Volume 2 — HESPERIDES. (continued 2)

The factions of the great ones call, To side with them, the commons all.

Tell me, what needs those rich deceits, These golden toils, and trammel nets, To take thine hairs when they are known Already tame, and all thine own? 'Tis I am wild, and more than hairs Deserve these meshes and those snares. Set free thy tresses, let them flow As airs do breathe or winds do blow: And let such curious net-works be Less set for them than spread for me.

Love in a shower of blossoms came Down, and half drown'd me with the same: The blooms that fell were white and red; But with such sweets comminglèd, As whether—this I cannot tell— My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell: But true it was, as I roll'd there, Without a thought of hurt or fear, Love turn'd himself into a bee, And with his javelin wounded me: From which mishap this use I make, Where most sweets are, there lies a snake: Kisses and favours are sweet things; But those have thorns and these have stings.

Naught are all women: I say no, Since for one bad, one good I know: For Clytemnestra most unkind, Loving Alcestis there we find: For one Medea that was bad, A good Penelope was had: For wanton Lais, then we have Chaste Lucrece, a wife as grave: And thus through womankind we see A good and bad. Sirs, credit me.

'Tis liberty to serve one lord; but he Who many serves, serves base servility.

Bring the holy crust of bread, Lay it underneath the head; 'Tis a certain charm to keep Hags away, while children sleep.

Let the superstitious wife Near the child's heart lay a knife: Point be up, and haft be down (While she gossips in the town); This, 'mongst other mystic charms, Keeps the sleeping child from harms.

To house the hag, you must do this: Commix with meal a little piss Of him bewitch'd; then forthwith make A little wafer or a cake; And this rawly bak'd will bring The old hag in. No surer thing.

Hang up hooks and shears to scare Hence the hag that rides the mare, Till they be all over wet With the mire and the sweat: This observ'd, the manes shall be Of your horses all knot-free.

Down with the rosemary and bays, Down with the mistletoe; Instead of holly, now up-raise The greener box, for show. The holly hitherto did sway; Let box now domineer Until the dancing Easter day, Or Easter's eve appear. Then youthful box which now hath grace Your houses to renew; Grown old, surrender must his place Unto the crisped yew. When yew is out, then birch comes in, And many flowers beside; Both of a fresh and fragrant kin To honour Whitsuntide. Green rushes, then, and sweetest bents, With cooler oaken boughs, Come in for comely ornaments To re-adorn the house. Thus times do shift; each thing his turn does hold: New things succeed, as former things grow old.

Kindle the Christmas brand, and then Till sunset let it burn; Which quench'd, then lay it up again Till Christmas next return. Part must be kept wherewith to teend The Christmas log next year, And where 'tis safely kept, the fiend Can do no mischief there.

End now the white loaf and the pie, And let all sports with Christmas die.

Would I woo, and would I win? Would I well my work begin? Would I evermore be crowned With the end that I propound? Would I frustrate or prevent All aspects malevolent? Thwart all wizards, and with these Dead all black contingencies: Place my words and all works else In most happy parallels? All will prosper, if so be I be kiss'd or bless'd by thee.

Put on thy holy filletings, and so To th' temple with the sober midwife go. Attended thus, in a most solemn wise, By those who serve the child-bed mysteries, Burn first thine incense; next, whenas thou see'st The candid stole thrown o'er the pious priest, With reverend curtsies come, and to him bring Thy free (and not decurted) offering. All rites well ended, with fair auspice come (As to the breaking of a bride-cake) home, Where ceremonious Hymen shall for thee Provide a second epithalamy. She who keeps chastely to her husband's side Is not for one, but every night his bride; And stealing still with love and fear to bed, Brings him not one, but many a maidenhead.

Before the press scarce one could see A little-peeping-part of thee; But since thou'rt printed, thou dost call To show thy nakedness to all. My care for thee is now the less, Having resign'd thy shamefac'dness. Go with thy faults and fates; yet stay And take this sentence, then away: Whom one belov'd will not suffice, She'll run to all adulteries.

Tears most prevail; with tears, too, thou may'st move Rocks to relent, and coyest maids to love.

Words beget anger; anger brings forth blows; Blows make of dearest friends immortal foes. For which prevention, sociate, let there be Betwixt us two no more logomachy. Far better 'twere for either to be mute, Than for to murder friendship by dispute.

Truth is best found out by the time and eyes; Falsehood wins credit by uncertainties.

We credit most our sight; one eye doth please Our trust far more than ten ear-witnesses.

Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon This, that, and every base impression.

Look in my book, and herein see Life endless signed to thee and me. We o'er the tombs and fates shall fly; While other generations die.

Should I not put on blacks, when each one here Comes with his cypress and devotes a tear? Should I not grieve, my Lawes, when every lute, Viol, and voice is by thy loss struck mute? Thy loss, brave man! whose numbers have been hurl'd, And no less prais'd than spread throughout the world. Some have thee call'd Amphion; some of us Nam'd thee Terpander, or sweet Orpheus: Some this, some that, but all in this agree, Music had both her birth and death with thee.

