italy was the source most regarded during the more strictly Elizabethan period ; whence its lyrical poetry and the dramatic in a less degree, are coloured much less by pure and severe classicalism with its closeness to reality, than by the allegorical and elaborate style, fancy and fact curiously blended, which had been generated in Italy under the peculiar and local circumstances of her pilgrimage in literature and art from the age of Dante onwards. Whilst that influence lasted, such brilliant pictures of actual life, such directness, movement, and simplicity in style, as Chaucer often shows, were not yet again attainable : and although satire, narrative, the poetry of reflection, were meanwhile not wholly unknown, yet they only appear in force at the close of this period. And then also the pressure of political and religious strife, veiled in poetry during the greater part of Elizabeth's actual reign under the forms of pastoral and allegory, again imperiously breaks in upon the gracious but somewhat slender and artificial fashions of England's Helicon : the Divom numen, sedesque quietae which, in some degree the Elizabethan poets offer, disappear ; until filling the central years of the seven- teenth century we reach an age as barren for inspi- ration of new song as the Wars of the Roses ; although the great survivors from earlier years mask this ster- xvi PREFACE ility ; masking also the revolution in poetical manner and matter which we can see secretly preparing in the later ' Cavalier ' poets, but which was not clearly recognised before the time of Dryden's culmination. In the period here briefly sketched, what is Herrick's portion ? His verse is eminent for sweet and gracious fluency ; this is a real note of the ' Elizabethan ' poets. His subjects are frequently pastoral, whh a classical tinge, Kiore or less slight, infused ; his language, though not free from exaggeration, is generally free from intellectual conceits and distortion, and is emi- nent throughout for a youthful naivett. Such, also, are qualities of the latter sixteenth century litera- ture. But if these characteristics might lead us to call Herrick ' the last of the Elizabethans,' born out of due time, the differences between him and them are not less marked. Herrick's directness of speech is accompanied by an equally clear and simple present- ment of his thought ; we have, perhaps, no poet who writes more consistently and earnestly with his eye upon his subject. An allegorical or mystical treat- ment is alien from him : he handles awkwardly the few traditional fables which he introduces. He is also wholly free from Italianizing tendencies : his classi- calism even is that of an English student, of a schoolboy, indeed, if he be compared with a Jonson or a Milton. Herrick's personal eulogies on his friends and others, further, witness to the extension of the field of poetry after Elizabeth's age ; in which his enthusiastic geniality, his quick and easy transitions of subject, have also little precedent. Jf, again, we compare Herrick's book with those of his fellow-poets for a hundred years before, very few PREFACE xvii tre the traces which he gives of imitation, or even of study. During the long interval between Herrick's entrance on his Cambridge and his clerical careers (an interval all but wholly obscure to us), it is natural to suppose that he read, at any rate, his Elizabethan predecessors : yet (beyond those general similarities already noticed) the Editor can find no positive proof of familiarity. Compare Herrick with Marlowe, Greene, Breton, Drayton, or other pretty pastoralists of the Helicon his general and radical unlikeness is what strikes us ; whilst he is even more remote from the passionate intensity of Sidney and Shakespeare, the Italian graces of Spenser, the pensive beauty of Parthenophil, of Dtella, of Fidessa, of the Hecatom- pathia and the Tears of Fancy. Nor is Herrick's resemblance nearer to many of the contemporaries who have been often grouped with him. He has little in common with the courtly ele- gance, the learned polish, which too rarely redeem commonplace and conceits in Carew, Habington, Lovelace, Cowley, or Waller. Herrick has his concetti also : but they are in him generally true plays of fancy ; he writes throughout far more naturally than these lyrists, who, on the other hand, in their unfrequent successes reach a more complete and classical form of expression. Thus, when Carew speaks of an aged fair one When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her, Love may return, but lovers never ! Cowley, of his mistress Love in her sunny eyes does basking play, Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair : xvin PREFACE or take Lovelace, ' To Lucasta,' Waller, in his ' Go, lovely rose,' we have a finish and condensation which Herrtek hardly attains ; a literary quality alien from his ' woodnotes wild,' which may help us to under- stand the very small appreciation he met from his age. He had ' a pretty pastoral gale of fancy,' said Phillips, cursorily dismissing Herrick in his Thea- trum: not suspecting how inevitably artifice and mannerism, if fashionable for awhile, pass into forget- fulness, whilst the simple cry of Nature partake in her permanence. Donne and Marvell, stronger men, leave also no mark on our poet. The elaborate thought, the metri- cal harshness of the first, could find no counterpart in Herrick ; whilst Marvell, beyond him in imagin- ative power, though twisting it too often into contor- tion and excess, appears to have been little known as a lyrist then : as, indeed, his great mtrits have never reached anything like due popular recognition. Yet Marvell's natural description is nearer Herrick's in felicity and insight than any of the poets named above. Nor, again, do we trace anything of Herbert or Vaughan in Herrick's Noble. Numbers, which, though unfairly judged if held insincere, are obviously far dis- tant from the intense conviction, the depth and inner fervour of his high-toned contemporaries. It is among the great dramatists of this age that we find the only English influences palpably operative on this singularly original writer. The greatest, in truth, is wholly absent : and it is remarkable that although Herrick may have joined in the wit-contests and genialities of the literary clubs in London soon after Shakespeare's death, and certainly lived in friendship PREFACE xix with some who had known him, yet his name is never mentioned in the poetical commemorations of the Hesperides. In Herrick, echoes from Fletcher's idyllic pieces in the Faithful Shepherdess are faintly traceable ; from his songs, ' Hear what Love can do,' and ' The lusty Spring/ more distinctly. But to Ben Jonson, whom Herrick addresses as his patron saint in song, and ranks on the highest list of his friends, his obligations are much more perceptible. In fact, Jonson's non-dramatic poetry, the Epigrams and Forest of 1616, the Underwoods of 1641, (he died in 1637), supply models, generally admirable in point of art, though of very unequal merit in their execu- tion and contents, of the principal forms under which we may range Herri ck's Hesperides. The graceful love-song, the celebration of feasts and wit, the encomia of friends, the epigram as then understood, are all here represented : even Herrick's vein in natural description is prefigured in the odes to Penshurst and Sir Robert Wroth, of 1616. And it is in the religious pieces of the Noble Numbers, for which Jonson afforded the least copious precedents, that, as a rule, Herrick is least successful. Even if we had not the verses on his own book, (the most noteworthy of which are here printed as Prefatory}) in proof that Herrick was no careless singer, but a true artist, working with conscious knowledge of his art, we nvght have inferred the fact from the choice of Jonson as his model. That great poet, as Clarendon justly remarked, had ' judgment to order and govern fancy, rather than excess of fancy : his productions being slow and upon deliberation.' No writer could be better fitted fo r the guidance of XX PREFACE one so fancy-free as Herrick ; to whom the curb, in the old phrase, was more needful than the spur, and whose invention, more fertile and varied than Jonson's, was ready at once to fill up the moulds of form provided. He does this with a lively facility, contrast- ing much with the evidence of labour in his master's work. Slowness and deliberation are the last qualities suggested by Herrick. Yet it may be doubted whether the volatile ease, the effortless grace, the wild bird-like fluency with which he Scatters his loose notes in the waste of air are not, in truth, the results of exquisite art working in co-operation with the gifts of nature. The various readings which our few remaining manuscripts or printed versions have supplied to Mr Grosart's ' Intro- duction,' attest the minute and curious care with which Herrick polished and strengthened his own work : his airy facility, his seemingly spontaneous melodies, as with Shelley his counterpart in pure lyrical art within this century were earned by conscious labour ; perfect freedom was begotten of perfect art ; nor, indeed, have excellence and permanence any other parent. With the error that regards Herrick as a careless singer is closely twined that which ranks him in the school of that master of elegant pettiness who has usurped and abused the name Anacreon ; as a mere light-hearted writer of pastorals, a gay and frivolous Renaissance amourist. He has indeed those elements : but with them is joined the seriousness of an age which knew that the light mask of classi- cahsm and bucolic allegory could be worn only as an PREFACE xxj ornament, i.nd that life held much deeper and further- reaching issues than were visible to the narrow horizons within which Horace or Martial circumscribed the range of their art. Between the most intensely poetical, and so, greatest, among the French poets of this century, and Herrick, are many points of likeness. He too, with Alfred de Musset, might have said ... Quoi que nous puissions faire, Je souffre ; il est trop tard ; le monde s'est fait vieux. Une immense esperance a traverse la terre ; Malgre nous vers le ciel il faut lever les yeux. Indeed, Herrick's deepest debt to ancient literature lies not in the models which he directly imitated, nor in the Anacreontic tone which with singular felicity he has often taken. These are common to many writers with him : nor will he who cannot learn more from the great ancient world ever rank among poets of high order, or enter the innermost sanctuary of art. But, the power to describe men and things as the poet sees them with simple sincerity, insight, and grace : to paint scenes and imaginations as perfect organic wholes ; carrying with it the gift to clothe each picture, as if by unerring instinct, in fit metrical form, giving to each its own music ; beginning with- out affectation, and rounding off without effort ; the power, in a word, to leave simplicity, sanity, and beauty as the last impressions lingering on our minds, these gifts are at once the true bequest of classicalism, and the reason why (until modern effort equals them) the study of that Hellenic and Latin poetry in which these gifts are eminent above all other literatures yet created, XX I i I'KEPACE must be essential. And it is success in precisely these excellences which is here claimed for Herrick. He is classical in the great and eternal sense of the phrase : and much more so, probably, than he was himself aware of. No poet in fact is so far from dwelling in a past or foreign world : it is the England, if not of 1648, at least of his youth, in which he lives and moves and loves : his Bucolics show no trace of Sicily : his Anthea and Julia wear no ' buckles of the purest gold,' nor have anything about them foreign to Middlesex or Devon. Herrick's imagin- ation has no far horizons : like Burns and Crabbe fifty years since, or Barnes (that exquisite and neglected pastoralist of fair Dorset, perfect within his narrower range as Herrick) to-day, it is his own native land only which he sees and paints : even the fairy world in which, at whatever inevitable interval, he is second to Shakespeare, is pure English; or rather, his elves live in an elfin county of their own, and are all but severed from humanity. Within that greater circle of Shakespeare, where Oberon and Ariel and their fellows move, aiding or injuring mankind, and reflecting human life in a kind of unconscious parody, Herrick cannot walk : and it may have been due to his good sense and true feeling for art, that here, where resemblance might have seemed probable, he borrows nothing from Midsummer Night's Dream or Tempest. If we are moved by the wider range of Byron's or Shelley's sympathies, there is a charm, also, in this sweet insularity of Herrick ; a nar- rowness perhaps, yet carrying with it a healthful reality absent from the vapid and artificial ' cosmo- politanism' that did such wrong on Goethe's genius. PRRFACR If he has not the exotic blooms and strange odours which poets who derive from literature show in their conservatories, Herrick has the fresh breeze and thyme-bed fragrance of open moorland, the grace and greenery of English meadows : with Homer and Dante, he too shares the strength and inspiration which come from touch of a man's native soil. What has been here sketched is not planned so much as a criticism in form on Herrick's poetry as an attempt to seize his relations to his predecessors and contemporaries. If we now tentatively inquire what place may be assigned to him in our literature at large, Herrick has no single lyric to show equal in pomp of music, brilliancy of diction, or elevation of sentiment to some which Spenser before, Milton in his own time, Dryden and Gray, Wordsworth and Shelley, since have given us. Nor has he, as already noticed, the peculiar finish and reserve (if the phrase may be allowed) traceable, though rarely, in Ben Jonsou and others of the seventeenth century. He does not want passion ; yet his passion wants concentration : it is too ready, also, to dwell on externals : imagination with him generally appears clothed in forms of fancy. Among his contemporaries, take Crashaw's ' Wishes' : Sir J. Beaumont's elegy on his child Gervase : take Bishop King's ' Surrender' : My once-dear Love ! hapless, tha,. J no more Must call thee so. ... The rich affection's store That fed our hopes, lies now exhaust and spent, Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent : We that did nothing study but the way To love each other, with which thoughts the day xxiv PREFACE Rose with delight to us, and with them set, Must learn the hateful art, how to forget ! Fold back our arms, take home our fruitless loves, That must new fortunes try, like turtle doves Dislodged from their haunts. We must in tears Unwind a love knit up in many years. In this one kiss I here surrender thee Back to thyself: so thou again art free : take eight lines by some old unknown Northern singer : When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie, And now what lands between us lie, How can I be but eerie ! How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, As ye were wae and weary ! It was na sae ye glinted by When 1 was wi' my dearie : O ! there is an intensity here, a note of passion be- yond the deepest of Herrick's. This tone (whether from temperament or circumstance or scheme of art), is wanting to the Hesperides and Noble Numbers ; nor does Herrick's lyre, sweet and varied as it is, own that purple chord, that more inwoven harmony, pos- sessed by poets of greater depth and splendour, by Shakespeare and Milton often, by Spenser more rarely. But if we put aside these ' greater gods ' of song, with