Volume 2 — HESPERIDES.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers, Of April, May, of June and July-flowers; I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides and of their bridal cakes; I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness; I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece Of balm, of oil, of spice and ambergris; I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write How roses first came red and lilies white; I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing The Court of Mab, and of the Fairy King; I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall) Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam? Far safer 'twere to stay at home, Where thou mayst sit and piping please The poor and private cottages, Since cotes and hamlets best agree With this thy meaner minstrelsy. There with the reed thou mayst express The shepherd's fleecy happiness, And with thy eclogues intermix Some smooth and harmless bucolics. There on a hillock thou mayst sing Unto a handsome shepherdling, Or to a girl, that keeps the neat, With breath more sweet than violet. There, there, perhaps, such lines as these May take the simple villages; But for the court, the country wit Is despicable unto it. Stay, then, at home, and do not go Or fly abroad to seek for woe. Contempts in courts and cities dwell, No critic haunts the poor man's cell, Where thou mayst hear thine own lines read By no one tongue there censured. That man's unwise will search for ill, And may prevent it, sitting still.

While thou didst keep thy candour undefil'd, Dearly I lov'd thee as my first-born child, But when I saw thee wantonly to roam From house to house, and never stay at home, I brake my bonds of love, and bade thee go, Regardless whether well thou sped'st or no. On with thy fortunes then, whate'er they be: If good, I'll smile; if bad, I'll sigh for thee.

To read my book the virgin shy May blush while Brutus standeth by, But when he's gone, read through what's writ, And never stain a cheek for it.

Come thou not near those men who are like bread O'er-leaven'd, or like cheese o'er-renneted.

In sober mornings, do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse; But when that men have both well drunk and fed, Let my enchantments then be sung or read. When laurel spirts i'th' fire, and when the hearth Smiles to itself, and gilds the roof with mirth; When up the thyrse[C] is rais'd, and when the sound Of sacred orgies[D] flies, a round, a round. When the rose reigns, and locks with ointments shine, Let rigid Cato read these lines of mine.

Droop, droop no more, or hang the head, Ye roses almost withered; Now strength and newer purple get, Each here declining violet. O primroses! let this day be A resurrection unto ye; And to all flowers ally'd in blood, Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood: For health on Julia's cheek hath shed Claret and cream commingled; And those her lips do now appear As beams of coral, but more clear.

Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed, And loving lie in one devoted bed. Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly post-haste; No sound calls back the year that once is past. Then, sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay; True love, we know, precipitates delay. Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove; No man at one time can be wise and love.

I dreamt the roses one time went To meet and sit in parliament; The place for these, and for the rest Of flowers, was thy spotless breast, Over the which a state was drawn Of tiffanie or cobweb lawn. Then in that parly all those powers Voted the rose the queen of flowers; But so as that herself should be The maid of honour unto thee.

To get thine ends, lay bashfulness aside; Who fears to ask doth teach to be deny'd.

I freeze, I freeze, and nothing dwells In me but snow and icicles. For pity's sake, give your advice, To melt this snow and thaw this ice. I'll drink down flames; but if so be Nothing but love can supple me, I'll rather keep this frost and snow Than to be thaw'd or heated so.

Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve to see Me, day by day, to steal away from thee? Age calls me hence, and my grey hairs bid come, And haste away to mine eternal home; 'Twill not be long, Perilla, after this, That I must give thee the supremest kiss. Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring Part of the cream from that religious spring; With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet; That done, then wind me in that very sheet Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore The gods' protection but the night before. Follow me weeping to my turf, and there Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear: Then, lastly, let some weekly-strewings be Devoted to the memory of me: Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep.

Come down and dance ye in the toil Of pleasures to a heat; But if to moisture, let the oil Of roses be your sweat. Not only to yourselves assume These sweets, but let them fly From this to that, and so perfume E'en all the standers by; As goddess Isis, when she went Or glided through the street, Made all that touched her, with her scent, And whom she touched, turn sweet.

When I thy parts run o'er, I can't espy In any one the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused thence A fair and unfamiliar excellence: So that the more I look the more I prove There's still more cause why I the more should love.

The seeds of treason choke up as they spring: He acts the crime that gives it cherishing.

Two of a thousand things are disallow'd: A lying rich man, and a poor man proud.

Help me! help me! now I call To my pretty witchcrafts all; Old I am, and cannot do That I was accustomed to. Bring your magics, spells, and charms, To enflesh my thighs and arms. Is there no way to beget In my limbs their former heat? Æson had, as poets feign, Baths that made him young again: Find that medicine, if you can, For your dry decrepit man Who would fain his strength renew, Were it but to pleasure you.

Come bring your sampler, and with art Draw in't a wounded heart And dropping here and there: Not that I think that any dart Can make yours bleed a tear, Or pierce it anywhere; Yet do it to this end: that I May by This secret see, Though you can make That heart to bleed, yours ne'er will ache For me.