From me my Silvia ran away, And running therewithal A primrose bank did cross her way, And gave my love a fall. But trust me now, I dare not say What I by chance did see; But such the drap'ry did betray That fully ravished me.

If thou hast found an honeycomb, Eat thou not all, but taste on some: For if thou eat'st it to excess, That sweetness turns to loathsomeness. Taste it to temper, then 'twill be Marrow and manna unto thee.

Here lies Jonson with the rest Of the poets: but the best. Reader, would'st thou more have known? Ask his story, not this stone. That will speak what this can't tell Of his glory. So farewell.

Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun? Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine. My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend: And having once brought to an end That precious stock; the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.

Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours Selecting here both herbs and flowers; Of which make garlands here and there To dress thy silent sepulchre. Nor do thou fear the want of these In everlasting properties, Since we fresh strewings will bring hither, Far faster than the first can wither.

In battles what disasters fall, The king he bears the blame of all.

Ponder my words, if so that any be Known guilty here of incivility: Let what is graceless, discompos'd, and rude, With sweetness, smoothness, softness, be endu'd. Teach it to blush, to curtsy, lisp, and show Demure, but yet full of temptation, too. Numbers ne'er tickle, or but lightly please, Unless they have some wanton carriages. This if ye do, each piece will here be good, And graceful made by your neat sisterhood.

I lately fri'd, but now behold I freeze as fast, and shake for cold. And in good faith I'd thought it strange T' have found in me this sudden change; But that I understood by dreams These only were but Love's extremes; Who fires with hope the lover's heart, And starves with cold the self-same part.

We trust not to the multitude in war, But to the stout, and those that skilful are.

Man must do well out of a good intent; Not for the servile fear of punishment.

What! can my Kellam drink his sack In goblets to the brim, And see his Robin Herrick lack, Yet send no bowls to him? For love or pity to his muse, That she may flow in verse, Contemn to recommend a cruse, But send to her a tierce.

First, may the hand of bounty bring Into the daily offering Of full provision such a store, Till that the cook cries: Bring no more. Upon your hogsheads never fall A drought of wine, ale, beer, at all; But, like full clouds, may they from thence Diffuse their mighty influence. Next, let the lord and lady here Enjoy a Christ'ning year by year; And this good blessing back them still, T' have boys, and girls too, as they will. Then from the porch may many a bride Unto the holy temple ride: And thence return, short prayers said, A wife most richly married. Last, may the bride and bridegroom be Untouch'd by cold sterility; But in their springing blood so play, As that in lusters few they may, By laughing too, and lying down, People a city or a town.

The lictors bundled up their rods; beside, Knit them with knots with much ado unti'd, That if, unknitting, men would yet repent, They might escape the lash of punishment.

Men are suspicious, prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present government.

Lay by the good a while; a resting field Will, after ease, a richer harvest yield; Trees this year bear: next, they their wealth withhold: Continual reaping makes a land wax old.

Man's disposition is for to requite An injury, before a benefit: Thanksgiving is a burden and a pain; Revenge is pleasing to us, as our gain.

In all our high designments 'twill appear, The first event breeds confidence or fear.

Hard are the two first stairs unto a crown: Which got, the third bids him a king come down.

Faith is a thing that's four-square; let it fall This way or that, it not declines at all.

Praise they that will times past; I joy to see Myself now live: this age best pleaseth me.

Though from without no foes at all we fear, We shall be wounded by the clothes we wear.

'Tis but a dog-like madness in bad kings, For to delight in wounds and murderings: As some plants prosper best by cuts and blows, So kings by killing do increase their foes.

Tears quickly dry, griefs will in time decay: A clear will come after a cloudy day.

Ask me what hunger is, and I'll reply, 'Tis but a fierce desire of hot and dry.

In this misfortune kings do most excel, To hear the worst from men when they do well.

Conquer we shall, but we must first contend; 'Tis not the fight that crowns us, but the end.

Bind me but to thee with thine hair, And quickly I shall be Made by that fetter or that snare A bondman unto thee. Or if thou tak'st that bond away, Then bore me through the ear, And by the law I ought to stay For ever with thee here.

Give house-room to the best; 'tis never known Virtue and pleasure both to dwell in one.

Pardon my trespass, Silvia; I confess My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefastness: None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove Himself, at one time, can be wise and love.

Smooth was the sea, and seem'd to call Two pretty girls to play withal: Who paddling there, the sea soon frown'd, And on a sudden both were drown'd. What credit can we give to seas, Who, kissing, kill such saints as these?

Fat be my hind; unlearned be my wife; Peaceful my night; my day devoid of strife: To these a comely offspring I desire, Singing about my everlasting fire.

How fierce was I, when I did see My Julia wash herself in thee! So lilies thorough crystal look: So purest pebbles in the brook: As in the river Julia did, Half with a lawn of water hid. Into thy streams myself I threw, And struggling there, I kiss'd thee too; And more had done, it is confess'd, Had not thy waves forbade the rest.

Though frankincense the deities require, We must not give all to the hallowed fire. Such be our gifts, and such be our expense, As for ourselves to leave some frankincense.