Sidney, in the Editor's judgment Herrick's mastery (to use a brief expression), both over Nature and over Art, clearly assigns to him the first place as lyrical poet, in the strict and pure sense of the phrase, among all who flourished during the interval between Henry V PREFACE XXV and a hundred years since. Single pieces of equal, a few of higher, quality, we have, indeed, meanwhile received, not only from the master-singers who did not confine themselves to the Lyric, but from many poets some the unknown contributors to our early anth r ologies, then Jonson, Marvell, Waller, Collins, and others, with whom we reach the beginning of the wider sweep which lyrical poetry has since taken. Yet, look- ing at the whole work, not at the selected jewels, of this great and noble multitude, Herrick, as lyrical poet strictly, offers us by far the most homogeneous, attractive, and varied treasury. No one else among lyrists within the period defined, has such unfailing freshness : so much variety within the sphere pre- scribed to himself : such closeness to nature, whether in description or in feeling : such easy fitness in lan- guage : melody so unforced and delightful. His dull pages are much less frequent : he has more lines, in his own phrase, ' born of the royal blood ' : the Inflata rore non Achaico verba are rarer with him : although superficially mannered, nature is so much nearer to him, that far fewer of his pieces have lost vitality and interest through adherence to forms of feeling or fashions of thought now obsolete. A Roman contemporary is described by the younger Pliny in words very appropriate to Herrick : who, in fact, if Greek in respect of his method and style, in the contents of his poetry displays the ' frankness of nature and vivid sense of life 7 which criticism assigns as marks of the great Roman poets. Facit versus, quales Catullus aut Calvm. Quantum illis leporis, dulcedinis, xxvi PREFACE amaritudinis, amoris ! Inserit sane, sed data opera, mollibus lenibiisque duriusciilos quosdam ; et hoc, quasi Catullus aut Calvus. Many pieces have been here refused admittance, whether from coarseness of phrase or inferior value : yet these are rarely defective in the lyrical art, which, throughout the writer's work, is so simple and easy as almost to escape notice through its very excellence. In one word, Herrick, in a rare and special sense, is unique. To these qualities we may, perhaps, ascribe the singular neglect which, so far as we may infer, he met with in his own age, and certainly in the century following. For the men of the Restoration period he was too natural, too purely poetical : he had not the learned polish, the political allusion, the tone of the city, the didactic turn, which were then and onwards demanded from poetry. In the next age, no tradition consecrated his name ; whilst writers of a hundred years before were then too remote for familiarity, and not remote enough for reverence. Moving on to our own time, when some justice has at length been conceded to him, Herrick has to meet the great rivalry of the poets who, from Burns and Cowper to Tennyson, have widened and deepened the lyrical sphere, making it at once on the one hand more intensely personal, on the other, more free and picturesque in the range of problems dealt with : whilst at the same time new and richer lyrical forms, harmonies more intricate and seven-fold, have been created by them, as in Hellas during her golden age of song, to embody ideas and emotions unknown or unexpressed under Tudors and Stuarts. To this latter superiority Herrick would, doubtless, have bowed, as PREFACE xxvii he bowed before Ben Jonson's genius. ' Rural ditties,' and ' oaten flute * cannot bear the competition of the full modern orchestra. Yet this author need not fear ! That exquisite and lofty pleasure which it is the first and the last aim of all true art to give, must, by its own nature, be lasting also. As the eyesight fluctuates, and gives the advantage to different colours in turn, so to the varying moods of the mind the same beauty does not always seem equally beautiful. Thus from the 'purple light' of our later poetry there are hours in which we may look to the daffodil and rose-tints of Herrick's old Arcadia, for refreshment and delight. And the pleasure which he gives is as eminently wholesome as pleasurable. Like the holy river of Virgil, to the souls who drink of him, Herri ck offers ' securos latices.' He is conspicuously free from many of the maladies incident to his art. Here is no over- strain, no spasmodic cry, no wire-drawn analysis or sensational rhetoric, no music without sense, no mere second-hand literary inspiration, no mannered ar- chaism : above all, no sickly sweetness, no subtle, unhealthy affectation. Throughout his work, whether when it is strong, or in the less worthy portions, sanity, sincerity, simplicity, lucidity, are everywhere the characteristics of Herrick : in these, not in his pretty Pagan masquerade, he shows the note, the only genuine note, of Hellenic descent. Hence, through whatever changes and fashions poetry may pass, her true lovers he is likely to 'please now, and please for long.' His verse, in the words of a poet greater than himself, is of that quality which ' adds sunlight to daylight'; which is able to 'make the happy happier.' He will, it may be hoped, carry to the *xvill PREFACE many Englands across the seas, east and west, pic- tures of English life exquisite in truth and grace : to the more fortunate inhabitants (as they must per- force hold themselves !) of the old country, her image, as she was two centuries since, will live in the ' golden apples ' of the West, offered to us by this sweet singer of Devonshire. We have greater poets, not a few ; none more faithful to nature as he saw her, none more perfect in his art ; none, more companionable : 'S.vv fj.oi nff, (rui"7/a, awtpa, fjioi fj.aivo(Jt(v IDYLL1CA And towering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, And snaky Persius ; these, and those whom rage, Dropt for the jars of heaven, fill'd, t' engage All times unto their frenzies ; thou shall there Behold them in a spacious theatre : Among which glories, crown'd with sacred bays And flatt'ring ivy, two recite their plays, Beaumont 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 glimm'ring of a fancy ; Do but come, And there I'll shew thee that capacious room In which thy father, Jonson, now is placed As in a globe of radiant fire, and graced To be in that orb crown'd, that doth include Those prophets of the former magnitude, And he one chief. But hark ! I hear the cock, The bell-man 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 ! 56* THE INV1TA T1ON To sup with thee thou didst me home invite, And mad'st a promise that mine appetite Should meet and tire, on such lautitious meat, The like not Heliogabalus did eat : IDYLLICA 57 And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest, Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast. I came, 'tis true, and look'd for fowl of price, The bastard Phoenix ; bird of Paradise ; And for no less than aromatic wine Of maidens-blush, commix'd with jessamine. 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 ragg'd soused neats-foot, with sick vinegar ; And in a burnish'd flagonet, stood by Beer small as comfort, dead as charity. At which amazed, and pond'ring on the food, How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood. I curst the master, and I damn'd the souce, And swore I'd got the ague of the house. Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire, I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire. *57* TO SIR CLIPS BY CREW SINCE to the country first I came, 1 have lost my former flame ; And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravish'd spirit. If I write a verse or two, 'Tis with very much ado ; In regard I want that wine Which should conjure up a line. Yet, though now of Muse bereft, 58 IDYLL 1C A 1 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. .58 A COUNTRY LIFE: TO HIS BROTHER, MR THOMAS HER RICK THRICE, and above, blest, my soul's half, art thon, In thy both last and better vow ; Could'st leave the city, for exchange, to see The country's sweet simplicity ; And it to know and practise, with intent To grow the sooner innocent ; By studying to know virtue, and to aim More at her nature than her name ; The last is but the least ; the first doth tell Ways less to live, than to live well : And both are known to thee, who now canst live Led by thy conscience, to give Justice to soon-pleased nature, and to show Wisdom and she together go, And keep one centre ; This with that conspires To teach man to confine desires, And know that riches have their proper stint In the contented mind, not mint ; And canst instruct that those who have the itch Of craving more, are never rich. These things thou know'st to th' height, and dost prevent IDYLLIC A 59 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 tersely live to satisfy The belly chiefly, not the eye ; Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet, Less with a neat than needful diet. But that which most makes sweet thy country life, Is the fruition of a wife, Whom, stars consenting with thy fate, thou hast Got not so beautiful as chaste ; By whose warm side thou dost securely sleep, While Love the sentinel doth keep, With those deeds done by day, which ne'er affright Thy silken slumbers in the night : Nor has the darkness power to usher in Fear to those sheets that know no sin. The damask'd meadows and the pebbly 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 mix'd with Roses. Then dream, ye hear the lamb by many a blear Woo'd to come suck the milky teat ; While Faunus in the vision comes, to keep From raVning wolves the fleecy sheep : With thousand such enchanting dreams, that meet To make sleep not so sound as sweet ; Nor can these figures so thy rest endear, As not to rise when Chanticlere 6t. 1DYLLICA Warns the last watch ; but with the dawn dost rise To work, but first to sacrifice ; Making thy peace with Heaven for some late fault, With holy-meal and spirting salt ; Which done, thy painful thumb this sentence tells us, ' Jove for our labour all things sells us.' Nor are thy daily and devout affairs Attended with those desp'rate cares Th' industrious merchant has, who for to find Gold, runneth to the Western Ind, And back again, tortured with fears, doth fly, Untaught to suffer poverty ; But thou at home, blest with securest ease, Sitt'st, and believ'st that there be seas, And watery dangers ; while thy whiter hap But sees these things within thy map ; And viewing them with a more safe survey, Mak'st easy fear unto thee say, ' A heart thrice wall'd with oak and brass, that man Had, first durst plough the ocean.' But thou at home, without or tide or gale, 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, Buy'st travel at the lowest price. Nor are thine ears so deaf but thou canst hear, Far more with wonder than with fear, Fame tell of states, of countries, courts, and kings, And believe there be such things ; When of these truths thy happier knowledge lies More in thine ears than in thine eyes. And when thou hear'st by that too true report, IDYLLICA 6l Vice rules the most, or all, at court, Thy pious wishes are, though thou not there, Virtue had, and moved her sphere. Hut thou liv'st fearless ; and thy face ne'er shows Fortune when she comes, or goes ; But with thy equal thoughts, prepared dost stand To take her by the either hand ; Nor car's! which comes the first, the foul or fair : A wise man ev'ry way lies square ; And like a surly oak with storms perplexM Grows still the stronger, strongly vex'd. Be so, bold Spirit ; stand centre-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 Lar : Nor curious whether appetite be fed Or with the first, or second bread. Who keep'st no proud mouth for delicious cates ; Hunger makes coarse meats, delicates. Canst, and unurged, forsake that larded fare, Which art, not nature, makes so rare ; To taste boil'd nettles, coleworts, beets, and eat These, and sour herbs, as dainty meat : While soft opinion makes thy Genius say, ' Content makes all ambrosia ; ' Nor is it that thou keep'st this stricter size So much for want, as exercise ; To numb the sense of dearth, which, should sin haste it, Thou might'st but only see't, not taste it ; Yet can thy humble roof maintain a quire Of singing crickets by thy fire } 62 IDYL 1. 1C A And the brisk mouse may feast herself with crumbs, Till that the green-eyed killing comes ; Then to her cabin, blest she can escape The sudden danger of a rape. And thus thy little well-kept stock doth prove, Wealth cannot make a life, but love. Nor art thou so close-handed, but canst spend, (Counsel concurring with the end), As well as spare ; still conning o'er this theme, To shun the first and last extreme ; Ordaining that thy small stock find no breach, Or to exceed thy tether's reach ; But to live round, and close, and wisely true To thine own self, and known to few. Thus let thy rural sanctuary be Elysium to thy wife and thee ; There to disport your selves with golden measure ; For seldom use commends the pleasure. Live, and live blest ; thrice happy pair ; let breath, But lost to one, be th' other's death : And as there is one love, one faith, one troth, Be so one death, one grave to both ; Till when, in such assurance live, ye may Nor fear, or wish your dying day. *59" TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKS SINCE shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one ; To whose glad threshold, and free doer IDYLLICA 63 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 sec An over-leaven look in thee, To sour the bread, and turn the beer To an exalted vinegar ; Or should'st thou prize me as a dish Of thrice-boil'd worts, or third-day's fish, I'd rather hungry go and come Than to thy house be burdensome ; Yet, in my depth of grief, I'd be One that should drop his beads for thee. 60 A PARANAETICALL, OR ADV1SIVE VERSL TO HIS FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKS Is this a life, to break thy sleep, To rise as soon as day doth peep ? To tire thy patient ox or ass By noon, and let thy good days pass, Not knowing this, that Jove decrees Some mirth, t' adulce man's miseries ? No ; 'tis a life to have thine oil Without extortion from thy soil ; Thy faithful fields to yield thee grain, Although with some, yet little pain ; To have thy mind, and nuptial bed, With fears and cares uncumbere'd ; 64 IDYLLIC A A pleasing wife, that by thy side Lies softly panting like a bride ; This is to live, and to endear Those minutes Time has lent us here. Then, while fates suffer, live thou free, As is that air that circles thee ; And crown thy temples too ; and let Thy servant, not thy own self, sweat, To strut thy barns with 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, than live our day. Whose life with care is overcast, That man's not said to live, but last ; Nor is't a life, seven years to tell, But for to live that half seven well ; And that we'll do, as men who know, Some few sands spent, we hence must go, Both to be blended in the urn, From whence there's never a return. IDYLLIC A 65 TO HIS HONOURED AND MOST INGENIOUS FK1KND AIR 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 read'st what we do write, And giv'st our numbers euphony and weight ; Tcll'st when a verse springs high ; how understood To be, or not, born of the royal blood What state above, what symmetry below, Lines have, or should have, thou the best can 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 I5e less another's laurel, than thy praise. 