What I fancy I approve, No dislike there is in love. Be my mistress short or tall, And distorted therewithal: Be she likewise one of those That an acre hath of nose: Be her forehead and her eyes Full of incongruities: Be her cheeks so shallow too As to show her tongue wag through; Be her lips ill hung or set, And her grinders black as jet: Has she thin hair, hath she none, She's to me a paragon.

If, dear Anthea, my hard fate it be To live some few sad hours after thee, Thy sacred corse with odours I will burn, And with my laurel crown thy golden urn. Then holding up there such religious things As were, time past, thy holy filletings, Near to thy reverend pitcher I will fall Down dead for grief, and end my woes withal: So three in one small plat of ground shall lie— Anthea, Herrick, and his poetry.

I saw a cherry weep, and why? Why wept it? but for shame Because my Julia's lip was by, And did out-red the same. But, pretty fondling, let not fall A tear at all for that: Which rubies, corals, scarlets, all For tincture wonder at.

The mellow touch of music most doth wound The soul when it doth rather sigh than sound.

'Twixt kings and subjects there's this mighty odds: Subjects are taught by men; kings by the gods.

Some would know Why I so Long still do tarry, And ask why Here that I Live and not marry. Thus I those Do oppose: What man would be here Slave to thrall, If at all He could live free here?

Julia was careless, and withal She rather took than got a fall, The wanton ambler chanc'd to see Part of her legs' sincerity: And ravish'd thus, it came to pass, The nag (like to the prophet's ass) Began to speak, and would have been A-telling what rare sights he'd seen: And had told all; but did refrain Because his tongue was tied again.

Live with a thrifty, not a needy fate; Small shots paid often waste a vast estate.

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

When what is lov'd is present, love doth spring; But being absent, love lies languishing.

A bachelor I will Live as I have liv'd still, And never take a wife To crucify my life; But this I'll tell ye too, What now I mean to do: A sister (in the stead Of wife) about I'll lead; Which I will keep embrac'd, And kiss, but yet be chaste.

To me my Julia lately sent A bracelet richly redolent: The beads I kissed, but most lov'd her That did perfume the pomander.

Anthea bade me tie her shoe; I did; and kissed the instep too: And would have kissed unto her knee, Had not her blush rebuked me.

Instead of orient pearls of jet I sent my love a carcanet; About her spotless neck she knit The lace, to honour me or it: Then think how rapt was I to see My jet t'enthral such ivory.

When that day comes, whose evening says I'm gone Unto that watery desolation, Devoutly to thy closet-gods then pray That my wing'd ship may meet no remora. Those deities which circum-walk the seas, And look upon our dreadful passages, Will from all dangers re-deliver me For one drink-offering poured out by thee. Mercy and truth live with thee! and forbear (In my short absence) to unsluice a tear; But yet for love's sake let thy lips do this, Give my dead picture one engendering kiss: Work that to life, and let me ever dwell In thy remembrance, Julia. So farewell.

Why this flower is now call'd so, List, sweet maids, and you shall know. Understand, this firstling was Once a brisk and bonnie lass, Kept as close as Danaë was: Who a sprightly springall lov'd, And to have it fully prov'd, Up she got upon a wall, Tempting down to slide withal: But the silken twist untied, So she fell, and, bruis'd, she died. Love, in pity of the deed, And her loving-luckless speed, Turn'd her to this plant we call Now the flower of the wall.

These fresh beauties (we can prove) Once were virgins sick of love. Turn'd to flowers,—still in some Colours go and colours come.

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play Still with your curls, and kiss the time away. You blame me too, because I can't devise Some sport to please those babies in your eyes: By love's religion, I must here confess it, The most I love when I the least express it. Small griefs find tongues: full casks are ever found To give (if any, yet) but little sound. Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, That chiding streams betray small depth below. So, when love speechless is, she doth express A depth in love and that depth bottomless. Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such Who speak but little 'cause I love so much.

I have lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses: Stately Julia, prime of all: Sappho next, a principal: Smooth Anthea for a skin White, and heaven-like crystalline: Sweet Electra, and the choice Myrrha for the lute and voice: Next Corinna, for her wit, And the graceful use of it: With Perilla: all are gone; Only Herrick's left alone For to number sorrow by Their departures hence, and die.

Methought last night Love in an anger came And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same; Myrtle the twigs were, merely to imply Love strikes, but 'tis with gentle cruelty. Patient I was: Love pitiful grew then And strok'd the stripes, and I was whole again. Thus, like a bee, Love gentle still doth bring Honey to salve where he before did sting.

I'm free from thee; and thou no more shalt hear My puling pipe to beat against thine ear. Farewell my shackles, though of pearl they be; Such precious thraldom ne'er shall fetter me. He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck unto a second yoke.