A roll of parchment Clunn about him bears, Charg'd with the arms of all his ancestors: And seems half ravish'd, when he looks upon That bar, this bend; that fess, this cheveron; This manch, that moon; this martlet, and that mound; This counterchange of pearl and diamond. What joy can Clunn have in that coat, or this, Whenas his own still out at elbows is?

Love, like a beggar, came to me With hose and doublet torn: His shirt bedangling from his knee, With hat and shoes outworn. He ask'd an alms; I gave him bread, And meat too, for his need: Of which, when he had fully fed, He wished me all good speed. Away he went, but as he turn'd (In faith I know not how) He touch'd me so, as that I burn['d], And am tormented now. Love's silent flames and fires obscure Then crept into my heart; And though I saw no bow, I'm sure His finger was the dart.

I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me, 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.

For brave comportment, wit without offence, Words fully flowing, yet of influence: Thou art that man of men, the man alone, Worthy the public admiration: Who with thine own eyes read'st what we do write, And giv'st our numbers euphony and weight; Tell'st when a verse springs high, how understood To be, or not, born of the royal blood. What state above, what symmetry below, Lines have, or should have, thou the best can'st show. For which, my Charles, it is my pride to be Not so much known, as to be lov'd of thee. Long may I live so, and my wreath of bays Be less another's laurel than thy praise.

What need we marry women, when Without their use we may have men, And such as will in short time be For murder fit, or mutiny? As Cadmus once a new way found, By throwing teeth into the ground; From which poor seed, and rudely sown, Sprung up a war-like nation: So let us iron, silver, gold, Brass, lead, or tin throw into th' mould; And we shall see in little space Rise up of men a fighting race. If this can be, say then, what need Have we of women or their seed?

Love is a syrup; and whoe'er we see Sick and surcharg'd with this satiety, Shall by this pleasing trespass quickly prove There's loathsomeness e'en in the sweets of love.

Love is a leaven; and a loving kiss The leaven of a loving sweetheart is.

Physicians say repletion springs More from the sweet than sour things.

Weep for the dead, for they have lost this light: And weep for me, lost in an endless night. Or mourn, or make a marble verse for me, Who writ for many. Benedicite.

No man such rare parts hath that he can swim, If favour or occasion help not him.

Lost to the world; lost to myself; alone Here now I rest under this marble stone: In depth of silence, heard and seen of none.

I will be short, and having quickly hurl'd This line about, live thou throughout the world; Who art a man for all scenes; unto whom, What's hard to others, nothing's troublesome. Can'st write the comic, tragic strain, and fall From these to pen the pleasing pastoral: Who fli'st at all heights: prose and verse run'st through; Find'st here a fault, and mend'st the trespass too: For which I might extol thee, but speak less, Because thyself art coming to the press: And then should I in praising thee be slow, Posterity will pay thee what I owe.

Tell me, young man, or did the Muses bring Thee less to taste than to drink up their spring, That none hereafter should be thought, or be A poet, or a poet-like but thee? What was thy birth, thy star that makes thee known, At twice ten years, a prime and public one? Tell us thy nation, kindred, or the whence Thou had'st and hast thy mighty influence, That makes thee lov'd, and of the men desir'd, And no less prais'd than of the maids admired. Put on thy laurel then; and in that trim Be thou Apollo or the type of him: Or let the unshorn god lend thee his lyre, And next to him be master of the choir.

Offer thy gift; but first the law commands Thee, Julia, first, to sanctify thy hands: Do that, my Julia, which the rites require, Then boldly give thine incense to the fire.

Handsome you are, and proper you will be Despite of all your infortunity: Live long and lovely, but yet grow no less In that your own prefixed comeliness: Spend on that stock: and when your life must fall, Leave others beauty to set up withal.

If hap it must, that I must see thee lie Absyrtus-like, all torn confusedly: With solemn tears, and with much grief of heart, I'll recollect thee, weeping, part by part; And having wash'd thee, close thee in a chest With spice; that done, I'll leave thee to thy rest.

Welcome, great Cæsar, welcome now you are As dearest peace after destructive war: Welcome as slumbers, or as beds of ease After our long and peevish sicknesses. O pomp of glory! Welcome now, and come To repossess once more your long'd-for home. A thousand altars smoke: a thousand thighs Of beeves here ready stand for sacrifice. Enter and prosper; while our eyes do wait For an ascendent throughly auspicate: Under which sign we may the former stone Lay of our safety's new foundation: That done, O Cæsar! live and be to us Our fate, our fortune, and our genius; To whose free knees we may our temples tie As to a still protecting deity: That should you stir, we and our altars too May, great Augustus, go along with you. Chor. Long live the King! and to accomplish this, We'll from our own add far more years to his.

And as time past when Cato the severe Enter'd the circumspacious theatre, In reverence of his person everyone Stood as he had been turn'd from flesh to stone; E'en so my numbers will astonished be If but looked on; struck dead, if scann'd by thee.

Tell that brave man, fain thou would'st have access To kiss his hands, but that for fearfulness; Or else because th'art like a modest bride, Ready to blush to death, should he but chide.