62 A NE}Y YEAR'S GIF1 SENT TO SIR SIMEON STEWARD No news of navies burnt at seas ; No noise of late spawn'd tittyries ; No closet plot or open vent, That frights men with a Parliament . No new device or late-found trick, To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick ; No gin to catch the State, or wring f>f> IDYL 1. 1C A The free-born nostril of the King, We send to you ; but here a jolly Verse crown'd with ivy and with holly ; That tells of winter's tales and mirth That milk-maids make about the hearth ; Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl, That toss'd up, after Fox-i'-th'-hole ; Of Blind-man-buff, and of the care That young men have to shoe the Mare ; Of tvvelf-tide cakes, of pease and beans, Wherewith ye make those merry scenes, Whenas ye chuse your king and queen, And cry out, ' Hey for our town green ! ' Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use Husbands and wives by streaks to chuse ; Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds A plenteous harvest to your grounds ; Of these, and such like things, for shift, We send instead of New-year's gift. Read then, and when your faces shine With buxom meat and cap'ring wine, Remember us in cups full crown'd, And let our city-health go round, Quite through the young maids and the men, To the ninth number, if not ten : Until the fire"d chestnuts leap For joy to see the fruits ye reap, From the plump chalice and the cup That tempts till it be tossdd up. Then as ye sit about your embers, Call not to mind those fled Decembers ; But think on these, that are t' appear, As daughters to the instant year ; IDYL LIC A 67 Sit crown'cl with rose-buds, 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 bag-pipe all address, Till sleep takes place of weariness. And thus throughout, with Christmas plays. Frolic the full twelve holy-days. .63- AN ODE TO SIR CL1TSBY CREW H ERK we securely live, and eat The cream of meat ; And keep eternal fires, By which we sit, and do divine, As wine And rage inspires. If full, we charm ; then call upon Anacreon To grace the frantic Thyrse : And having drunk, we raise a shout Throughout, To praise his verse. Then cause we Horace to be read, Which sung or said, A goblet, to the brim, Of lyric wine, both swell'd and crown'd, Around We quaff to him. ( , i 2 6S IDYLLIC A Thus, thus we live, and spend the hours In wine and flowers ; And make the frolic year, The month, the week, the instant day To stay The longer here. Come then, brave Knight, and see the cell Wherein I dwell ; And my enchantments too ; Which love and noble freedom is : And this Shall fetter you. Take horse, and come ; or be so kind To send your mind, Though but in numbers few : And I shall think I have the heart Or part Of Clipsby Crew. 64." A PANEGYRIC TO SIR LEWIS PEMBERTON TILL I shall come again, let this suffice, I send my salt, my sacrifice To thec, thy lady, younglings, and as far As to thy Genius and thy Lar ; To the worn threshold, porch, hall, parlour, kitchen, The fat-fed smoking temple, which in wholesome savour of thy mighty chines, IDYL LIC A 6<; Invites to supper him who dines : Where laden spits, warp'd with large ribs of beef, Not represent, but give relief To the lank stranger and the sour swain, Where both may feed and come again ; For no black-bearded Vigil from thy door Beats with a button'd-staff the poor ; But from thy warm love-hatching gates, each may Take friendly morsels, and there stay To sun his thin-clad members, if he likes ; For thou no porter keep'st who strikes. No comer to thy roof his guest-rite wants ; Or, staying there, is scourged with taunts Of some rough groom, who, yirk'd with corns, says, ' Sir, ' You've dipp'd too long i' th' vinegar ; 'And with our broth and bread and bits, Sir friend, ' You've fare"d well ; pray make an end ; ' Two days you've 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 ; you're here * Welcome as thunder to our beer ; 'Manners knows distance, and a man unrtide ' Would soon recoil, and not intrude ' Mis stomach to a second meal.' No, no, Thy house, well fed and taught, can show No such crabb'd vizard : Thou hast learnt thy train With heart and hand to entertain ; And by the arms-full, with a breast unhid, As the old race of mankind did, When cither's heart, and cither's hand did strive To be the nearer relative ; 7 IDYLLICA Thou dost redeem those times : and what was lost Of ancient honesty, may boast It keeps a growth in thee, and so will run A course in thy fame's pledge, thy son. Thus, like a Roman Tribune, thou thy gate Early sets ope to feast, and late ; Keeping no currish waiter to affright, With blasting eye, the appetite, Which fain would waste upon thy cates, but tha The trencher- creature marketh what Best and more suppling piece he cuts, and by Some private pinch tells dangers nigh, A hand too desp'rate, or a knife that bites Skin-deep into the pork, or lights Upon some part of kid, as if mistook, When checkdd by the butler's look. No, no, thy bread, thy wine, thy jocund beer Is not reserved for Trebius here, But all who at thy table seated are, Find equal freedom, equal fare ; And thou, like to that hospitable god, Jove, joy'st when guests make their abode To eat thy bullocks thighs, thy veals, thy fat Wethers, and never grudgdd at. The pheasant, partridge, gotwit, reeve, ruff, rail, The cock, the curlew, and the quail, These, and thy choicest viands, do extend Their tastes unto the lower end Of thy glad table ; not a dish more known To thee, than unto any one : But as thy meat, so thy immortal wine Makes the smirk face of each to shine. And spring fresh rose-buds, while the sail, the wit, IDYLLIC A ?1 Flows from the wine, and graces it ; While Reverence, waiting at the bashful board, Honours my lady and my lord. No scurril jest, no open scene is laid Here, for to make the face afraid ; But temp'rate mirth dealt forth, and so discreet- Ly, that it makes the meat more sweet, And adds perfumes unto the wine, which thou Dost rather pour forth, than allow By cruse and measure ; thus devoting wine, As the Canary isles were thine ; But with that wisdom and that method, as No one that's there his guilty glass Drinks of distemper, or has cause to cry Repentance to his liberty. No, thou know'st orders, ethics, and hast read All oeconomics, know'st to lead A house-dance neatly, and canst truly show How far a figure ought to go, Forward or backward, side-ward, and what pact- Can give, and what retract a grace ; What gesture, courtship, comeliness agrees, With those thy primitive decrees, To give subsistence to thy house, and proof What Genii support thy roof, Goodness and greatness, not the oaken piles ; For these, and marbles have their whiles To last, but not their ever ; virtue's hand It is which builds 'gainst fate to stand. Such is thy house, whose firm foundations trust Is more in thee than in her dust, Or depth ; these last may yield, and yearly shrink, When what is strongly built, no chink 72 IDVLLICA Or yawning rupture can the same devour, But fix'd it stands, by her own power And well-laid bottom, on the iron and rock, Which tries, and counter-stands the shock And ram of time, and by vexation grows The stronger. Virtue dies when foes Are wanting to her exercise, but great And large she spreads by dust and sweat. Safe stand thy walls, and thee, and so both will, Since neither's height was raised by th' ill Of others ; since no stud, no stone, no piece Was rear'd up by the poor-man's fleece ; No widow's tenement was rack'd to gild Or fret thy cieling, or to build A sweating-closet, to anoint the silk- Soft skin, or bath[e] in asses' 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 hallow'd altar does appeal To yond' Star-chamber, or does seal A curse to thee, or thine ; but all things even Make for thy peace, and pace to heaven. Go on directly so, as just men may A thousand times more swear, than say This is that princely Pemberton, who can Teach men to keep a God in man ; And when wise poets shall search out to see Good men, they find them all in thee. IDYL L1C A .73 -65- ALL THINGS DEC A V AN'J DIE ALL things decay with time : The forest sees The growth and down-fall of her aged trees ; That timber tall, which three-score lustres stood The proud dictator of the state-like wood, I mean the sovereign of all plants, the oak, Droops, dies, and falls without the cleavers stroke. 66 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 dispatch'd is by the night as day. Let us not then so rudely henceforth go Till we have wept, kiss'd, sigh'd, shook hands, or so. There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell When once true lovers take their last farewell. What ? shall we two our endless leaves take here Without a sad look, or a solemn tear? He knows not love that hath not this truth proved Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved. Pay we our vows and go ; yet when we part, Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart 74 10 YLLICA 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. HIS ACE: DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKES, UNDER THE NAME Of POSTHUMUS 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 e'er decline The doom of cruel Proserpine. The pleasing wife, the house, the ground Must all be left, no one plant found To follow thee, Save only the curst cypress-tree ! A merry mind Looks forward* scorns what's left behind ; Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may, And here enjoy our holiday. IDYLLIC A 75 We've seen the past best times, and Will ne'er return ; we see the seas, And moons to wane, But they fill up their ebbs again ; But vanish'd man, Like to a lily lost, ne'er can, Ne'er can repullulate, or bring His days to see a second spring. But on we must, and thither tend, Where Ancus and rich Tullus blend Their sacred seed ; Thus has infernal Jove decreed ; We must be made, Ere long a song, ere long a shade. Why then, since life to us is short, Let's make it full up by our sport. Crown we our heads with roses then, And 'noint with Tyrian balm ; for when We two are dead, The world with us is buried. Then live we free As is the air, and let us be Our own fair wind, and mark each one Day with the white and lucky stone. We are not poor, although we have No roofs of cedar, nor our brave Baiae, nor keep Account of such a flock of sheep ; Nor bullocks fed To lard the shambles ; barbels bred IDYL LIC A To kiss our hands ; nor do \ve wish For Pollio's lampreys in our dish. If we can meet, and so confer, Both by a shining salt-cellar, And have our roof, Although not arch'd, yet weather-proof, And cieling free, From that cheap candle-baudery ; We'll eat our bean with that full mirth As we were lords of all the earth. Well, then, on what seas we are tost, 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 1' th' seas, she saves her passengers. Say, we must part ; sweet mercy bless Us both i' th' sea, camp, wilderness ! Can we so far Stray, to become less circular Than we are now ? No, no, that self-same heart, that vow Which made us one, shall ne'er undo, Or ravel so, to make us two. Live in thy peace ; as for myself. When I am bruised on the shelf JDYLLICA 77 Of time, and show My locks behung with frost and snow ; When with the rheum. The cough, the pthisic, I consume Unto an almost nothing ; then, The ages fled, I'll call again, And with a tear compare these last Lame and bad times with those are past, 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 ache's, grown Now old enough to be our own True calendars, as puss's ear Wash'd o'er 's, to tell what change is near ; Then to assuage The gripings of the chine by age, I'll call my young lulus to sing such a song I made upon my Julia's breast, And of her blush at such a feast. Then shall he read that flower of mine Enclosed within a crystal shrine ; A primrose next ; A piece then of a higher text ; For to beget In me a more transcendant heat, Than that insinuating fire Which crept into each age"d sire 78 IDYLLICA 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.' 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 lulus' hairs, Doting, I'll weep and say, ' In truth, ' Baucis, these were my sins of youth.' Then next I'll cause my hopeful lad, If a wild apple can be had, To crown the hearth ; Lar thus conspiring with our mirth ; Then to infuse Our browner ale into the cruse ; Which, sweetly spiced, we'll first carouse Unto the Genius of the house. Then the next health to friends of mine, Loving the brave Burgundian wine, High sons of pith, Whose fortunes I have frolick'd with ; Such as could well Bear up the magic bough and spell ; IDYL LIC A 79 And dancing 'bout the mystic Thyrse, Give up the just applause to verse ; To those, and then again to thee, We'll drink, my Wickes, until we be Plump as the cherry, Though not so fresh, yet full as merry As the cricket, The untamed heifer, or the pricket, Until our tongues shall tell our ears, We're younger by a score of years. Thus, till we see the fire less shine From th' embers than the killing's eyne, We'll still sit up, Sphering about the wassail cup, To all those times Which gave me honour for my rhymes ; The coal once spent, we'll then to bed, Far more than night bewearie"d. 68* 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, IDYLLIC A And Charles here rule, as he before did reign ; If smooth and unperplex'd the seasons were, As when the sweet Maria livdd here ; I should delight to have my curls half drown'd In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd : And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead, Knock at a star with my exalted head. O.V HIMSELF A WEARIED pilgrim I have wander'd 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 gray hairs doth his lustres tell, Lives not those years, but he that lives them well One man has rcach'd his sixty years, but he Of all those three-score has not lived half three He lives who lives to virtue ; men who cast Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last. 70 UJS WINDING-SHEET COME thoti, who art the wine and wit Of all I've writ ; The grace, the glory, and the best Piece of the rest ; IDYL LIC A g Thou art of what I did intend The All, and End ; And what was made, was made to meet Thee, thee my sheet. Come then, and be to my chaste side Both bed and bride. We two, as reliques left, will have One rest, one grave ; And. hugging close, we need 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 opprest, Do here find rest. The wronged client ends his laws Here, and his cause ; Here those long suits of Chancery lie Quiet, or die ; And all Star-chamber bills do cease, Or hold their peace. Here needs no court for our Request Where all are best ; All wise, all equal, and all just Alike i' th' dust. Nor need we here to fear the frown Of court or crown ; Where fortune bears no sway o'er things, There all are kings. ]n this securer place we'll keep. G 82 IDYLL 1C A As lull'd asleep ; Or for a little time we'll lie, As robes laid by, To be another day re-worn, Turn'd, but not torn ; Or like old testaments engrost, Lock'd up, not lost ; And for a-while lie here conceal'cl, To be reveal'd Next, at that great Platonic year, And then meet here. 71 ANACREONTIC 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 conies, Still I be bousing ; For I know, in the tombs There's no carousing. 72- TO LA UK ELS A FUNERAL stone Or verse, I covet none ; But only crave Of you that I may have A sacred laurel springing from my rave fDYLLICA 8j Which being seen Blest with perpetual green. May grow to be Not so much call'd a tree, As the eternal monument of me. 73" 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. '74* 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. -75- TO ROBIN RED-BREAST LAID out for dead, let thy last kindness be With leaves and moss-work for to cover me ; And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter, G 2 i in- LI. ic A Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister !{ For epitaph, in foliage, next write this : //erg, here the to tub of Robin Her rick is / 76 THE OLIVE BRANCH SADLY I vvalk'cl within the field, To see what comfort it would yield ; And as I went my private way, An olive-branch before me lay ; And seeing it, I made a stay, And took it up, and view'd it ; then Kissing the omen, said Amen ; Re, 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. 77' THE PL A UD1FE, OR END OF LIFE IF after rude and boisterous seas My wearied pinnace here finds ease j If so it be I've gain'd the shore, With safety of a faithful oar ; IDYLLIC A 85 If having run my barque on ground, Ye see the aged vessel crown'd ; What's to be done ? but on the sands Ye dance and sing, and now clap hands. The first act's doubtful, but (we say) It is the last commends the Play. TO GROYES YE silent shades, whose each tree here Some relique of a saint doth wear ; Who for some sweet-heart's sake, did prove The fire and martyrdom of Love : Here is the legend of those saints That died for love, and their complaints ; Their wounded hearts, and names we find Encarved upon the leaves and rind. Give way, give way to me, who come Scorch'd with the self-same martyrdom ! And have deserved as much, Love knows, As to be canonized 'mongst those Whose deeds and deaths here written are Within your Greeny-kalendar. By all those virgins' fillets hung Upon your boughs, and requiems sung 86 ARfORES For saints and souls departed hence, Here honour'd still with frankincense ; By all those tears that have been shed, As a drink-offering to the dead ; By all those true-love knots, that be With mottoes carved on every tree ; By sweet Saint Phillis ! pity me ; By dear Saint I phis ! 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 remember'd in your story. 79 MRS EL 12: WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF TI1F. LOST SHEPHERDESS AMONG the myrtles as I walk'd Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd : Tell me, said I, in deep distress, Where I may find my Shepherdess ? Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? 1 n every thing that's sweet she is. In yond' carnation go and seek, There thou shall find her lip and cheek ; 7 I.i that enamell'xt p.insy by, Tliere thou shalt have her curious eye ; In bloom of peach and rose's bud/ There waves the streamer of her blood. 'Tis true, said I ; and thereupon I went to pluck them one by one, To make of parts an unidn ; But on a sudden all were gone. At which I stopp'd ; Said Love, these be The true resemblances of thee ; For as these flowers, thy joys must die ; And in the turning of an eye ; And all thy hopes of her must wither, Like those short sweets here knit together. 80 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 srive to thee ! UPON LOVE A CRYSTAL vial Cupid brought. Which had a juice in it : Of which who drnnlc, he said, no thought Of Love he should admit. 88 A MORES I, greedy of the prize, did drink, And emptied soon the glass ; Which burnt me so, that I do think The fire of hell it was. Give me my earthen cups again, The crystal I contemn, Which, though enchased with pearls, contain A deadly draught in them. And thoti, O Cupid ! come not to My threshold, since I see, For all I have, or else can do, Thou still wilt cozen me. 82 UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES WHENAS in silks my Julia goes, Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes ! Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see That brave vibration each way free ; O how that glittering taketb me ! AAfOKKS 89 83* THE BRACELET TO 'JULIA WHY I tie about thy wrist, J ulia, this my silken twist ? For what other reason is't, But to shew thee how in part Thou my pretty captive art ? But thy bond-slave is my heart ; ; Tis but silk that bindeth thee, Knap the thread and thou art free ; But 'tis otherwise with me ; I am bound, and fast bound so, That from thee I cannot go ; If I could, I would not so. '84* UPON JULIA'S RIBBON As shews the air when with a rain-bow graced, So smiles that ribbon 'bout my Julia's waist ; Or like Nay, 'tis that Zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove AMORRS r 85- / i TO JULIA How rich and pleasing thou, my Juiia, ari, 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 carkanet is bound, Made of the Ruby, Pearl, and Diamond ; A golden ring, that shines upon thy thumb ; About thy wrist the rich Dardanium ; Between thy breasts, than down of swans more white, There plays the Sapphire with the Chrysolite. No part besides must of thyself be known, But by the Topaz, Opal, Calcedon. 86- ART ABOVE NATURE: TO JULIA WHEN 1 behold a forest spread With silken trees upon thy head ; And when I see that other dress Of flowers set in comeliness ; When I behold another grace In the ascent of curious lace. Which, like a pinnacle, doth shew The top, and the top-gallant too ; Then, when I see thy tresses bound Into an oval, square, or round, A MO RES 91 And knit in knots far more than J Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie ; Next, when those lawny films I see Play with a wild civility j And all those airy silks to flow, Alluring me, and tempting so 1 must confess, mine eye and heart Dotes less on nature than on art. 8; HER BED SEE'ST thou that cloud as silver clear, Plump, soft, and swelling every where ? 'Tis Julia's bed, and she sleeps there. THE ROCK OF RUBIES, AND THE QUARRY OF PEARLS SOME ask'd me where the Rubies grew : And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and wher? ; Then spoke I to my girl, To part her lips, and shew me there The quarrelets of Pearl. AMriRF.S 89* THE PARLIAMENT OP 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 tiffany, or cob-web lawn ; Then in that Parly all those powers Voted the Rose the Queen of flowers ; But so, as that herself should be The Maid of Honour unto thee. 90. UPON JULIA'S 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 commingled ; And those, her lips, do now appear As beams of coral, but more clear. A MO RES 9j 91 Ul'OX JULIA'S HAIR FILLED WITH DEW I)KW sate on Julia's hair, And spangled too, Like leaves that laden are With trembling dew ; Or gh'tter'd to my sight, As when the beams Have their reflected light Danced by the streams. . 92* CHERRY-RIPE CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones ; come, and buy : If so be you ask me where They do grow ? I answer, there Where my Julia's lips do smile ; There's the land, or cherry-isle ; Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow. 94 AMOK EX 93" THE CAPTIVED BEE; OR, THE LITTLE FlLCUbk As Julia once a-slumb'ring 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 suck'd from thence Honey, and in the quintessence, He drank so much he scarce could stir ; So Julia took the pilferer. And thus surprised, as filchcrs 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 sirup ran at waste. Besides, know this, I never sting The flower that gives me nourishing ; But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay For honey that I bear away.' This said, he laid his little scrip Of honey 'fore her ladyship, And told her, as some tears did fall, That, that he took, and that was all. At which she smiled, and bade him go 95 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. "94* UPON ROSES UNDER a lawn, than skies more clear, Some rufHed Roses nestling were, And snugging there, they seem'd to lie As in a flowery nunnery ; They blush'd, and look'd more fresh than flowers Quickened of late by pearly showers ; And all, because they were possest Hut of the heat of Julia's breast, Which, as a warm and moisten'd spring, Gave them their ever flourishing. *95 HOW HIS SOUL CAME ENSNARED MY soul would one day go and seek For roses, and in Julia's cheek A richess of those sweets she found, As in another Rosamond ; But gathering roses as she was, Mot knowing what would come to pass. 96 A MO RES It chanced a ringlet of her hair Caught my poor soul, as in a snare : Which ever since has been in thra'il ; Yet freedom she enjoys withal. 96 UPON JULIA'S VOICE 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 turn'd into a Lute. "97* 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 spark? of fire, befriend thee. No WUl-o'th'-Wisp mis-light thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee ; A MO RES 07 But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber ; What though the moon does slumber ? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear, without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me ; And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet, My soul I'll pour into thee. 98* HIS COVENANT OR PROTESTATION TO JULIA WHY dost thou wound and break my heart. As if we should for ever part ? Hast thou not heard an oath from me, After a day, or two, or three, I would come back and live with thee ? Take, if thou dost distrust that vow, This second protestation now : Upon thy cheek that spangled tear, Which sits as dew of roses there, That tear shall scarce be dried before I'll kiss the threshold of thy door ; Then weep not, Sweet, but thus much know. I'm half return'd before I go. 11 98 A MOKES *99* HIS SAILING FROM JULIA WHEN that day comes, whose evening says I'm gone Unto that watery desolatidn ; Devoutly to thy Closet-gods then pray, That my wing'd ship may meet no Remora. Those deities which circum-walk the seas, And look upon our dreadful passages, Will from all dangers re- deliver me, For one drink-offering poure"d out by thee. Mercy and Truth live with thee ! and forbear In my short absence, to unsluice a tear ; But yet for love's-sake, let thy lips do this, Give my dead picture one engendering kiss ; Work that to life, and let me ever dwell In thy remembrance, Julia. So farewell. * I00 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 chuse my burial room : My fates are ended ; when thy Herrick dies, Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes. AMORES 99 IOI THE TRANSFIGURATION IMMORTAL clothing I put on So soon as, Julia, I am gone To mine eternal mansion. Thou, thou art here, to human sight Clothed all with incorrupted light ; But yet how more admiVdly bright Wilt thou appear, when thou art set In thy refulgent thronelet, That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit '. * IO2" 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 sweet-heart down. Be she rough, or smooth of skin ; When I touch, I then begin For to let affection in. A MORES Be she bald, or does she wear Locks incurl'd of other hair ; I shall find enchantment there. Be she whole, or be she rent, So my fancy be content, She's to me most excellent. Be she fat, or be she lean ; Be she sluttish, be she clean ; I'm a man for every scene. UPON LOVE 1 HKLD Love's head while it did ache ; But so it chanced to be, The cruel pain did his forsake, And forthwith came to hie. Ai me ! how shall my grief be still'd ? Or where else shall we find One like to me, who must be kill'd For being too-too-kind ? 104- TO D I AN ERIE I COULD but see thee yesterday Stung by a fretful bee ; ^ ASfORES IO1 And I the javelin suck'd away, And heal'd the wound in thee. A thousand thorns, and briars, and stings I have in my poor breast ; Yet ne'er can see that jalve which brings My passions any t-t st. As Love shall he,p me, I admire How thou canst i'it and smile To see me bleed, and not desire To staunch 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 ! * IO5 TO PEREN.VA WHEN I thy parts run o'er, I can't espy In any one, the least indecency ; But every line and limb diffuse'd thence A fair and unfamiliar excellence ; So that the more I look, the more I prove There's stili more cause why I the more should jQ2 A MO RES 106 TO OENONE. WHAT conscience, say, is it in thec, When I a heart had one, [wonj To take away that heart from me, And to retain thy own ? For shame or pity, now incline To play a loving part ; Either to send me kindly thine, Or give me back my heart. Covet not both ; but if thou dost Resolve to part with neither ; Why ! yet to shew that thou art just, Take me and mine together. 107 TO ELECTRA I DARE not ask a kiss, I dare not beg a smile ; Lest having that, or this, 1 might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be, Only to kiss that air That lately kissdd thee. AMORES 103 108" TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING BID me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant tobe ; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart I'll give to thee. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay To honour thy decree ; Or bid it languish quite away, And't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep, While I have eyes to see ; And having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Under that cypress tree ; Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en death, to die for thee. Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me ; And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. 104 A MOKES * IO9* ANTIfEA'S RETRACTATION A NTH E A laugh'd, and, fearing lest excess Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness, She with a dainty bhisli rebuked her face, And call'd each line back to his rule and space I JO 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 hei j s, 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. III TO D1ANEME GIVE me one kiss, And no more : If so be, this Makes you poor A MOKES 105, To enrich you, I'll restore For that one, two- Thousand score. * 112 UPON HER EYES CLEAR are her eyes, Like purest skies ; Discovering from thence A baby there That turns each sphere. Like an Intelligence. * 113* UPON HER FEET HER pretty feet Like snails did creep A little out, and then, As if they playdd at Bo-peep, Did soon draw in again. io6 AMORES I 14* UPON A DELAYING LADY COME, come away Or let me go ; Must I here stay Because you're slow, And will continue so ; Troth, lady, no. I scorn to be A slave to state ; And since I'm free, I will not wait, Henceforth at such a rate, For needy fate. If you desire My spark should glow, The peeping fire You must blow ; Or I shall quickly grow To frost, or snow. MIS' THE CRUEL MAID AND, cruel maid, because I see You scornful of my love, and me, A MO RES 107 I'll trouble you no more, but go My way, where you shall never know What is become of me ; there I Will find me out a path to die, Or learn some way how to forget You and your name for ever ; yet Ere I go hence, know this from me, What will in time your fortune be ; This to your coyness I will tell ; And having spoke it once, Farewell. The lily will not long endure, Nor the snow continue pure ; The rose, the violet, one day See both these lady-flowers decay ; And you must fade as well as they. And it may chance that love may turn, And, like to mine, make your heart burr 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 : I.(n>e kilFd thh man. No more, but so 108 AMORES 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 casks are ever found To give, if any, yet but little sound. Deep waters noiseless are ; and this we know, That chiding streams betray small depth below. So when love speechless is, she doth express A depth in love, and that depth bottomless. Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such, Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much. IMPOSSIBILITIES : TO HIS FRIEND MY faithful friend, if you can sec 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 ; AMORES 109 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. THE BUBBLE: A SOXG To my revenge, and to her desperate fears, Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs and tears ! In the wild air, when thou hast roll'd 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 fixe*d sight For thy revenge to be most opposite, Then, like a globe, or ball of wild-fire, fly, And break thyself in shivers on her eye ! IIQ* DELIGHT t\ r DISORDER A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness ; A lawn about the shoulders throw* Into a fine distraction ; HO A MO RES An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher ; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly ; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat ; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility ; Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part. I2O TO SILVIA PARDON my trespass, Silvia ! I confess My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefacedness None is discreet at all times ; no, not Jove Himself, at one time, can be wise and love. 121 TO SIL VIA , 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. AMORES " 122 BARLEY-BREAK; OR, LAST IN HELL WE two are last in hell ; what may we fear To be tormented or kept pris'ners here ? Alas ! if kissing be of plagues the worst, We'll wish in hell we had been last and first. ON A PERFUMED LADY You say you're sweet : how should we know Whether that you be sweet or no ? From powders and perfumes keep free Then we shall smell how sweet you be ! 124* THE PARCAE; OR, THREE DAINTY DESTIN2&S, THEARMILET THREE lovely sisters working were, As they were closely set, Of soft and dainty maiden-hair, A curious Armilet. I, smiling, ask'd them what they did, Fair Destinies all three ? ri3 A MOKES Who told me they had drawn a thread Of life, and 'twas for me. They shew'd me then how fine 'twas spun And I replied thereto ; ' I care not now how soon 'tis done, Or cut, if cut by you.' 125 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 1' th' flowery nunnery ; By silent nights, and the Three forms of Hecatd ; By all aspects that bless The sober sorceress, While juice she strains, and pith To make her philtres with ; By Time, that hastens on Tilings to perfection ; And by your self, the best Conjurement of the rest ; O, my Electra ! be In love with none but me. AMOK US "3 126' TO SAPHO SAPHO, I will chuse 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. 127 * 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, infuse'd 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. U4 A MOKES I28 TO DIANEME SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes, Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies ; Nor be you proud, that you can see All hearts your captives, your's, yet free ; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air ; Whenas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone, When all your world of beauty's gone. TO DIANEME DEAR, though to part it be a hell, Yet, Dianemd, now farewell ! Thy frown last night did bid me go, But whither, only grief does know. I do beseech thee, ere we part, (If merciful, as fair thou art ; Or else desir'st that maids should tell Thy pity by Love's chronicle) O, Dianemd, rather kill Me, than to make me languish still ! AMORES 115 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. I30- KISSING USURY BlANCHA, let Me pay the debt I owe thee for a kiss Thou lend'st to me ; And I to thee Will render ten for this. If thou wilt say, Ten will not pay For that so rich a one ; I'll clear the sum, If it will come Unto a million. He must of right, To th' utmost mite, Make payment for his pleasure; (By this I guess) Of happiness Who has a little measure. i : Il6 AMORF.S * I3I UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES I HAVE lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses : Stately Julia, prime of all ; Sapho 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 Per ilia : All are gone ; Only Hrrick's left alone, For to number sorrow by Their departures hence, and die. 132- 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 your's bleed a tear, Or pierce it any where ; AMORES 117 Yet do it to this end, that I May by This secret see, Though you can make That heart to bleed, your's ne'er will acht For me. *I33 HIS MISTRESS TO HIM AT HIS FAREWELL You may vow I'll not forget To pay the debt Which to thy memory stands as due As faith can seal it you. Take then tribute of my tears ; So long as I have fears To prompt me, I shall ever Languish and look, but thy return see never. Oh then to lessen my despair, Print thy lips into the air, So by this Means, I may kiss thy kiss, Whenas some kind Wind Shall hither waft it : And, in lieu, My lips shall send a thousand back to you. Il8 A MO RES * 134* oc UTCHES THOU see'st me, Lucia, this year droop ; Three zodiacs fill'd more, I shall stoop ; Let crutches then provided be To shore up my debility : Then, while thou laugh'st, I'll sighing cry, A ruin underpropt am I : Don will I then my beadsman's gown ; And when so feeble I am grown As my weak shoulders cannot bear The burden of a grasshopper ; Yet with the bench of age"d sires, When I and they keep termly fires, With my weak voice I'll sing, or say Some odes I made of Lucia ; Then will I heave my wither'd hand To Jove the mighty, for to stand Thy faithful friend, and to pour down Upon thee many a benison. 135* TO A NTH E A ANTHEA, I am going hence With some small stock of innocence ; But yet those blessdd gates I see Withstanding entrance unto me ; To pray for me do thou begin ; The porter then will let me in. A MORES 119 * 136* TO AN THE A Now is the time when all the lights wax dim ; And thou, Anthea, must withdraw from him Who was thy servant : Dearest, bury me Under that holy-oak, or gospel- tree ; Where, though thou see'st not, thou may'st think upon Me, when thou yearly go'st procession ; Or, for mine honour, lay me in that tomb In which thy sacred reliques shall have room ; For my embalming, Sweetest, there will be No spices wanting, when I'm laid by thce. ' 137- TO It IS LOVELY MISTRESSES ONE night i' th' year, my dearest Beauties, come, And bring those dew-drink-offerings to my tomb : When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise, And there to lick th' effuse'd sacrifice, Though paleness be the livery that I wear, Look ye not wan or colourless for fear. Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show The least grim look, or cast a frown on you ; Nor shall the tapers, when I'm there, burn blue. This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by, Cast on my girls a glance, and loving eye ; C20 AMORES Or fold mine arms, and sigh, because I've lost The world so soon, and in it, you the most : Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall, Though then I smile, and speak no words at all. 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 gray hairs bid come, And haste away to mine eternal home ; 'Twill not be long, Perilla, after this, That I must give thee the suprcmest kiss : Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring Part of the cream from that religious spring, With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet ; That done, then wind me in that very sheet Which wrapt thy smooth limbs, when thou didst implore The Gods' protection, but the night before ; Follow me weeping to my turf, and there Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear : Then lastly, let some weekly strewings be Devoted to the memory of me ; Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep. A MO RES 121 139- A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESS You are a Tulip seen to-day, But, Dearest, of so short a stay, That where you grew, scarce man can say. You are a lovely July-flower ; Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower, Will force you hence, and in an hour. You are a sparkling Rose i' th' bud, Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and bloc'! Can show where you or grew or stood You are a full-spread fair-pet Vine, And can with tendrils love entwine ; Yet dried, ere you distil your wine. You are like Balm, enclosed well In amber, or some crystal shell ; Yet lost eie you transfuse your smell. You are a dainty Violet ; Yet wither'd, ere you can be set Within the virgins coronet. You are the Queen all flowers among ; But die you must, fair maid, ere long, As he, the maker of this song. 122 AAfORES I4O TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may : Old Time is still a-flying ; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a-gctting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer : Dut being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry ; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry. 141 POSITING TO PRINTING LET others to the printing-press run fast ; Since after death comes glory, I'll not haste. EPIGRAMS 123 142- H1S LOSS ALL has been plunder'd from me but my wit : Fortune herself can lay no claim to it. I43* THINGS MORTAL STILL MUTABLE THINGS are uncertain : and the more we get, The more on icy pavements we are set. ' 144* NO MAN WITHOUT MONE\ No man such rare parts hath, that he can swim, If favour or occasion help not him. 145* THE PRESENT TIME BEST PLEASETH PRAISE, they that will, times past : I joy to see Myself now live ; this age best pleaseth me ! 124 . 146* WANT WANT is a softer wax, that takes thereon, This, that, and every base impression. .147* SA TISFACTION FOR SUFFERINGS FOR all our works a recompence is sure ; 'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t' endure * 148* WRITING WHEN words we want, Love teacheth to indite ; And what we blush to speak, she bids us write. 149* THE DEFINITION OF BE A UTY BEAUTY no other thing is, than a beam Flash'd out between the middle and extreme. RPIGRAMS 125 ISO" A MEAN IN OUR MEANS THOUGH frankincense the deities require, We must not give all to the hallow'd fire. Such be our gifts, and such be our expense, As for ourselves to leave some frankincense. I5I- MONEY MAKES THE MIRTH WHEN all birds else do of their music fail, Money's the still-sweet-singing nightingale ! * 152 TEARS AND LAUGHTER KNEW'ST thou one month would take thy life away, Thou'dst weep ; but laugh, should it not last a day. 153* UPON TEARS TEARS, though they're here below the sinner's brine. Above, they are the Angels' spice'd wine. '26 EPIGRAMS "154" ON LOVE COVE'S of itself too sweet ; the best of all Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall "155" PEACE NOT PERMANENT GREAT cities seldom rest ; if there be none T' invade from far, they'll find worse foes at home. " I56 PARDONS THOSE ends in war the best contentment bring, Whose peace is made up with a pardoning. "157 TRUTH AND ERROR TWIXT truth and error, there's this difference knowu Krror is fruitful, truth is only one. EPIGRAMS 1 27 WIT PUNISHED PROSPERS MOST DREAD not the shackles ; on with thine intent. Good wits get more fame by their punishment. ' 159* BURIAL MAN may want land to live in ; but for all Nature finds out some place for burial. * 160* NO PAINS, NO GAINS I F little labour, little are our gains ; Man's fortunes are according to his pains. 161 TO YOUTH DRINK wine, and live here blitheful while ye may The morrow's life too late is ; Live to-day. 128 EPIGRAMS - l62 TO ENJOY THE TIME WHILE fates permit us, let's be merry ; Pass all we must the fatal ferry ; And this our life, too, whirls away, With the rotation of the day. 163* .- - 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. * 164* MIRTH TRUE mirth resides not in the smiling skin ; The sweetest solace is to act no sin. 165 * THE HEART IN prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part Without the sweet concurrence of the heart. EPIGRAM* I a *I66* LOVE* WHAT IT IS LOVE is a circle, that doth restless move In the same sweet eternity of Love. 167 * DREAMS HERE we are all, by day ; by night we're hurl'd By dreams, each one into a several world. 168. AMBITION IN man, ambition is the common'st thing ; Each one by nature loves to be a king. 169 SAFETY ON THE SHORE WHAT though the sea be calm ? Trust to the shore ; Ships have been drown'd, \vhere late they danced before. K. I3<> KTIGRAMS J7O " UPON A I'AINTED GENTLEWOMAN MEN say you're fair ; and fair ye are, 'tis true ; But, hark ! we praise the painter now, not you. 171 UPON WRINKLES WRINKLES no more are, or no less, Than beauty turn'd to sourness. 172- CASUALTIES GOOD things, that come of course, far less do please Than those which come by sweet contingencies. .173. TO LIVE FREELY LET'S live in haste ; use pleasures while we may ; Could life return, 'twould never lose a day. EPIGRAMS NOTHING FREE-COST NOTHING comes free-cost here ; Jove will not let His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat. *i75" MAN'S DYING-PLACE UNCERTAIN MAN knows where first he ships himself; but he Never can tell where shall his landing be. 176 LOSS FROM THE LEAST GREAT men by small means oft are overthrown ; He's lord of thy life, who contemns his own. POVERTY AND RICHES WHO with a little cannot be content, Endures an everlasting punishment. K 1 32 EPIGRAMS UPON MAN MAN is composed here of a twofold part ; The first of nature, and the next of art ; Art presupposes nature ; nature, she Prepares the way for man's docility. .179* 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. 180* FOUR THINGS MAKE US HAPPY HERE HEALTH is the first good lent to men ; A gentle disposition then : Next, to be rich by no by-ways ; Lastly, with friends t' enjoy our days. EPIGRAMS 133 181 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 then do cease ; The man's pulse stopt, all passions sleep in peace. 182* UPON THE DETRACTEK I ASK'D thee oft what poets thou hast read, And lik'st the best ? Still thou repli'st, The dead. I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be ; Then sure thou'lt like, or thou wilt envy, me. 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. 134 NATURE 184- / 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. 185 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 riqh 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. * 1 36- TO fiLOSSOATS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree. Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past, AND LIFE But you may stay yet here a-while, To blush and gently smile ; And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight ; And so to bid good-night ? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth, Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their- pride, Like you, a-while ; they glide Into the grave. THE SHOWER OF BLOSSOMS LOVE in a shower of blossoms came Down, and half drown'd me with the same The blooms that fell were white and red ; But with such sweets commingled, As whether (this) I cannot tell, My sight was pleased more, or my smell ; But true it was, as I roll'd there, Without a thought of hurt or fear, Love turn'd himself into a bee, And with his javelin wounded me ; 136 NATURE 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. 1 88" TO THE ROSE: SONG Go, happy Rose, and interwove With other flowers, bind my Love. Tell her, too, she must not be Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft has fetter'd me. Say, if she's fretful, I have bands Of pearl and gold, to bind her hands Tell her, if she struggle still, I have myrtle rods at will, For to tame, though not to kill. Take thou my blessing thus, and go And tell her this, but do not so ! Lest a handsome anger fly Like a lightning from her eye, And burn thee up, as well as I ! AND LIFE 137 189 * 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 bnn^ To wash her, water from the spring ; Some laid her forth, while others wept, But all a solemn fast there kept. The holy sisters some among, The sacred dirge and trental sung ; But ah ! what sweets smelt everywhere, As heaven had spent all perfumes there ! At last, when prayers for the dead, And rites, were all accomplished, They, weeping, spread a lawny loom, And closed her up as in a tomb. * 190 THE BL BE DING HA ND ; 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. 