Young I was, but now am old, But I am not yet grown cold; I can play, and I can twine 'Bout a virgin like a vine: In her lap too I can lie Melting, and in fancy die; And return to life if she Claps my cheek, or kisseth me: Thus, and thus it now appears That our love outlasts our years.

Love and myself, believe me, on a day At childish push-pin, for our sport, did play; I put, he pushed, and, heedless of my skin, Love pricked my finger with a golden pin; Since which it festers so that I can prove 'Twas but a trick to poison me with love: Little the wound was, greater was the smart, The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart.

One ask'd me where the roses grew: I bade him not go seek, But forthwith bade my Julia show A bud in either cheek.

Old wives have often told how they Saw Cupid bitten by a flea; And thereupon, in tears half drown'd, He cried aloud: Help, help the wound! He wept, he sobb'd, he call'd to some To bring him lint and balsamum, To make a tent, and put it in Where the stiletto pierced the skin; Which, being done, the fretful pain Assuaged, and he was well again.

Three lovely sisters working were, As they were closely set, Of soft and dainty maidenhair A curious armillet. I, smiling, asked them what they did, Fair Destinies all three, Who told me they had drawn a thread Of life, and 'twas for me. They show'd me then how fine 'twas spun, And I reply'd thereto,— "I care not now how soon 'tis done, Or cut, if cut by you".

When one is past, another care we have: Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.

Julia and I did lately sit Playing for sport at cherry-pit: She threw; I cast; and, having thrown, I got the pit, and she the stone.

Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be With leaves and moss-work for to cover me: And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter, Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister! For epitaph, in foliage, next write this: Here, here the tomb of Robin Herrick is.

More discontents I never had Since I was born than here, Where I have been, and still am sad, In this dull Devonshire; Yet, justly too, I must confess I ne'er invented such Ennobled numbers for the press, Than where I loathed so much.

O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be Loving and gentle for to cover me: Banish'd from thee I live, ne'er to return, Unless thou giv'st my small remains an urn.

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come and buy. If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile; There's the land, or cherry-isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.

Put on your silks, and piece by piece Give them the scent of ambergris; And for your breaths, too, let them smell Ambrosia-like, or nectarel; While other gums their sweets perspire, By your own jewels set on fire.

Now is the time, when all the lights wax dim; And thou, Anthea, must withdraw from him Who was thy servant. Dearest, bury me Under that Holy-oak or Gospel-tree, Where, though thou see'st not, thou may'st think upon Me, when thou yearly go'st procession; Or, for mine honour, lay me in that tomb In which thy sacred relics shall have room. For my embalming, sweetest, there will be No spices wanting when I'm laid by thee.

I dreamed we both were in a bed Of roses, almost smothered: The warmth and sweetness had me there Made lovingly familiar, But that I heard thy sweet breath say, Faults done by night will blush by day. I kissed thee, panting, and, I call Night to the record! that was all. But, ah! if empty dreams so please, Love give me more such nights as these.

Here we are all by day; by night we're hurl'd By dreams, each one into a sev'ral world.

In man ambition is the common'st thing; Each one by nature loves to be a king.

Julia, if I chance to die Ere I print my poetry, I most humbly thee desire To commit it to the fire: Better 'twere my book were dead Than to live not perfected.

Fight thou with shafts of silver and o'ercome, When no force else can get the masterdom.

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

When some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was, Thou wilt complain, False now's thy looking-glass, Which renders that quite tarnished which was green, And priceless now what peerless once had been. Upon thy form more wrinkles yet will fall, And, coming down, shall make no noise at all.

'Tis not a thousand bullocks' thighs Can please those heav'nly deities, If the vower don't express In his offering cheerfulness.

'Tis not greatness they require To be offer'd up by fire; But 'tis sweetness that doth please Those Eternal Essences.

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

So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice, As, could they hear, the damn'd would make no noise, But listen to thee, walking in thy chamber, Melting melodious words to lutes of amber.

When I thy singing next shall hear, I'll wish I might turn all to ear To drink in notes and numbers such As blessed souls can't hear too much; Then melted down, there let me lie Entranc'd and lost confusedly, And, by thy music stricken mute, Die and be turn'd into a lute.

All things decay with time: the forest sees The growth and downfall of her aged trees; That timber tall, which threescore lusters stood The proud dictator of the state-like wood,— I mean (the sovereign of all plants) the oak— Droops, dies, and falls without the cleaver's stroke.

First, April, she with mellow showers Opens the way for early flowers; Then after her comes smiling May, In a more rich and sweet array; Next enters June, and brings us more Gems than those two that went before: Then (lastly) July comes, and she More wealth brings in than all those three.