When first I find those numbers thou dost write, To be most soft, terse, sweet, and perpolite: Next, when I see thee tow'ring in the sky, In an expansion no less large than high; Then, in that compass, sailing here and there, And with circumgyration everywhere; Following with love and active heat thy game, And then at last to truss the epigram; I must confess, distinction none I see Between Domitian's Martial then, and thee. But this I know, should Jupiter again Descend from heaven to reconverse with men; The Roman language full, and superfine, If Jove would speak, he would accept of thine.

Now thou art dead, no eye shall ever see, For shape and service, spaniel like to thee. This shall my love do, give thy sad death one Tear, that deserves of me a million.

Drowning, drowning, I espy Coming from my Julia's eye: 'Tis some solace in our smart, To have friends to bear a part: I have none; but must be sure Th' inundation to endure. Shall not times hereafter tell This for no mean miracle? When the waters by their fall Threaten'd ruin unto all, Yet the deluge here was known Of a world to drown but one.

Let kings and rulers learn this line from me: Where power is weak, unsafe is majesty.

Thou see'st me, Lucia, this year droop; Three zodiacs filled more, I shall stoop; Let crutches then provided be To shore up my debility. Then, while thou laugh'st, I'll sighing cry, "A ruin, underpropp'd, am I". Don will I then my beadsman's gown, And when so feeble I am grown, As my weak shoulders cannot bear The burden of a grasshopper, Yet with the bench of aged sires, When I and they keep termly fires, With my weak voice I'll sing, or say, Some odes I made of Lucia: Then will I heave my wither'd hand To Jove the mighty, for to stand Thy faithful friend, and to pour down Upon thee many a benison.

Holy waters hither bring For the sacred sprinkling: Baptise me and thee, and so Let us to the altar go, And, ere we our rites commence, Wash our hands in innocence. Then I'll be the Rex Sacrorum, Thou the Queen of Peace and Quorum.

Case is a lawyer, that ne'er pleads alone, But when he hears the like confusion, As when the disagreeing Commons throw About their House, their clamorous Aye or No: Then Case, as loud as any serjeant there, Cries out: My lord, my lord, the case is clear. But when all's hush'd, Case, than a fish more mute, Bestirs his hand, but starves in hand the suit.

I a dirge will pen to thee; Thou a trentall make for me: That the monks and friars together, Here may sing the rest of either: Next, I'm sure, the nuns will have Candlemas to grace the grave.

The person crowns the place; your lot doth fall Last, yet to be with these a principal. Howe'er it fortuned; know for truth, I meant You a fore-leader in this testament.

This stone can tell the story of my life, What was my birth, to whom I was a wife: In teeming years, how soon my sun was set. Where now I rest, these may be known by jet. For other things, my many children be The best and truest chronicles of me.

Grow up in beauty, as thou dost begin, And be of all admired, Tomasin.

Down with the rosemary, and so Down with the bays and mistletoe; Down with the holly, ivy, all, Wherewith ye dressed the Christmas Hall: That so the superstitious find No one least branch there left behind: For look, how many leaves there be Neglected, there (maids, trust to me) So many goblins you shall see.

He that will live of all cares dispossess'd, Must shun the bad, aye, and suspect the best.

Welcome to this my college, and though late Thou'st got a place here (standing candidate) It matters not, since thou art chosen one Here of my great and good foundation.

Lacon. For a kiss or two, confess, What doth cause this pensiveness, Thou most lovely neat-herdess? Why so lonely on the hill? Why thy pipe by thee so still, That erewhile was heard so shrill? Tell me, do thy kine now fail To full fill the milking-pail? Say, what is't that thou dost ail? Thyr. None of these; but out, alas! A mischance is come to pass, And I'll tell thee what it was: See, mine eyes are weeping-ripe. Lacon. Tell, and I'll lay down my pipe. Thyr. I have lost my lovely steer, That to me was far more dear Than these kine which I milk here: Broad of forehead, large of eye, Party-colour'd like a pie; Smooth in each limb as a die; Clear of hoof, and clear of horn: Sharply pointed as a thorn, With a neck by yoke unworn; From the which hung down by strings, Balls of cowslips, daisy rings, Interplac'd with ribbonings: Faultless every way for shape; Not a straw could him escape; Ever gamesome as an ape, But yet harmless as a sheep. Pardon, Lacon, if I weep; Tears will spring where woes are deep. Now, ay me! ay me! Last night Came a mad dog and did bite, Aye, and kill'd my dear delight. Lacon. Alack, for grief! Thyr. But I'll be brief. Hence I must, for time doth call Me, and my sad playmates all, To his ev'ning funeral. Live long, Lacon, so adieu! Lacon. Mournful maid, farewell to you; Earth afford ye flowers to strew.

Look upon Sappho's lip, and you will swear There is a love-like leaven rising there.

Drink up Your cup, But not spill wine; For if you Do, 'Tis an ill sign; That we Foresee You are cloy'd here, If so, no Ho, But avoid here.

Care keeps the conquest; 'tis no less renown To keep a city than to win a town.

Men must have bounds how far to walk; for we Are made far worse by lawless liberty.

Ah, Bianca! now I see It is noon and past with me: In a while it will strike one; Then, Bianca, I am gone. Some effusions let me have Offer'd on my holy grave; Then, Bianca, let me rest With my face towards the East.