138 NATURE I9I- TO CARNATIONS: A SONG STAY while ye will, or go, And leave no scent behind ye . Yet trust me, I shall know The place where I may find ye. Within my Lucia's cheek, (Whose livery ye wear) Play ye at hide or seek, I'm sure to find ye there. 192- TO PANS IBS 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 thec, 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. AND LIFE 139 193' MOW TANSIES OR HEAPTS-EASE CAME FIRST FROLIC virgins once these were, Overloving, living here ; Being here their ends denied Ran for sweet-hearts mad, and died. Love, in pity of their tears, And their loss in blooming years, For their restless here-spent hours, Gave them hearts-ease turn'cl to flowers. 194' WHY FLOWERS-CHANGE COLOUR THESE fresh beauties, we can prove Once were virgins, sick of love, Turn'd to flowers : still in some, Colours go and colours come. * 195* 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 bepearl'd with dew : I will whisper to your ears, The sweets of love are mixt with tears. NATURE 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. 196* TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING-DEW WHY do ye weep, sweet babes ? can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teem'd her refreshing dew ? Alas, you have not known that shower That mars a flower, Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind, Nor are ye worn with years ; Or warp'd as we, Who think it strange to see, Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue. Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep ; Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby ? AND LIFE 141 Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet ? Or brought a kiss From that Sweet-heart, 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. TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON 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. No marigolds yet closed are, No shadows great appear ; Nor doth the early shepherds' star Shine like a spangle here. Stay but till my Julia close Her life-begetting eye ; And let the whole world then dispose Itself to live or die. 142 NATURE 198 TO DAFFADILS FAIR DafFadils, we weep to see You haste away so soon ; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attain'd his noon Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you ; We have as short a spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or 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. AfJD LIFE H3 199- TO VIOLETS WELCOME, maids of honour. You do bring In the Spring ; And wait upon her. She has virgins many, Fresh and fair ; Yet you are More sweet than any. You're the maiden posies ; And so graced, To be placed 'Fore damask roses. Yet, though thus respected, By and by Ye do lie, Poor girls, neglected. *2OO THE APRON OF FLOWERS To gather flowers, Sappha went, And homeward she did bring Within her lawny continent, The treasure of the Spring. 144 NATURE She smiling blush'd, and blushing smiled, And sweetly blushing thus, She look'd as she'd been got with child By young Favonius. Her apron gave, as she did pass, An odour more divine, More pleasing too, than ever was The lap of Proserpine. 2OI " 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, Tomb'd in a crystal stone, More fair in this transparent case Than when it grew alone, And had but single grace. You see how cream but. naked is, Nor dances in the eye Without a strawberry ; Or some fine tincture, like to this, Which draws the sight thereto, More by that wantoning with it, Than when the paler hue No mixture did admit. A.VD LIFE 145 You see how amber through the streams More gently strokes the sight, With some conceal'd delight, Than when he darts his radiant beams Into the boundless air ; Where either too much light his worth Doth all at once impair, Or set it little forth. Put purple grapes or cherries in- To glass, and they will send More beauty to commend Them, from that clean and subtle skin. Than if they naked stood, And had no other pride at all, But their own flesh and blood, And tinctures natural. Thus lily, rose, grape, cherry, cream, And strawberry do stir More love, when they transfer A weak, a soft, a broken beam ; Than if they should discover At full their proper excellence, Without some scene cast over, To juggle with the sense. Thus let this crystall'd lily be A rule, how far to teach Your nakedness must reach ; And that no further than we see Those glaring colours laid By art's wise hand, but to this end 146 NA TURE They should obey a shade, Lest they too far extend. So though you're white as swan or snow, And have the power to move A world of men to love ; Vet, when your lawns and silks shall flow, And that white cloud divide Into a doubtful twilight ; then, Then will your hidden pride Raise greater fires in men. 2O2 TO MEADOWS YE have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill'd with flowers ; And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours. You have beheld how they With wicker arks did come, To kiss and bear away The richer cowslips home. You've heard them sweetly sing, And seen them in a round ; Each virgin, like a spring, With honeysuckles crown'd. AND LIFE 147 But now, we see none here, Whose silvery feet did tread, And with dishevell'd hair Adom'd this smoother mead. Like unthrifts, having spent Your stock, and needy grown, You're left here to lament Your poor estates alone. 203 TO A GENTLEWOMAN, OBJECTING TO HIM HIS GRAY HAIRS AM I despised, because you say, And I dare swear, that I am gray ? Know, Lady, you have but your day ! And time will come when you shall wear Such frost and snow upon your hair ; And when, though long, it comes to pass, You question with your looking-glass, And in that sincere crystal seek But find no rose-bud in your cheek, Nor any bed to give the shew Where such a rare carnation grew : Ah ! then too late, close in your chamber keepin- It will be told That you are old, By those true tears you're weeping. NATURE 2O4 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, ana doubts, and fears, Numberless as are your hairs ; You have pulses that do beat High, ana 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. 205 UPON MRS EL I 7.. WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME Of AMAR1LL1S SWEET Amarillis, by a spring's Soft and soul-melting murmurings, AND LIFE 149 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 away ; And seeing her not dead, but all disleaved, He chirpt for joy, to see himself deceived. * 206 A'0 FA UL T IN WOMEN No fault in women, to refuse The offer which they most would chuse. No fault in women, to confess How tedious they are in their dress ; No fault in woirun, to lay on The tincture of vermilion ; And there to give the cheek a dye Of white, where Nature doth deny. No fault in women, to make show Of largeness, when they're nothing to ; 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. ISO NATURE 20?* THE DAG OF THE BEE AUOUT the sweet bag of a bee Two Cupids fell at odds ; And whose the pretty prize should be They vow'd to ask the Gods. Which Venus hearing, thither came, And for their boldness stript them ; And taking thence from each his flame, With rods of myrtle whipt them. Which done, to still their wanton cries, When quiet grown she'd seen them, She kiss'd and wiped their dove-like eyes, And gave the bag between them. 208' THE PRESENT: OR, THE BAG OF THE BEE FLY to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee, And say, thou bring'st this honey-bag from me ; When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed, Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste ; If so, we live ; if not, with mournful hum, Toll forth my death ; next, to my burial come. AND LIFE I5> 2CK} TO THE WA TER-NYMPHS DRINKING A T THE FOUNTAIN REACH with your whiter hands to me Some crystal of the spring ; And I about the cup shall see Fresh lilies flourishing. Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this- To th' glass your lips incline ; And I shall see by that one kiss The water turn'd to wine. 2IO 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 Turn'd to these springs which we see here : The pretty whimpering that they make, When of the banks their leave they take, Tells ye but this, they are the same, In nothing changed but in their name. 1 52 NATURE 211 TO THE HANDSOME MISTRESS GRACE POTTER As is your name, so is your comely face Touch'd every where with such diffused grace, As that in all that admirable round, There is not one least solecism found ; And as that part, so every portion else Keeps line for line with beauty's parallels. . 212* A HYMN TO THE GRACES WHEN I love, as some have told Love I shall, when I am old, O ye Graces ! make me fit For the welcoming of it ! Clean my rooms, as temples be, To 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. AND LIFE 153 * 2 I 3 A HYMN TO LOVE I WILL confess With cheerfulness. Love is a thing so likes inc. That, let her lay On me all day, I'll kiss the hand that strikes me. I will not, I, Now blubb'ring cry, It, ah ! too late repents me That I did fall To love at all Since love so much contents me. No, no, I'll be In fetters free ; While others they sit wringing Their hands for pain, I'll entertain The wounds of love with singing With flowers and wine, And cakes divine, To strike me I will tempt thee ; Which done, no more I'll come before Thee and thine altars empty. 154 NATUKR 214" UPON LOVE: BY WAY OF QUESTION AND ANSWER I BRING ye love. Ques. What will love do ? A us. Like, and dislike ye. I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do ? Ans. Stroke ye, to strike ye. I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do ? Ans. Love will be-fool ye. I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do ? Ans. Heat ye, to cool ye. I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do ? Ans. Love, gifts will send ye. I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do ? Ans. Stock ye, to spend ye. I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do ? Ans. Love will fulfil ye. I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do ? Ans. Kiss ye, to kill ye. 215 * LOVERS HOW THEY COME AND PART A GYGES ring they bear about them still, To be, and not seen when and where they will ; They tread on clouds, and though they sometimes fail, They fall like dew, and make no noise at all : AND LIFE 155 So silently they one to th' other come, As colours steal into the pear or plum, And air-like, leave no pression to be seen Where'er they met, or parting place has been. 2l6 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 cherry-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. i Has it a speaking virtue ? 2 Yes. I How speaks it, say ? 2 Do you but this, Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss ; Chor. And this Love's sweetest language is. I5 6 NATURE I Has it a body ? 2 Ay, and wings, With thousand rare encolourings ; And as it flics, it gently sings Chor. Love honey yields, but never btings. * 217 COMFORT TO A YOUTH THAT HAD LOST HIS LOV h 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. AND LIFE '57 2l8 ORPHEUS ORPHEUS he went, as poets tell, To fetch Eurydicd 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 happen'd, 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. 219 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 curtsey, 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. '58 NATURE 2 2O A HYMN TO VENUS AND CUPID SEA-BORN goddess, let me be By thy son thus graced, and thee. That whene'er I woo, I find Virgins coy, but not unkind. Let me, when I kiss a maid, Taste her lips, so overlaid With love's sirop, that I may In your temple, when I pray, Kiss the altar, and confess There's in love no bitterness. 221 * TO BACCHUS: A CANTICLE WHITHER dost thou hurry 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 ! AND LIFE /f 9 "222* 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 Daffadils giv'n up to thee. 223 A CANTICLE TO APOLLO PLAY, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute ; By listening to thy lyre. That sets all ears on fire. Hark, hark ! the God does play ! And as he leads the way Through heaven, the very spheres, As men, turn all to ears ! NA TUKE 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, dispossess'd of pain, Like to a slumbering bride, awake again. * 225 TO MUSIC : A SONG Music, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spell, That strik'st a stillness into hell ; Thou that tam'st tigers, and fierce storms, that rise, With thy soul-melting lullabies ; Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming spheres To charm our souls, as thou enchant'st our ears. 226 SOFT MUSIC THE mellow touch of music most doth wound The soul, when it doih rather sigh, than sound. AND LIFE l6l 227 TO MUSIC BEGIN to charm, and as thou strok'st mine ears With thine enchantment, melt me into tears. Then let thy active hand scud o'er thy lyre, And make my spirits frantic with the fire ; That done, sink down into a silvery strain, And make me smooth as balm and oil again. 228 THE VOICE AND VIOL RARE is the voice itself : but when we sing To th' lute or viol, then 'tis ravishing. TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER CHARM me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious. numbers ; That being ravish'd, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou Power that canst sever . MUSAE From me this ill ; And quickly still, Though thou not kill My fever. Thou sweetly canst convert the same From a consuming fire, Into a gentle-licking flame, And make it thus expire Then make me weep My pains asleep, And give me such reposes, That I, poor I, May think, thereby, 1 live and die 'Mongst roses. Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those maiden showers, Which, by the peep of day, do strew A baptism o'er the flowers. Melt, melt my pains With thy soft strains ; That having ease me given, With full delight, T leave this light, And take my flight For Heaven. GK AV /ORES -230. A THA.VKSGll'IXG TO GOD, FOR HIS HOUSE LORD, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell ; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather proof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry ; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate ; Both void of state ; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat. Like as my parlour, so my hall And kitchen's small ; A little buttery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead ; Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is thine. M 2 16.1 MUSAE And all those other bits that be There placed by thcc ; The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of thy kindness thou hast sent ; And my content Makes those, and my belovdd beet, To be more sweet. 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering heanh With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, . Spiced to the brink. Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one ; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day ; Besides, my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year ; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream, for wine : All these, and better, thou dost send Me, to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart ; Which, fired with incense, I resign. As wholly thine ; But the acceptance, that must be, My Christ, by Thee. GRAVIORES 165 .231 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 censers fill'd with odours sweet Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet. .232 GOOD PRECEPTS, OR COUNSEL IN all thy need, be thou possest Still with a well prepared breast ; Nor let the shackles make thee sad ; Thou canst but have what others had. And this for comfort thou must know, Times that are ill won't still be so : Clouds will not ever pour down rain ; A sullen day will clear again. First, peals of thunder we must hear ; Then lutes and harps shall stroke the ear. i66 233- PKA Y AND PROSPER FIRST offer incense ; then, thy field and meads Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads. The spangling clew dredged o'er the grass shall be Turn'd all to mell and manna there for thee. Butter of amber, cream, and wine, and oil, Shall run as rivers all throughout thy soil. Would'st thou to sincere silver turn thy mould ? Pray once, twice pray and turn thy ground to gold 234- THE BELL-MAN ALONG the dark and silent night, With my lantern and my light And the tinkling of my bell, Thus I walk, and this I tell : Death and dreadfulness call on To the general sessidn ; To whose dismal bar, we there All accounts must come to clear : Scores of sins we've made here many Wiped out few, God knows, if any. Rise, ye debtors, then, and fall To make payment, while I call : Ponder this, when I am gone : By the clock 'tis almost One. GKAVIORES 16) 235* UPON TIME TIME was upon The wing, to fly away ; And I call'd on Him but awhile to stay ; But he'd be gone, For aught that I could say. He held out then A writing, as he went, And ask'd me, when False man would be content To pay again What God and Nature lent. An hour-glass, In which were sands but few, As he did pass, He shew'd, and told me too Mine end near was ; And so away he flew. 236' MEN MIND NO STATE IN SICKNE* THAT flow of gallants which approach To kiss thy hand from out the coach ; 1 68 MUSA r. That fleet of lackeys which do run Before thy swift postilion ; Those strong-hoof'd mules, which we behold Rein'd in with purple, pearl, and gold, And shod with silver, prove to be The drawers of the axle tree ; 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. 237 LIFE IS THE BODY'S LIGHT LIFE is the body's light ; which, once declining, Those crimsonclouds i'th' cheeks and lips leave shining ; Those counter-changed tabbies in the air, The sun once set, all of one colour are : So, when death comes, fresh tinctures lose their place, And dismal darkness then doth smutch the face. 238- TO THE LADY CREWE, UPON THE DEATV Of HER CHILD WHY, Madam, will ye longer weep, Whenas your baby's lull'd asleep ? And, pretty child, feels now no more Those pains it lately felt before. GRAVIORES 169 All now is silent ; groans arc fled ; Your child lies still, yet is not dead, But rather like a flower hid here, To spring again another year. .239* UPON A CHILD THA T DIED HERE she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood ; Who as soon fell fast asleep, As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth, that lightly covers her. * 240* UPO.V A CHILD HERE a pretty baby lies Sung asleep with lullabies ; Pray be silent, and not stir Th' easy earth that covers her. * 241 AN EPITAPH UPON A CHILD VIRGINS promised when I died, That they would each primrose-tide '70 MUSAli. Duly, morn and evening, come, And with flowers dress my tomb. Having promised, pay your debts, Maids, arid here strew violets. 242 AN EPITAr/f UPON A VIRGIN HERE a solemn fast we keep, While all beauty lies asleep : Hush'd be all things, no noise here But the toning of a tear ; Or a sigh of such as bring Cowslips for her covering. 243* 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 GRAVIORES \1\ 244' THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAHS DA UGHTER : SUNG BY THE VIRGINS O THOU, the wonder of all days ! O paragon, and pearl of praise ! O Virgin-martyr, ever blest Above the rest Of all the maiden-train ! We come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb. Thus, thus, and thus, we compass round Thy harmless and unhaunted ground ; And as we sing thy dirge, we will The daffadil, And other flowers, lay upon The altar of our love, thy stone. Thou wonder of all maids, liest here, Of daughters all, the dearest dear ; The eye of virgins ; nay, the queen Of this smooth green, And all sweet meads, from whence we get The primrose and the violet. Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy, By thy sad loss, our liberty ; His was the bond and cov'nant, yet Thou paid'st the debt ; Lamented Maid ! he won the day : But for the conquest thou didst pay. MUSAE Thy father brought with him along The olive branch and victor's song ; He slew the Ammonites, we know, But to thy woe ; And in the purchase of our peace, The cure was worse than the disease. For which obedient zeal of thine, We offer here, before thy shrine, Our sighs for storax, tears for wine ; And to make fine And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thce every year. Receive, for this thy praise, our tears ; Receive this offering of our hairs ; Receive these crystal vials, fill'd With tears, distill'd From teeming eyes ; to these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting, To gild thy tomb ; besides, these cauls, These laces, ribbons, and these falls, These veils, wherewith we use to hide The bashful bride, When we conduct her to her groom ; All, all we lay upon thy tomb. No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed ; No more, at yearly festivals, We, cowslip balls, Or chains of columbines shall make, For this or that occasion's sake. GRAVIORES No. no ; our maiden pleasures be Wrapt in the winding-sheet with thee ; 'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave ; Or if we have One seed of life left, 'tis to keep A Lent for thee, to fast and weep. Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make this place all paradise ; May sweets grow here, and smoke from hence Fat frankincense ; Let balm and cassia send their scent From out thy maiden-monument. May no wolf howl, or screech owl stir A wing about thy sepulchre ! No boisterous winds or storms come hither, To starve or wither Thy soft sweet earth ; but, like a spring, Love keep it ever flourishing. May all shy maids, at wonted hours, Come forth to strew thy tomb with flowers ; May virgins, when they come to mourn, Male-incense bur Upon thine altar ; then return, And leave thee sleeping in thy urn AfUSAE 245' THE WIDOWS' TEARS; OR, DIRGE OF DORCAS COME pity us, all ye who see Our harps hung on the willow-tree ; Come pity us, ye passers-by, Who see or hear poor widows' cry ; Come pity us, and bring your ears And eyes to pity widows' tears. C/tor. And when you are come hither, Then we will keep A fast, and weep Our eyes out all together, For Tabitha ; who dead lies here, Clean wash'd, and laid out for the bici. C) modest matrons, weep and wail ! For now the corn and wine must fail ; The basket and the bin of bread, Wherewith so many souls were fed, Chor. Stand empty here for ever ; And ah ! the poor, At thy worn door, Shall be relieved never. Woe worth the time, woe worth the day, That reft us of thee, Tabitha ! For we have lost, with thee, the meal, The bits, the morsels, and the deal Of gentle paste and yielding dough, That thou on widows did bestow. GRA VIORES 1 7<5 Chor. All's gone, and death hath taken Away from us Our maundy ; thus Thy widows stand forsaken. Ah, Dorcas, Dorcas ! now adieu We bid the cruise and pannier too ; Ay, and the flesh, for and the fish, Doled to us in that lordly dish. We take our leaves now of the loom From whence the housewives' cloth did come ; Chor. The web affords now nothing ; Thou being dead, The worsted thread Is cut, that made us clothing. Farewell the flax and reaming wool, With which thy house was plentiful ; Farewell the coats, the garments, and The sheets, the rugs, made by thy hand Farewell thy fire and thy light, That ne'er went out by day or night : Chor. No, or thy zeal so speedy, That found a way, By peep of day, To feed and clothe the needy But ah, alas ! the almond-bough And olive-branch is wither'd now ; The wine-press now is ta'en from us, The saffron and the calamus ; The spice and spikenard hence is gone, The storax and the cinnamon : 1 76 MUSAE Chor. 'J'he carol of our gladness Has taken wing ; And our late spring Of mirth is turn'd to sadness. How wise wast thou in all thy ways ! How worthy of respect and praise ! How matron-like didst thou go drcst ! How soberly above the rest Of those that prank it with their plumes, And jet it with their choice perfumes ! Chor. Thy vestures were not flowing ; Nor did the street Accuse thy feet Of mincing in their going. And though thou here licst dead, we see A deal of beauty yet in thce. How sweetly shews thy smiling face, Thy lips with all diffusdd grace ! Thy hands, though cold, yet spotless, white, And comely as the chrysolite. Chor. Thy belly like a hill is, Or as a neat Clean heap of wheat, All set about with lilies. Sleep with thy beauties here, while we Will shew these garments made by thee ; These were the coats ; in these are read The monuments of Dorcas dead : These were thy acts, and thou shall have These hung as honours o'er thy grave : GRAVIOXES 177 Chor. And after us, distressed, Should fame be dumb, Thy very tomb Would cry out, Thou art blessed. 246' UPOX HIS SISTER-IN-LAW, MISTRESS ELIZA BET I i HERRICK FIRST, for effusions due unto the dead, My solemn vows have here accomplished Next, how I love thee, that my grief must Sell, Wherein thou liv'st for ever. Dear, farewell ! TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MISTRESS SUSANNA HERRICk WHEN I consider, dearest, thou dost stay But here awhile, to languish and decay ; Like to these garden glories, which here be The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee : With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry, Would thou hadst ne'er been born, or might'st not die i MUSAE 248 ' ON HIMSELF I'LL write no more of love, but now repent Of all those times that 1 in it have spent. I'll write no more of life, but wish 'twas ended, And that my dust was to the earth commended. 249* HIS WISH TO GIVE me a cell To dwell, Where no foot hath A path ; There will I spend, And end, My wearied years In tears. 250' TO HIS PATERNAL COUNTRY O EAR I'll ! earth ! earth ! hear thou my voice, and Le Loving and gentle for to cover me ! Hanish'd from thee I live ; ne'er to return, Unless thou giv'st my small remains an urn. GRAVIORES 179 251- COCK-CRO \V BELL-MAN of night, if I about shall go For to deny my Master, do thou crow ! Thou stop'st Saint Peter in the midst of sin ; Stay me, by crowing, ere I do begin ; Better it is, premonish'd, for to shun A sin. than fall to weeping when 'tis done. 252 * TO HIS CONSCIENCE CAN I not sin, but thou wilt be My private protonotary ? Can I not woo thee, to pass by A short and sweet iniquity ? I'll cast a mist and cloud upon My delicate transgression, So utter dark, as that no eye Shall see the hugg'd impiety. Gifts blind the wise, and bribes do please And wind all other witnesses ; And wilt not thou with gold be tied, To lay thy pen and ink aside, That in the mirk and tongueless night, Wanton I may, and thou not write ? N 2 8o MUSAE It will not be : And therefore, now, For times to come, I'll make this vow From aberrations to live free : So I'll not fear the judge, or thee 253* TO HE A VEN OPEN thy gates To him who weeping waits, And might come in, But that held back by sin. Let mercy be So kind, to set me free, And I will straight Come in, or force the gate. 254. AN ODE OF THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUk IN numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, oh JESU ! Thou pretty Baby, born here, With sup'rabundant scorn here ; Who for thy princely port here, Hadst for thy place Of birth, a base Out-stable for thy court here GRAV1ORES l8l Instead of neat enclosures Of interwoven osiers ; Instead of fragrant posies Of daffadils and roses, Thy cradle, kingly stranger, As gospel tells, Was nothing else, But, here, a homely manger. But we with silks, not cruels, With sundry precious jewels, And lily-work will dress thee ; And as we dispossess thee Of clouts, we'll make a chamber, Sweet babe, for thee, Of ivory, And plaster'd round with amber. The Jews, they did disdain thee ; But we will entertain thee With glories to await here, Upon thy princely state here, And more for love than pity : From year to year We'll make thee, here, A free-born of our city. 255. TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD; A PRESENT, BY A CHILD Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thv little Saviour ; 1 82 MUSAB And tell him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon his bib or stomacher ; And tell him, for good handsel too, That thou hast brought a whistle new, Made of a clean straight oaten reed, To charm his cries at time of need ; Tell him, for coral, thou hast none, But if thou hadst, he should have one ; But poor thou art, and known to be Even as moneyless as he. Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss From those mellifluous lips of his ; Then never take a second on, To spoil the first impression. 256 GRACE FOR A CHILD HERE, a little child, I stand, Heaving up my either hand : Cold as paddocks though they be Here I lift them up to thee, For a benison to fall On our meat, and on us all. Amen. GRAWORES .257- HIS LITANY, TO THE HOLY SPIRIT IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When 1 lie within my bed, Sick in heart, and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the house doth sigh and weep, And the world is drown'd in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees,. And his skill runs on the lees, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When his potion and his pill, Has, or none, or little skill, Meet for nothing but to kill, Sweet Spirit, comfort me 1 When the passing-bell doth toll. And the furies in a shoal Come to fright a parting soul, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 184 MUSAE When the tapers now burn blue, And the comforters are few, And that number more than true, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the priest his last hath pray'd, And I nod to what is said, 'Cause my speech is now decay'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When, God knows, I'm tost about Either with despair, or doubt ; Yet, before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the tempter me pursu'th With the sins of all my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfoit me ! When the flames and hellish cries Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the Judgment is reveal'd, And that open'd which was seal'd ; When to Thee I have appeal'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! GRA VIORES 185 258* TO DEA TH THOU bidst me come away, And I'll no longer stay, Than for to shed some tears For faults of former years ; And to repent some crimes Done in the present times ; And next, to take a bit Of bread, and wine with it ; To don my robes of love, Fit for the place above ; To gird my loins about With chanty throughout ; And so to travel hence With feet of innocence ; These done, I'll only cry, ' God, mercy ! ' and so die. 259* TO HIS SWEET SA V1OUR NIGHT hath no wings to him that cannot sleep ; And Time seems then not for to fly, but creep ; Slowly her chariot drives, as if that she Had broke her wheel, or crack'd her axletree. Just so it is with me, who list'ning, pray The winds to blow the tedious night away, 86 .V US A E That I might see the cheerful peeping day. Sick is my heart ; O Saviour ! do Thou please To make my bed soft in my sicknesses ; Lighten my candle, so that I beneath Sleep not for ever in the vaults of death ; Let me thy voice betimes i' th' morning hear ; Call, and I'll come ; say Thou the when and where Draw me but first, and after Thee I'll run, And make no one stop till my race be done. 260 ETERNITY O YEARS ! and age ! farewell : Behold I go, Where I do know Infinity to dwell. And these mine eyes shall see All times, how they Are lost i' th' sea Of vast eternity : Where never moon shall sway The stars ; but she. And night, shall be Drown'd in one endless day. CRA VIORES lS/ 26l THE WHITE ISLAND: OR PLACE OF THE BLEST IN this world, the Isle of Dreams, While we sit by sorrow's streams, Tears and terrors are our themes, Reciting : But when once from hence we fly, More and more approaching nigh Unto young eternity, Uniting In that whiter Island, where Things are evermore sincere ; Candour here, and lustre there, Delighting : There no monstrous fancies shall Out of hell an horror call, To create, or cause at all Affrighting. There, in calm and cooling sleep We our eyes shall never steep, But eternal watch shall keep. Attending /'/WAS Pleasures such as shall pursue Me immortalized, and you ; And fresh joys, as never too Have ending. NOTES I'KMPACK P. xii : Mr Grosart's edition of Hemck, with full biographical details, notes illustrative and exegttical, and indices (1869 ; three volumes, octavo), forms part of the series of Early English Poems, published by Messrs. Chatto and Windus. PAGS NO. i i L. 3, liock-carts : last in from the hirvest-field ; wassails : merry meetings. L. 5, have access : opportunity. L. 9, times tran- shifting : may allude to the political poems, or to those on the course of life. 3 3 L. 9, Eclogues : select poems. Bucolics (\. 