Thou sail'st with others in this Argus here; Nor wreck or bulging thou hast cause to fear; But trust to this, my noble passenger; Who swims with virtue, he shall still be sure (Ulysses-like) all tempests to endure, And 'midst a thousand gulfs to be secure.

First, for effusions due unto the dead, My solemn vows have here accomplished: Next, how I love thee, that my grief must tell, Wherein thou liv'st for ever. Dear, farewell.

How love came in I do not know, Whether by the eye, or ear, or no; Or whether with the soul it came (At first) infused with the same; Whether in part 'tis here or there, Or, like the soul, whole everywhere, This troubles me: but I as well As any other this can tell: That when from hence she does depart The outlet then is from the heart.

Ah, my Anthea! Must my heart still break? (Love makes me write, what shame forbids to speak.) Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score; Then to that twenty add a hundred more: A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on, To make that thousand up a million. Treble that million, and when that is done Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun. But yet, though love likes well such scenes as these, There is an act that will more fully please: Kissing and glancing, soothing, all make way But to the acting of this private play: Name it I would; but, being blushing red, The rest I'll speak when we meet both in bed.

Some ask'd me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say: But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask'd how pearls did grow, and where; Then spoke I to my girl, To part her lips, and show'd them there The quarrelets of Pearl.

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

Welcome, most welcome to our vows and us, Most great and universal genius! The drooping West, which hitherto has stood As one in long-lamented widowhood, Looks like a bride now, or a bed of flowers Newly refresh'd both by the sun and showers. War, which before was horrid, now appears Lovely in you, brave prince of cavaliers! A deal of courage in each bosom springs By your access, O you the best of kings! Ride on with all white omens; so that where Your standard's up, we fix a conquest there.

Under a lawn, than skies more clear, Some ruffled roses nestling were: And, snugging there, they seem'd to lie As in a flowery nunnery: They blush'd, and look'd more fresh than flowers Quicken'd of late by pearly showers, And all because they were possess'd But of the heat of Julia's breast: Which, as a warm and moisten'd spring, Gave them their ever-flourishing.

Woe, woe to them, who, by a ball of strife, Do, and have parted here a man and wife: Charles the best husband, while Maria strives To be, and is, the very best of wives, Like streams, you are divorc'd; but 'twill come when These eyes of mine shall see you mix again. Thus speaks the oak here; C. and M. shall meet, Treading on amber, with their silver-feet, Nor will't be long ere this accomplish'd be: The words found true, C. M., remember me.

As oft as night is banish'd by the morn, So oft we'll think we see a king new born.

One silent night of late, When every creature rested, Came one unto my gate And, knocking, me molested. Who's that, said I, beats there, And troubles thus the sleepy? Cast off, said he, all fear, And let not locks thus keep ye. For I a boy am, who By moonless nights have swerved; And all with show'rs wet through, And e'en with cold half starved. I pitiful arose, And soon a taper lighted; And did myself disclose Unto the lad benighted. I saw he had a bow And wings, too, which did shiver; And, looking down below, I spied he had a quiver. I to my chimney's shine Brought him, as Love professes, And chafed his hands with mine, And dried his drooping tresses. But when he felt him warm'd: Let's try this bow of ours, And string, if they be harm'd, Said he, with these late showers. Forthwith his bow he bent, And wedded string and arrow, And struck me, that it went Quite through my heart and marrow. Then, laughing loud, he flew Away, and thus said, flying: Adieu, mine host, adieu, I'll leave thy heart a-dying.

That for seven lusters I did never come To do the rites to thy religious tomb; That neither hair was cut, or true tears shed By me, o'er thee, as justments to the dead, Forgive, forgive me; since I did not know Whether thy bones had here their rest or no, But now 'tis known, behold! behold, I bring Unto thy ghost th' effused offering: And look what smallage, night-shade, cypress, yew, Unto the shades have been, or now are due, Here I devote; and something more than so; I come to pay a debt of birth I owe. Thou gav'st me life, but mortal; for that one Favour I'll make full satisfaction; For my life mortal rise from out thy hearse. And take a life immortal from my verse.

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring lace which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher: A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly: A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat: A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.

Were I to give thee baptism, I would choose To christen thee, the bride, the bashful Muse, Or Muse of roses: since that name does fit Best with those virgin-verses thou hast writ: Which are so clean, so chaste, as none may fear Cato the censor, should he scan each here.

Love scorch'd my finger, but did spare The burning of my heart; To signify in love my share Should be a little part. Little I love; but if that he Would but that heat recall; That joint to ashes burnt should be,[E] Ere I would love at all.

Dean Bourn, farewell; I never look to see Dean, or thy watery[F] incivility. Thy rocky bottom, that doth tear thy streams And makes them frantic even to all extremes, To my content I never should behold, Were thy streams silver, or thy rocks all gold. Rocky thou art, and rocky we discover Thy men, and rocky are thy ways all over. O men, O manners, now and ever known To be a rocky generation! A people currish, churlish as the seas, And rude almost as rudest savages, With whom I did, and may re-sojourn when Rocks turn to rivers, rivers turn to men.