As is your name, so is your comely face Touch'd everywhere with such diffused grace, As that in all that admirable round There is not one least solecism found; And as that part, so every portion else Keeps line for line with beauty's parallels.

I must Not trust Here to any; Bereav'd, Deceiv'd By so many: As one Undone By my losses; Comply Will I With my crosses; Yet still I will Not be grieving, Since thence And hence Comes relieving. But this Sweet is In our mourning; Times bad And sad Are a-turning: And he Whom we See dejected, Next day We may See erected.

'Tis still observ'd those men most valiant are, That are most modest ere they come to war.

Why should we covet much, whenas we know W'ave more to bear our charge than way to go?

Brisk methinks I am, and fine When I drink my cap'ring wine: Then to love I do incline, When I drink my wanton wine: And I wish all maidens mine, When I drink my sprightly wine: Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine; But I languish, lower, and pine, When I want my fragrant wine.

Kings must not use the axe for each offence: Princes cure some faults by their patience.

Despair takes heart, when there's no hope to speed: The coward then takes arms and does the deed.

Let's strive to be the best; the gods, we know it, Pillars and men, hate an indifferent poet.

I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Like and dislike ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Stroke ye to strike ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Love will befool ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Heat ye to cool ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Love gifts will send ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Stock ye to spend ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Love will fulfil ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Kiss ye to kill ye.

Go on, brave Hopton, to effectuate that Which we, and times to come, shall wonder at. Lift up thy sword; next, suffer it to fall, And by that one blow set an end to all.

How well contented in this private grange Spend I my life, that's subject unto change: Under whose roof with moss-work wrought, there I Kiss my brown wife and black posterity.

When to a house I come, and see The Genius wasteful, more than free: The servants thumbless, yet to eat With lawless tooth the flour of wheat: The sons to suck the milk of kine, More than the teats of discipline: The daughters wild and loose in dress, Their cheeks unstained with shamefac'dness: The husband drunk, the wife to be A bawd to incivility; I must confess, I there descry, A house spread through with leprosy.

This rule of manners I will teach my guests: To come with their own bellies unto feasts; Not to eat equal portions, but to rise Farced with the food that may themselves suffice.

Anthea laugh'd, and fearing lest excess Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness, She with a dainty blush rebuk'd her face, And call'd each line back to his rule and space.

Be not dismayed though crosses cast thee down; Thy fall is but the rising to a crown.

Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.

On with thy work, though thou be'st hardly press'd: Labour is held up by the hope of rest.

When flowing garments I behold Inspir'd with purple, pearl and gold, I think no other, but I see In them a glorious leprosy That does infect and make the rent More mortal in the vestiment. As flowery vestures do descry The wearer's rich immodesty: So plain and simple clothes do show Where virtue walks, not those that flow.

To an old sore a long cure must go on: Great faults require great satisfaction.

You ask me what I do, and how I live? And, noble friend, this answer I must give: Drooping, I draw on to the vaults of death, O'er which you'll walk, when I am laid beneath.

Shall I a daily beggar be, For love's sake asking alms of thee? Still shall I crave, and never get A hope of my desired bit? Ah, cruel maids! I'll go my way, Whereas, perchance, my fortunes may Find out a threshold or a door That may far sooner speed the poor: Where thrice we knock, and none will hear, Cold comfort still I'm sure lives there.

Our bastard children are but like to plate Made by the coiners—illegitimate.

My many cares and much distress Has made me like a wilderness; Or, discompos'd, I'm like a rude And all confused multitude: Out of my comely manners worn, And, as in means, in mind all torn.

Methought I saw, as I did dream in bed, A crawling vine about Anacreon's head. Flushed was his face; his hairs with oil did shine; And, as he spake, his mouth ran o'er with wine. Tippled he was, and tippling lisped withal; And lisping reeled, and reeling like to fall. A young enchantress close by him did stand, Tapping his plump thighs with a myrtle wand: She smil'd; he kiss'd; and kissing, cull'd her too, And being cup-shot, more he could not do. For which, methought, in pretty anger she Snatched off his crown, and gave the wreath to me; Since when, methinks, my brains about do swim, And I am wild and wanton like to him.

Happily I had a sight Of my dearest dear last night; Make her this day smile on me, And I'll roses give to thee.

The bound, almost, now of my book I see, But yet no end of these therein, or me: Here we begin new life, while thousands quite Are lost, and theirs, in everlasting night.

Then did I live when I did see Perilla smile on none but me. But, ah! by stars malignant crossed, The life I got I quickly lost; But yet a way there doth remain For me embalm'd to live again, And that's to love me; in which state I'll live as one regenerate.

Man may at first transgress, but next do well: Vice doth in some but lodge a while, not dwell.

Let others to the printing press run fast; Since after death comes glory, I'll not haste.

What's got by justice is established sure: No kingdoms got by rapine long endure.

What needs complaints, When she a place Has with the race Of saints? In endless mirth, She thinks not on What's said or done In earth. She sees no tears, Or any tone Of thy deep groan She hears: Nor does she mind, Or think on't now, That ever thou Wast kind; But chang'd above, She likes not there. As she did here, Thy love. Forbear, therefore, And lull asleep Thy woes, and weep No more.