10) : pastorals; mainly brought together here under the name Idyllica. L. 13, neat : cattle. 3 3 L. 7, Tltyrse : a javelin twined with ivy; orgies (1. 8) : songs to Bacchus (Herrick): A round: a dance. L. 10, Cato: any severe and ungonial critic. 5 9 L. 4, the fantastic pannicles I cells of the brain in which Fancy is bred. 6 10 L. 3, old religion : Jonson was a Roman Catholic. ii Allusive, apparently, to the alleged wish of Virgil when dying, in reference to his unfinished jEneid. 8 14 Absyrttts in the Hellenic story was torn to piecesby Medea when she fled with Jason. 10 16 L. 22, soiled: manured. 11 L. ii, Round: dance. L. 13, quintets : a game in which a post was run at with poles. L. 18, Fox in the hole: a game in which boys hopped and flogged each other. L. 23, to these: beside tfriese. Trammel net (1. 26): fowling: cockrood (1. 27): pro bably a road or run for woodcocks. ii 17 L. 19, carcanct : necklace. L. 22, brave : handsome. 13 - L. 15, simpering: smiling. 14 1 8 L. 4, mancliet: fine bread. L. 20, stocks = stooks, or shocks of core. L. 21, your: Grosart here reads own 15 L. 3, near: probably for close in its sense of narrow. Weet (1. 7^ with damp. L. 12, Lares: gods of the house. 16 20 Candlemas Eve : February i ; eve of the Purification of tht Virgin. 3 NOTES IKGH NO. 17 21 U 3, bents: moor-grass; probably here sweet-gale. 22 L. 5, tee nd: kindle. i3 .3 L. $, palms: willows; gems: buds. L. 5, Daulian /////: the nightingale. Philomela was ill-used by Tereus : hence (1. 5) Tartan sufferings. 25 A lyric more faultless a id sweet than this cannot be found in any literature. Keeping with profound instinctive art within the limits of the key chosen, Herrick has reached a perfection very rare at any period of literature in the tones of playfulness, natural description, passion, and seriousness which introduce a.id follow each oiher, like the motives in a sonata by Weber or Uee.hove.i, throughout this little masterpiece of 'music without noles. ' L. 4, fresh-quilted: so Milton, 'tissued clouds.' L. 35, Titan : the sun. Bends (I. 28) prayers. 2 ) 27 I .. 14, incurious : unfastidious. 24 a8 L. 9, titaukin: cloth. L. 14, hock-tart: see p. z. L. 21, Jill- horse : in the shafts. 25 L. 15, faties : probably winnowing-fans. 26 31 L. I, scare-fires: alarms by fire. 27 32 Genius : guard'.a.i spirit. This truly original little poem hat the classical character i.i its best sense. L. 4, benizon : blessing. 33 Like the preceding, might have been willingly recognised by any of the Roman Idyllists. 73 L. 6, creeki/if. word imitative of the hen's noise when she has laid her egg. L. 20, miclung: slyly thieving. L. 22, Trusy : ' His spaniel ' (Herrick). 2) 54 Charles II, born 1630. 30 L. 17, A very rare i.. stance of metrical failure in Herrick. He clearly desired that the line should read as octosyllabic. 31 35 L. 7, inannd: a Jarge basket. 32 36 L. 3, neat-herdcss : ca'.tle-keeper. 33 37 L. 3, Fail ' agrees wiih uearest noun [shepherds] as in Shake speare ' (Grosan). L. 4, quintet: see p. n. 34 L. 22, Voice's Daughter : Kcho. 36 3; L. 7, enchaced: apparently for enchased. I* 22, canker worm. 37 L. jo, 14 : These names are ingeniously contrived to recall names of ancient Saints. Tit and AW, however, occur as simple Fairy designations in JJrayton's Nympliiiiia. 38 L. 7, tone: huckle-bone. L. 8, brtickefd : wet and dirty. Fetuoits (I. 18): elegant; loatchet (1. 23) dark-blue. 39 L. 9, hatch' d: pa:ier..ed. L. 12, tent : see p. 17. L. 33, nits: nuts. 40 L. 13, 14: Mysteries, i.ito which it may be d'scrcet not to pry. L. 15, chives: here the yellow siigma. L. 1.1, shed: cocoon. 4mas Shapcott, Lawyer." ii, stemed : here the old pronunciation of er as ar lias now found its way into our spelling. Killing eyes (I. 21): K rcci ' SVwpfO 1 3)' h eav y- k 3 1 refers to ihc po.ie.i-laden thighs of i he bee. 41 41 1*7, drink of sauce : pickle in which pork was iaid. 4) I.. 3, huckson: hip-bone. Chit (1. 5) shoot. L. n, r(t scraps. NOTES 191 ACK Ml. 46 44 L. 8, starved: the spelling indicates Herrick's pronunciation ol Hftrvid. 51 52 L. 6, Cittern: instrument of the guitar kind. 53 L. 7, clusters : grapes, put for wine. 52 54 L 7, pap: sap. L. 10, Arabian dew. spikenard: Retorted (L 12) tossed wildly back. L. 12, ' 53 L. 12, A play on the namt Ovidius Naso. 55 55 L. 4, purfling the margents: trimming tht margins. L. 9, learned round : elaborate dance. L. 30, comply: caress. 56 L. 2, Persius: printed Perseiis, which to Herrick's lax scholar- ship may have suggested the epithet ' snaky' as suitable to the satirist L. 3, For for Grosart reads from ; but the phrase remains somewhat obscure. L. 8 : Tne omission of Shakespeare is strange, unless Herrick here commemorates only personal friends. L. 23, determines : ends. 56 56 L. 3, laittitioiis: dainty. 5; L. 4, bastard Phoenix: probably a fanciful invention of Her- rick's. L. 7, larded jet: blackened with fat smoke. Lar (I. 8) hearth-fire. 58 58 L. 17, stint : measure. 5^ L. 6, tersely: strictly. 60 L. 6, Compare Macbeth, act iv, sc. i : 'By the pricking of my thumbs,' &c. 61 L. 17, private. Lar: in privacy. L. 28, size : assize (Groart). 62 L. 1 8, seldom : rare. 63 59 L. 5, leaven : sour. 60 Paraenetical'*\wu\i\ be the spelling to give the sense of 'advisive. Herrick's scholarship lies in his fine feelings, his delicate use of ancient analogies (as in 1. 7 here, where he puts oil for farm- produce), not in philology. 64 L. 9, strut: buttress by filling. 65 62 L. 2, tittyries : Mr Gros rt conjectures titularies, for titles conferred lavishly by James I and Charles I. Had the ' new year" been namtd, the political allusions of this brilliant poem might have been clearer. 66 L. 7, That tost up: perhaps should be That's; Fox: sec p. ii. Many similar allusions occur in the unfinished 'Country Life,' p. 9. L. 33, instant : just coming in. 67 L. 2, Liber Pater : Father Bacchus; good revelry. 6j L. 6, rage: poetical inspiration. L. 9, Thyise: seep. 3. This fine piece has much resemblance to some of the ' personal ' poems by A. Tennyson. 68 64 L, 4, As to thy house and home. 6) L. 6, Vigil: guard. Buttoned (1. 7) with a knob of office. L. 28, vizard: mask, face. 70 L. i, redeem: restore. L. 9, "waste: feed. Trencher-creature (1. 10), the waiter keeping guard over the dishes. L. 18, Trebiits: may be the great man of the feast. L. 25, gotwit: Mr Grosart conjectures pewit or plover 71 L. ii, stud: upright piece in a lath-and-plaster wall ; true to the time, like every touch in this vigorous piece : which, however, from the forcible repetition of ideas and the curious broken rhymes, may be ascribed to a comparatively early date in Her- tick's career. Pemberton died about 1641. 74 67 A fine companion to No. 64. The first part skilfully reproduces 192 NOTES PAGE NO. Horatian phrases ; the latter is an interesting exhibition of Her- rick's judgment on his own poetry, and a proof how completely, though modestly, conscious he was of his qualities as an artist. 75 67 L. 7, repull-ulate : flourish again. L. 27, Jiaiae : the favourite Roman watering-place for the wealthy. The next 'ines allude to forms of Roman luxury. 76 L. 8, Vulgar scrawls in candle-smoke. L. 22, circular : alludes to Horace's ' teres atque rotundus,' but must here imply leu perfectly fitting to, or concentric with, each other. 77 L. 23, may be taken as proof that Herrick was aware what a refined piece of colour he has given in No. 201. 78 I* 27, pith : vigour. 79 L. 8, fricket : buck in second year. L. 18, Mr Grosart joini night and bewearied. 82 70 L. 8, Platonic year: the. period in which, according to Plato, the eight stellar circles complete their relation round the axis ol the Kosmos, and return to the same position. 86 78 L. 15, 16, These Saints must be taken as representatives of maid.' and youths who have died for Love. There are much grca'.ei lyrical poems than this; but none, perhaps, in any language more exquisite and original in fancy, few more perfect in art. It is inentm sal in the Idyllic style. 90 85 L. 8, Dardauium: 'a bracelet, from Dardar.us so called (Herrick). 91 86 I* 4, civility : decorum, good manners. 88 L. 8, quarrelets : small squares. 92 89 L. 5, state : canopy of state. 98 99 L. 4, Remora : fish anciently supposed to cling to a ship's hull and stop her. 99 101 L. 8, thronelet: little throne. Herrick is for.d of such pretty ' diminutives ' : et hoc, quasi Catullus. 101 105 L. 2, indecency : inelegance or irregularity. 103 108 L. 2, Protestant: used apparently here as coii/essar or wit- nesserfor. 105 113 L. 4, baby ' the image in the pupil of the eye ; compared here to a Spirit ruling a heavenly sphere. in 122 Barley-break : a game of catching, played by six. The catchers stood in the middle, on a ground called Hell. no 120 Saucy old dog ! in 124 Arntilet : bracelet. in 125 L, i: Gossamers. L. 3, tinctures: colours in the sky. L. u, aspects : positions of the stars in astrology. The great 117 133 The great beauty of this poem (reprinted from a MS. in the liritish Museum), which has a more earnest tone of passion than is common with Herrick, entitles it to a place in this collection, although he did not include it i.i his ow;i volume. 118 134 L. 12, ternily fires: as if living in some college or collegiate retreat. 119 136 L. 4, gosptltree: at which it was read when they beat parish boundaries. The effortless perfection of this little poem puts it on a level with the best elegies of the Anthology. 137 140 With this popular lyric compare one of the many lovely songs of modern Greece, the Smyrniote 'Garden,' as translated in Mi H. F. Tozer's interesting ' Highlands of Turkey ' (1869). The lover hears a bird singing : NOTES r A r,p. NO. For ever, while it warbled, I seem'd to hear it saying ' Young man, avoid delaying, Full soon your joys are o'er I And you, fair maids, go marry ; Be wise, nor longer tarry ; For time is ever flying And will return no more.' But it is difficult here not to suspect that the accomplished translator was conscious of Herrick. 127 161 Imitates Martial, I. 16. 132 180 Translated from a 'Scolipn ' attributed to Simonides. 137 189 L- 10, trental: set of thirty masses for the dead. 140 195 L. 5, teemed: poured freely. 143 200 L. 3, lawny continent : apron of lawn. 144 L. 3, compare L' Allegro : ' Zephyr, with Aurora playing,' &c. 201 This poem, which was justly a favourite with Herrick (see p. 77, 1. 23), shows his fine feeling for gradation and the effect of contrast in colour ; and at the same time is a singularly skilful piece of writing : altogether, a work worthy of Turner or Paul Veronese. 145 L. 2, strokes: caresses. L. 23, scene: veil. 146 L- 9, pride : beauty. 154 215 L. i : One version of the Gyges story assigns to him a magical ring, by which he made himself invisible during his amour with the wife of King Candaules. 155 L. 3, pression : impression. 157 219 L. 8, carriages : turns. 163 230 L. 22, -un/lead : probably good, undamaged by would (Grosart). Is it not unchipped, or unpared ; flea standing ior_flay ? 164 L. 3, -worts : cabbage: purslain: salad. L. \$,givest: under- stand, Thou. 166 233 L. 4, mell: presumably, honey. L. 5, of amber: golden- coloured. 168 236 L. 6, axle-tree: probably, funeral car. L. 7, state: magnifi- cence ; perhaps with allusion to canopies of worked Persian stuff. 237 L. 3, counter-changed tabbies : variously coloured clouds; iabb) was a wavy-figured silk. 172 244 L. 19, cauls : head-dresses. 173 L. 22, male-incense : some powerfully odorous species ? 174 245 L. 24, deal: as in cards. 175 L. 3, maundy: gifts like tho=e made on 'Maundy Thursday.' L- 7, Jor and: obsolete for qlso. L. 15, reaming: ready to overflow. 176 L. 10, jet it : strut about (Grosart). Nothing in this collection is more characteristic of Herrick and of his period than the Dirge of Dorcas. Its quaint grace and picturesque geniality are perfect in their way: a way very difficult, if not very elevated. 179 252 L. 2, protonotary: chief recording clerk. L. 10, -wind: turn round, or wind into ? This poem and the next are, each in its way, singularly characteristic of Herrick. Confessions so truthful and natural have been rarely made. o 194 NOTES Mr.u wo. >8i 254 L. 9, crutls : worsteds. This lovely and pathetic little piece hat that idyllic sweetness and simplicity which Crashaw or Herbert could not reach. > Si 356 L. 3, paddocks : frogs. The tenderness of these lines re- minds us of W. Blake's early work when writing of, or drawing, children. 183 357 L. 13, artless: unskilful. Another piece remarkable for natural expression and honesty. Nothing really proves Herrick's religious sincerity more than the touches of humourous satire in stanza* 88, 4 and 10. 261 L. ii, candour: whiteness. 195 INDEX OF FIRST LINES PAGB About the sweet bag of a bee . . .... 150 A crystal vial Cupid brought 87 A funeral stone 82 A Gyges ring they bear about them still 154 Ah Ben 51 Ah, cruel Love ! must I endure 138 Ah, my Peril la I dost thou grieve to see . . 1:0 Ah, Posthumus I our years hence fly 74 All has been-plunder'd from me but my wit . 123 All things decay with time : The forest sees 73 Along the dark and silent night 166 Am I despised, because you say 147 Among the myrtles as I walk'd 86 Among thy fancies, tell me this 155 And, cruel maid, because I see 106 Anthea, I am going hence 118 Anthea laugh'd, and_, fearing lest excess 104 As is your name, so is your comely face 153 As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay 94 As shews the air when with a rainbow graced 89 Ask me why I send you here ; . . . . 139 A sweet disorder io the dress 109 A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here 80 Bacchus, let me drink no more 159 Bad are the times. Si/. And worse than they nrc we 33 Beauty no other thing is, than a beam 124 Be bold, my book, nor be abash'd, or fear 4 Begin to charm, and as thou strok'st mine ears 161 Bell-man of night, if I about shall go 179 Be not proud, but now incline 148 Biancha, let 115 Bid me to live, and I will live 103 Born I was to be old 82 By those soft tods of wool 112 Can I not sin, but thou wilt be 179 Charm me asleep, and melt me so 161 Charms, that call down the moon fr-m out her sphere 160 Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry 93 Clear are her eyes 105 Come, Anthea, let us two 23 Come, bring your sampler, end with an 116 Come, come away 106 Come pity us, all ye who see 174 Come, sit we under yonder tree 18 Come, sons of summer, by whose toil