Bianca, 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. By this, I guess, Of happiness Who has a little measure, He must of right To th' utmost mite Make payment for his pleasure.

How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art In each thy dainty and peculiar part! First, for thy queenship, on thy head is set Of flowers a sweet commingled coronet: About thy neck a carcanet is bound, Made of the ruby, pearl and diamond: A golden ring that shines upon thy thumb: About thy wrist, the rich dardanium.[G] Between thy breasts (than down of swans more white) There plays the sapphire with the chrysolite. No part besides must of thyself be known, But by the topaz, opal, chalcedon.

A funeral stone Or verse I covet none, But only crave Of you that I may have A sacred laurel springing from my grave: Which being seen, Blest with perpetual green, May grow to be Not so much call'd a tree As the eternal monument of me.

Give me that man that dares bestride The active sea-horse, and with pride Through that huge field of waters ride. Who with his looks, too, can appease The ruffling winds and raging seas, In midst of all their outrages. This, this a virtuous man can do, Sail against rocks, and split them too; Ay, and a world of pikes pass through.

I'll do my best to win whene'er I woo: That man loves not who is not zealous too.

About the sweet bag of a bee Two cupids fell at odds, And whose the pretty prize should be They vow'd to ask the gods. Which Venus hearing, thither came, And for their boldness stripp'd them, And, taking thence from each his flame, With rods of myrtle whipp'd them. Which done, to still their wanton cries, When quiet grown she'd seen them, She kiss'd, and wip'd their dove-like eyes, And gave the bag between them.

Let me be warm, let me be fully fed, Luxurious love by wealth is nourished. Let me be lean, and cold, and once grown poor, I shall dislike what once I lov'd before.

Choose me your valentine, Next let us marry— Love to the death will pine If we long tarry. Promise, and keep your vows, Or vow ye never— Love's doctrine disallows Troth-breakers ever. You have broke promise twice, Dear, to undo me, If you prove faithless thrice None then will woo ye.

See and not see, and if thou chance t'espy Some aberrations in my poetry, Wink at small faults; the greater, ne'ertheless, Hide, and with them their father's nakedness. Let's do our best, our watch and ward to keep; Homer himself, in a long work, may sleep.

I'll write, because I'll give You critics means to live; For should I not supply The cause, th' effect would die.

Good princes must be pray'd for; for the bad They must be borne with, and in rev'rence had. Do they first pill thee, next pluck off thy skin? Good children kiss the rods that punish sin. Touch not the tyrant; let the gods alone To strike him dead that but usurps a throne.

When age or chance has made me blind, So that the path I cannot find, And when my falls and stumblings are More than the stones i' th' street by far, Go thou afore, and I shall well Follow thy perfumes by the smell; Or be my guide, and I shall be Led by some light that flows from thee. Thus held or led by thee, I shall In ways confus'd nor slip or fall.

To bread and water none is poor; And having these, what need of more? Though much from out the cess be spent, Nature with little is content.

We two are last in hell; what may we fear To be tormented or kept pris'ners here? Alas! if kissing be of plagues the worst, We'll wish in hell we had been last and first.

Beauty no other thing is than a beam Flashed out between the middle and extreme.

Dear, though to part it be a hell, Yet, Dianeme, now farewell: Thy frown last night did bid me go, But whither only grief does know. I do beseech thee ere we part, If merciful as fair thou art, Or else desir'st that maids should tell Thy pity by love's chronicle, O Dianeme, rather kill Me, than to make me languish still! 'Tis cruelty in thee to th' height Thus, thus to wound, not kill outright; Yet there's a way found, if you please, By sudden death to give me ease; And thus devis'd, do thou but this— Bequeath to me one parting kiss, So sup'rabundant joy shall be The executioner of me.

So looks Anthea, when in bed she lies O'ercome or half betray'd by tiffanies, Like to a twilight, or that simpering dawn That roses show when misted o'er with lawn. Twilight is yet, till that her lawns give way; Which done, that dawn turns then to perfect day.

More white than whitest lilies far, Or snow, or whitest swans you are: More white than are the whitest creams, Or moonlight tinselling the streams: More white than pearls, or Juno's thigh, Or Pelops' arm of ivory. True, I confess, such whites as these May me delight, not fully please; Till like Ixion's cloud you be White, warm, and soft to lie with me.