Partly work and partly play Ye must on S. Distaff's day: From the plough soon free your team, Then come home and fodder them. If the maids a-spinning go, Burn the flax and fire the tow; Scorch their plackets, but beware That ye singe no maidenhair. Bring in pails of water, then, Let the maids bewash the men. Give S. Distaff all the right, Then bid Christmas sport good-night; And next morrow everyone To his own vocation.

In the hope of ease to come, Let's endure one martyrdom.

I send, I send here my supremest kiss To thee, my silver-footed Thamesis. No more shall I reiterate thy Strand, Whereon so many stately structures stand: Nor in the summer's sweeter evenings go To bathe in thee, as thousand others do; No more shall I along thy crystal glide In barge with boughs and rushes beautifi'd, With soft-smooth virgins for our chaste disport, To Richmond, Kingston, and to Hampton Court. Never again shall I with finny oar Put from, or draw unto the faithful shore: And landing here, or safely landing there, Make way to my beloved Westminster, Or to the golden Cheapside, where the earth Of Julia Herrick gave to me my birth. May all clean nymphs and curious water-dames With swan-like state float up and down thy streams: No drought upon thy wanton waters fall To make them lean and languishing at all. No ruffling winds come hither to disease Thy pure and silver-wristed Naiades. Keep up your state, ye streams; and as ye spring, Never make sick your banks by surfeiting. Grow young with tides, and though I see ye never, Receive this vow, so fare ye well for ever.

Those ends in war the best contentment bring, Whose peace is made up with a pardoning.

Great cities seldom rest; if there be none T' invade from far, they'll find worse foes at home.

'Twixt truth and error there's this difference known; Error is fruitful, truth is only one.

Things are uncertain, and the more we get, The more on icy pavements we are set.

Studies themselves will languish and decay, When either price or praise is ta'en away.

Dread not the shackles: on with thine intent; Good wits get more fame by their punishment.

Now, now the mirth comes With the cake full of plums, Where bean's the king of the sport here; Beside we must know, The pea also Must revel, as queen, in the court here. Begin then to choose, This night as ye use, Who shall for the present delight here, Be a king by the lot, And who shall not Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here. Which known, let us make Joy-sops with the cake; And let not a man then be seen here, Who unurg'd will not drink To the base from the brink A health to the king and the queen here. Next crown the bowl full With gentle lamb's wool: Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale too; And thus ye must do To make the wassail a swinger. Give then to the king And queen wassailing: And though with ale ye be whet here, Yet part ye from hence, As free from offence As when ye innocent met here.

Give me a man that is not dull When all the world with rifts is full; But unamaz'd dares clearly sing, Whenas the roof's a-tottering: And, though it falls, continues still Tickling the cittern with his quill.

Know when to speak; for many times it brings Danger to give the best advice to kings.

Let moderation on thy passions wait; Who loves too much, too much the lov'd will hate.

Still take advice; though counsels, when they fly At random, sometimes hit most happily.

Conformity gives comeliness to things: And equal shares exclude all murmurings.

Who violates the customs, hurts the health, Not of one man, but all the commonwealth.

'Tis much among the filthy to be clean; Our heat of youth can hardly keep the mean.

Like will to like, each creature loves his kind; Chaste words proceed still from a bashful mind.

Among these tempests great and manifold My ship has here one only anchor-hold; That is my hope, which if that slip, I'm one Wildered in this vast wat'ry region.

'Tis no discomfort in the world to fall, When the great crack not crushes one, but all.

The twilight is no other thing, we say, Than night now gone, and yet not sprung the day.

He who wears blacks, and mourns not for the dead, Does but deride the party buried.

No grief is grown so desperate, but the ill Is half way cured if the party will.

If wholesome diet can recure a man, What need of physic or physician?

Stripes, justly given, yerk us with their fall; But causeless whipping smarts the most of all.

Along, come along, Let's meet in a throng Here of tinkers; And quaff up a bowl As big as a cowl To beer drinkers. The pole of the hop Place in the aleshop To bethwack us, If ever we think So much as to drink Unto Bacchus. Who frolic will be For little cost, he Must not vary From beer-broth at all, So much as to call For Canary.

The only comfort of my life Is, that I never yet had wife; Nor will hereafter; since I know Who weds, o'er-buys his weal with woe

Wash clean the vessel, lest ye sour Whatever liquor in ye pour.

Sick is Anthea, sickly is the spring, The primrose sick, and sickly everything; The while my dear Anthea does but droop, The tulips, lilies, daffodils do stoop: But when again she's got her healthful hour, Each bending then will rise a proper flower.

Now, if you love me, tell me, For as I will not sell ye, So not one cross to buy thee I'll give, if thou deny me.

Since shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one To whose glad threshold, and free door, I may a poet come, though poor, And eat with thee a savoury bit, Paying but common thanks for it. Yet should I chance, my Wicks, to see An over-leaven look in thee, To sour the bread, and turn the beer To an exalted vinegar: Or should'st thou prize me as a dish Of thrice-boiled worts, or third-day's fish; I'd rather hungry go and come, Than to thy house be burdensome; Yet, in my depth of grief, I'd be One that should drop his beads for thee.