Thrice, and above, bless'd, my soul's half, art thou In thy both last and better vow: Could'st leave the city, for exchange, to see The country's sweet simplicity: And it to know and practise, with intent To grow the sooner innocent By studying to know virtue, and to aim More at her nature than her name. The last is but the least; the first doth tell Ways less to live than to live well: And both are known to thee, who now can'st live Led by thy conscience; to give Justice to soon-pleased nature; and to show Wisdom and she together go And keep one centre: this with that conspires To teach man to confine desires And know that riches have their proper stint In the contented mind, not mint: And can'st instruct that those who have the itch Of craving more are never rich. These things thou know'st to th' height, and dost prevent That plague; because thou art content With that heav'n gave thee with a wary hand, More blessed in thy brass than land, To keep cheap nature even and upright; To cool, not cocker appetite. Thus thou canst tersely live to satisfy The belly chiefly, not the eye; Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet, Less with a neat than needful diet. But that which most makes sweet thy country life Is the fruition of a wife: Whom, stars consenting with thy fate, thou hast Got not so beautiful as chaste: By whose warm side thou dost securely sleep, While love the sentinel doth keep, With those deeds done by day, which ne'er affright Thy silken slumbers in the night. Nor has the darkness power to usher in Fear to those sheets that know no sin; But still thy wife, by chaste intentions led, Gives thee each night a maidenhead. The damask'd meadows and the pebbly streams Sweeten and make soft your dreams: The purling springs, groves, birds, and well-weav'd bowers, With fields enamelled with flowers, Present their shapes; while fantasy discloses Millions of lilies mix'd with roses. Then dream ye hear the lamb by many a bleat Woo'd to come suck the milky teat: While Faunus in the vision comes to keep From rav'ning wolves the fleecy sheep. With thousand such enchanting dreams, that meet To make sleep not so sound as sweet: Nor can these figures so thy rest endear As not to rise when Chanticlere Warns the last watch; but with the dawn dost rise To work, but first to sacrifice; Making thy peace with heav'n, for some late fault, With holy-meal and spirting-salt. Which done, thy painful thumb this sentence tells us, Jove for our labour all things sells us. Nor are thy daily and devout affairs Attended with those desp'rate cares Th' industrious merchant has; who, for to find Gold, runneth to the Western Inde, And back again, tortured with fears, doth fly, Untaught to suffer poverty. But thou at home, bless'd with securest ease, Sitt'st, and believ'st that there be seas And watery dangers; while thy whiter hap But sees these things within thy map. And viewing them with a more safe survey Mak'st easy fear unto thee say,— "A heart thrice wall'd with oak and brass that man Had, first durst plough the ocean". But thou at home, without or tide or gale, Can'st in thy map securely sail: Seeing those painted countries, and so guess By those fine shades their substances: And, from thy compass taking small advice, Buy'st travel at the lowest price. Nor are thine ears so deaf but thou canst hear, Far more with wonder than with fear, Fame tell of states, of countries, courts, and kings, And believe there be such things: When of these truths thy happier knowledge lies More in thine ears than in thine eyes. And when thou hear'st by that too true report Vice rules the most or all at court, Thy pious wishes are, though thou not there, Virtue had, and mov'd her sphere. But thou liv'st fearless; and thy face ne'er shows Fortune when she comes or goes, But with thy equal thoughts prepared dost stand, To take her by the either hand; Nor car'st which comes the first, the foul or fair: A wise man ev'ry way lies square, And, like a surly oak with storms perplex'd, Grows still the stronger, strongly vex'd. Be so, bold spirit; stand centre-like, unmov'd; And be not only thought, but prov'd To be what I report thee; and inure Thyself, if want comes to endure: And so thou dost, for thy desires are Confin'd to live with private lar: Not curious whether appetite be fed Or with the first or second bread, Who keep'st no proud mouth for delicious cates: Hunger makes coarse meats delicates. Canst, and unurg'd, forsake that larded fare, Which art, not nature, makes so rare, To taste boil'd nettles, colworts, beets, and eat These and sour herbs as dainty meat, While soft opinion makes thy Genius say, Content makes all ambrosia. Nor is it that thou keep'st this stricter size So much for want as exercise: To numb the sense of dearth, which should sin haste it, Thou might'st but only see't, not taste it. Yet can thy humble roof maintain a choir Of singing crickets by the fire: And the brisk mouse may feast herself with crumbs Till that the green-eyed kitling comes, Then to her cabin blest she can escape The sudden danger of a rape: And thus thy little well-kept stock doth prove Wealth cannot make a life, but love. Nor art thou so close-handed but canst spend, Counsel concurring with the end, As well as spare, still conning o'er this theme, To shun the first and last extreme. Ordaining that thy small stock find no breach, Or to exceed thy tether's reach: But to live round, and close, and wisely true To thine own self, and known to few. Thus let thy rural sanctuary be Elysium to thy wife and thee; There to disport yourselves with golden measure: For seldom use commends the pleasure. Live, and live blest, thrice happy pair; let breath, But lost to one, be the other's death. And as there is one love, one faith, one troth, Be so one death, one grave to both. Till when, in such assurance live ye may, Nor fear or wish your dying day.

When a daffodil I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead; Lastly, safely buried.

Come, skilful Lupo, now, and take Thy bice, thy umber, pink, and lake; And let it be thy pencil's strife, To paint a Bridgeman to the life: Draw him as like too, as you can, An old, poor, lying, flattering man: His cheeks bepimpled, red and blue; His nose and lips of mulberry hue. Then, for an easy fancy, place A burling iron for his face: Next, make his cheeks with breath to swell, And for to speak, if possible: But do not so, for fear lest he Should by his breathing, poison thee.

While the milder fates consent, Let's enjoy our merriment: Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play; Kiss our dollies night and day: Crowned with clusters of the vine, Let us sit, and quaff our wine. Call on Bacchus, chant his praise; Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays: Rouse Anacreon from the dead, And return him drunk to bed: Sing o'er Horace, for ere long Death will come and mar the song: Then shall Wilson and Gotiere Never sing or play more here.

When my date's done, and my grey age must die, Nurse up, great lord, this my posterity: Weak though it be, long may it grow and stand, Shored up by you, brave Earl of Westmoreland.

Whene'er my heart love's warmth but entertains, Oh frost! oh snow! oh hail! forbid the banes. One drop now deads a spark, but if the same Once gets a force, floods cannot quench the flame. Rather than love, let me be ever lost, Or let me 'gender with eternal frost.

As shows the air when with a rainbow grac'd, So smiles that riband 'bout my Julia's waist: Or like—nay 'tis that zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.

Whither? say, whither shall I fly, To slack these flames wherein I fry? To the treasures, shall I go, Of the rain, frost, hail, and snow? Shall I search the underground, Where all damps and mists are found? Shall I seek (for speedy ease) All the floods and frozen seas? Or descend into the deep, Where eternal cold does keep? These may cool; but there's a zone Colder yet than anyone: That's my Julia's breast, where dwells Such destructive icicles, As that the congelation will Me sooner starve than those can kill.

With blameless carriage, I lived here To the almost seven and fortieth year. Stout sons I had, and those twice three One only daughter lent to me: The which was made a happy bride But thrice three moons before she died. My modest wedlock, that was known Contented with the bed of one.

Let there be patrons, patrons like to thee, Brave Porter! poets ne'er will wanting be: Fabius and Cotta, Lentulus, all live In thee, thou man of men! who here do'st give Not only subject-matter for our wit, But likewise oil of maintenance to it: For which, before thy threshold, we'll lay down Our thyrse for sceptre, and our bays for crown. For, to say truth, all garlands are thy due: The laurel, myrtle, oak, and ivy too.

Lilies will languish; violets look ill; Sickly the primrose; pale the daffodil; That gallant tulip will hang down his head, Like to a virgin newly ravished; Pansies will weep, and marigolds will wither, And keep a fast and funeral together; Sappho droop, daisies will open never, But bid good-night, and close their lids for ever.

When as Leander young was drown'd No heart by Love receiv'd a wound, But on a rock himself sat by, There weeping sup'rabundantly. Sighs numberless he cast about, And, all his tapers thus put out, His head upon his hand he laid, And sobbing deeply, thus he said: "Ah, cruel sea," and, looking on't, Wept as he'd drown the Hellespont. And sure his tongue had more express'd But that his tears forbade the rest.

None goes to warfare but with this intent— The gains must dead the fears of detriment.

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

When I did go from thee I felt that smart Which bodies do when souls from them depart. Thou did'st not mind it; though thou then might'st see Me turn'd to tears; yet did'st not weep for me. 'Tis true, I kiss'd thee; but I could not hear Thee spend a sigh t'accompany my tear. Methought 'twas strange that thou so hard should'st prove, Whose heart, whose hand, whose every part spake love. Prithee, lest maids should censure thee, but say Thou shed'st one tear, whenas I went away; And that will please me somewhat: though I know, And Love will swear't, my dearest did not so.

Glide, gentle streams, and bear Along with you my tear To that coy girl Who smiles, yet slays Me with delays, And strings my tears as pearl. See! see, she's yonder set, Making a carcanet Of maiden-flowers! There, there present This orient And pendant pearl of ours. Then say I've sent one more Gem to enrich her store; And that is all Which I can send, Or vainly spend, For tears no more will fall. Nor will I seek supply Of them, the spring's once dry; But I'll devise, Among the rest, A way that's best How I may save mine eyes. Yet say—should she condemn Me to surrender them Then say my part Must be to weep Out them, to keep A poor, yet loving heart. Say too, she would have this; She shall: then my hope is, That when I'm poor And nothing have To send or save, I'm sure she'll ask no more.

What times of sweetness this fair day foreshows, Whenas the Lily marries with the Rose! What next is look'd for? but we all should see To spring from thee a sweet posterity.