Who may do most, does least: the bravest will Show mercy there, where they have power to kill.

Die ere long, I'm sure, I shall; After leaves, the tree must fall.

For truth I may this sentence tell, No man dies ill, that liveth well.

Who plants an olive, but to eat the oil? Reward, we know, is the chief end of toil.

This is my comfort when she's most unkind: She can but spoil me of my means, not mind.

I have my laurel chaplet on my head If, 'mongst these many numbers to be read, But one by you be hugg'd and cherished. Peruse my measures thoroughly, and where Your judgment finds a guilty poem, there Be you a judge; but not a judge severe. The mean pass by, or over, none contemn; The good applaud; the peccant less condemn, Since absolution you can give to them. Stand forth, brave man, here to the public sight; And in my book now claim a twofold right: The first as doctor, and the last as knight.

This I'll tell ye by the way: Maidens, when ye leavens lay, Cross your dough, and your dispatch Will be better for your batch.

In the morning when ye rise, Wash your hands and cleanse your eyes. Next be sure ye have a care To disperse the water far; For as far as that doth light, So far keeps the evil sprite.

If ye fear to be affrighted When ye are by chance benighted, In your pocket for a trust Carry nothing but a crust: For that holy piece of bread Charms the danger and the dread.

That prince must govern with a gentle hand Who will have love comply with his command.

Her. My dearest love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee, For love or pity let me know The place where I may find thee. Ama. In country meadows pearl'd with dew, And set about with lilies, There, filling maunds with cowslips, you May find your Amaryllis. Her. What have the meads to do with thee, Or with thy youthful hours? Live thou at Court, where thou mayst be The queen of men, not flowers. Let country wenches make 'em fine With posies, since 'tis fitter For thee with richest gems to shine, And like the stars to glitter. Ama. You set too high a rate upon A shepherdess so homely. Her. Believe it, dearest, there's not one I' th' Court that's half so comely. I prithee stay. Ama. I must away; Let's kiss first, then we'll sever. Ambo. And though we bid adieu to-day, We shall not part for ever.

Help me, Julia, for to pray, Matins sing, or matins say: This, I know, the fiend will fly Far away, if thou be'st by. Bring the holy water hither, Let us wash and pray together; When our beads are thus united, Then the foe will fly affrighted.

Roses, you can never die, Since the place wherein ye lie, Heat and moisture mix'd are so As to make ye ever grow.

When to thy porch I come and ravish'd see The state of poets there attending thee, Those bards and I, all in a chorus sing: We are thy prophets, Porter, thou our king.

When times are troubled, then forbear; but speak When a clear day out of a cloud does break.

The power of princes rests in the consent Of only those who are obedient: Which if away, proud sceptres then will lie Low, and of thrones the ancient majesty.

No man so well a kingdom rules as he Who hath himself obeyed the sovereignty.

1. Instruct me now what love will do. 2. 'Twill make a tongueless man to woo. 1. Inform me next, what love will do. 2. 'Twill strangely make a one of two. 1. Teach me besides, what love will do. 2. 'Twill quickly mar, and make ye too. 1. Tell me now last, what love will do. 2. 'Twill hurt and heal a heart pierc'd through.

Trap of a player turn'd a priest now is: Behold a sudden metamorphosis. If tithe-pigs fail, then will he shift the scene, And from a priest turn player once again.

Whether I was myself, or else did see Out of myself that glorious hierarchy; Or whether those, in orders rare, or these Made up one state of sixty Venuses; Or whether fairies, syrens, nymphs they were, Or muses on their mountain sitting there; Or some enchanted place, I do not know, Or Sharon, where eternal roses grow. This I am sure: I ravished stood, as one Confus'd in utter admiration. Methought I saw them stir, and gently move, And look as all were capable of love; And in their motion smelt much like to flowers Inspir'd by th' sunbeams after dews and showers. There did I see the reverend rectress stand, Who with her eye's gleam, or a glance of hand, Those spirits raised; and with like precepts then, As with a magic, laid them all again. A happy realm! When no compulsive law, Or fear of it, but love keeps all in awe. Live you, great mistress of your arts, and be A nursing mother so to majesty, As those your ladies may in time be seen, For grace and carriage, everyone a queen. One birth their parents gave them; but their new, And better being, they receive from you. Man's former birth is graceless; but the state Of life comes in, when he's regenerate.

Thou say'st I'm dull; if edgeless so I be, I'll whet my lips, and sharpen love on thee.

Let me not live if I not love: Since I as yet did never prove Where pleasures met, at last do find All pleasures meet in womankind.

That love 'twixt men does ever longest last Where war and peace the dice by turns do cast.

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

When Chub brings in his harvest, still he cries, "Aha, my boys! here's meat for Christmas pies!" Soon after he for beer so scores his wheat, That at the tide he has not bread to eat.

Where pleasures rule a kingdom, never there Is sober virtue seen to move her sphere.

A wearied pilgrim, I have wandered here Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year; Long I have lasted in this world, 'tis true, But yet those years that I have lived, but few. Who by his grey hairs doth his lusters tell, Lives not those years, but he that lives them well. One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he Of all those threescore, has not liv'd half three. He lives, who lives to virtue; men who cast Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.

Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee. Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please: How will it drop pure honey speaking these!

Why dost thou wound and break my heart, As if we should for ever part? Hast thou not heard an oath from me, After a day, or two, or three, I would come back and live with thee? Take, if thou dost distrust that vow, This second protestation now. Upon thy cheek that spangled tear, Which sits as dew of roses there, That tear shall scarce be dried before I'll kiss the threshold of thy door. Then weep not, sweet; but thus much know, I'm half return'd before I go.

I will no longer kiss, I can no longer stay; The way of all flesh is That I must go this day. Since longer I can't live, My frolic youths, adieu; My lamp to you I'll give, And all my troubles too.

Nor think that thou in this my book art worst, Because not plac'd here with the midst, or first. Since fame that sides with these, or goes before Those, that must live with thee for evermore; That fame, and fame's rear'd pillar, thou shalt see In the next sheet, brave man, to follow thee. Fix on that column then, and never fall, Held up by Fame's eternal pedestal.

Alas! I can't, for tell me, how Can I be gamesome, aged now? Besides, ye see me daily grow Here, winter-like, to frost and snow; And I, ere long, my girls, shall see Ye quake for cold to look on me.

Truth by her own simplicity is known, Falsehood by varnish and vermilion.

I have been wanton and too bold, I fear, To chafe o'ermuch the virgin's cheek or ear. Beg for my pardon, Julia: he doth win Grace with the gods who's sorry for his sin. That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come And go with me to choose my burial room: My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies, Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes.

One ear tingles; some there be That are snarling now at me: Be they those that Homer bit, I will give them thanks for it.

Kings must be dauntless; subjects will contemn Those who want hearts and wear a diadem.

Wanton wenches, do not bring For my hairs black colouring: For my locks, girls, let 'em be Grey or white, all's one to me.

What others have with cheapness seen and ease In varnish'd maps, by th' help of compasses, Or read in volumes and those books with all Their large narrations incanonical, Thou hast beheld those seas and countries far, And tell'st to us what once they were, and are. So that with bold truth thou can'st now relate This kingdom's fortune, and that empire's fate: Can'st talk to us of Sharon, where a spring Of roses have an endless flourishing; Of Sion, Sinai, Nebo, and with them Make known to us the new Jerusalem; The Mount of Olives, Calvary, and where Is, and hast seen, thy Saviour's sepulchre. So that the man that will but lay his ears As inapostate to the thing he hears, Shall by his hearing quickly come to see The truth of travels less in books than thee.

Rare is the voice itself: but when we sing To th' lute or viol, then 'tis ravishing.

If kings and kingdoms once distracted be, The sword of war must try the sovereignty

That prince who may do nothing but what's just, Rules but by leave, and takes his crown on trust.

All are not ill plots that do sometimes fail; Nor those false vows which ofttimes don't prevail.

What is't that wastes a prince? example shows, 'Tis flattery spends a king, more than his foes.

Excess is sluttish: keep the mean; for why? Virtue's clean conclave is sobriety.

The body's salt the soul is; which when gone, The flesh soon sucks in putrefaction.

Against diseases here the strongest fence Is the defensive virtue, abstinence.

When fear admits no hope of safety, then Necessity makes dastards valiant men.

Although our suffering meet with no relief, An equal mind is the best sauce for grief.

I have a leaden, thou a shaft of gold; Thou kill'st with heat, and I strike dead with cold. Let's try of us who shall the first expire; Or thou by frost, or I by quenchless fire: Extremes are fatal where they once do strike, And bring to th' heart destruction both alike.

Whatever men for loyalty pretend, 'Tis wisdom's part to doubt a faithful friend.

After thy labour take thine ease, Here with the sweet Pierides. But if so be that men will not Give thee the laurel crown for lot; Be yet assur'd, thou shall have one Not subject to corruption.

I'll write no more of love; but now repent Of all those times that I in it have spent. I'll write no more of life; but wish 'twas ended, And that my dust was to the earth commended.

Go thou forth, my book, though late: Yet be timely fortunate. It may chance good luck may send Thee a kinsman, or a friend, That may harbour thee, when I With my fates neglected lie. If thou know'st not where to dwell, See, the fire's by: farewell.

Part of the work remains; one part is past: And here my ship rides, having anchor cast.

My wearied bark, O let it now be crown'd! The haven reach'd to which I first was bound.

The work is done: young men and maidens, set Upon my curls the myrtle coronet Washed with sweet ointments: thus at last I come To suffer in the Muses' martyrdom; But with this comfort, if my blood be shed, The Muses will wear blacks when I am dead.

Fame's pillar here, at last, we set, Outduring marble, brass, or jet. Charm'd and enchanted so As to withstand the blow O f o v e r t h r o w; Nor shall the seas, O r o u t r a g e s Of storms o'erbear What we uprear. Tho' kingdoms fall, This pillar never shall Decline or waste at all; But stand for ever by his own Firm and well-fix'd foundation.

To his book's end this last line he'd have placed: Jocund his muse was, but his life was chaste.