Virgins promis'd when I died That they would each primrose-tide Duly, morn and evening, come, And with flowers dress my tomb. Having promis'd, pay your debts, Maids, and here strew violets.

That hour-glass which there you see With water fill'd, sirs, credit me, The humour was, as I have read, But lovers' tears incrystalled. Which, as they drop by drop do pass From th' upper to the under-glass, Do in a trickling manner tell, By many a watery syllable, That lovers' tears in lifetime shed Do restless run when they are dead.

Farewell thou thing, time past so known, so dear To me as blood to life and spirit; near, Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife, Male to the female, soul to body; life To quick action, or the warm soft side Of the resigning, yet resisting bride. The kiss of virgins, first fruits of the bed, Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maidenhead: These and a thousand sweets could never be So near or dear as thou wast once to me. O thou, the drink of gods and angels! wine That scatter'st spirit and lust, whose purest shine More radiant than the summer's sunbeams shows; Each way illustrious, brave, and like to those Comets we see by night, whose shagg'd portents Foretell the coming of some dire events, Or some full flame which with a pride aspires, Throwing about his wild and active fires; 'Tis thou, above nectar, O divinest soul! Eternal in thyself, that can'st control That which subverts whole nature, grief and care, Vexation of the mind, and damn'd despair. 'Tis thou alone who, with thy mystic fan, Work'st more than wisdom, art, or nature can To rouse the sacred madness and awake The frost-bound blood and spirits, and to make Them frantic with thy raptures flashing through The soul like lightning, and as active too. 'Tis not Apollo can, or those thrice three Castalian sisters, sing, if wanting thee. Horace, Anacreon, both had lost their fame, Had'st thou not fill'd them with thy fire and flame. Phœbean splendour! and thou, Thespian spring! Of which sweet swans must drink before they sing Their true-pac'd numbers and their holy lays, Which makes them worthy cedar and the bays. But why, why longer do I gaze upon Thee with the eye of admiration? Since I must leave thee, and enforc'd must say To all thy witching beauties, Go, away. But if thy whimpering looks do ask me why, Then know that nature bids thee go, not I. 'Tis her erroneous self has made a brain Uncapable of such a sovereign As is thy powerful self. Prithee not smile, Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile My vows denounc'd in zeal, which thus much show thee That I have sworn but by thy looks to know thee. Let others drink thee freely, and desire Thee and their lips espous'd, while I admire And love thee, but not taste thee. Let my muse Fail of thy former helps, and only use Her inadult'rate strength: what's done by me Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee.

Sweet Amarillis by a spring's Soft and soul-melting murmurings Slept, and thus sleeping, thither flew A robin-redbreast, who, at view, Not seeing her at all to stir, Brought leaves and moss to cover her; But while he perking there did pry About the arch of either eye, The lid began to let out day, At which poor robin flew away, And seeing her not dead, but all disleav'd, He chirp'd for joy to see himself deceiv'd.

Fold now thine arms and hang the head, Like to a lily withered; Next look thou like a sickly moon, Or like Jocasta in a swoon; Then weep and sigh and softly go, Like to a widow drown'd in woe, Or like a virgin full of ruth For the lost sweetheart of her youth; And all because, fair maid, thou art Insensible of all my smart, And of those evil days that be Now posting on to punish thee. The gods are easy, and condemn All such as are not soft like them.

Make me a heaven, and make me there Many a less and greater sphere: Make me the straight and oblique lines, The motions, lations and the signs. Make me a chariot and a sun, And let them through a zodiac run; Next place me zones and tropics there, With all the seasons of the year. Make me a sunset and a night, And then present the morning's light Cloth'd in her chamlets of delight. To these make clouds to pour down rain, With weather foul, then fair again. And when, wise artist, that thou hast With all that can be this heaven grac't, Ah! what is then this curious sky But only my Corinna's eye?

What wisdom, learning, wit or worth Youth or sweet nature could bring forth Rests here with him who was the fame, The volume of himself and name. If, reader, then, thou wilt draw near And do an honour to thy tear, Weep then for him for whom laments Not one, but many monuments.

And must we part, because some say Loud is our love, and loose our play, And more than well becomes the day? Alas for pity! and for us Most innocent, and injured thus! Had we kept close, or played within, Suspicion now had been the sin, And shame had followed long ere this, T' have plagued what now unpunished is. But we, as fearless of the sun, As faultless, will not wish undone What now is done, since where no sin Unbolts the door, no shame comes in. Then, comely and most fragrant maid, Be you more wary than afraid Of these reports, because you see The fairest most suspected be. The common forms have no one eye Or ear of burning jealousy To follow them: but chiefly where Love makes the cheek and chin a sphere To dance and play in, trust me, there Suspicion questions every hair. Come, you are fair, and should be seen While you are in your sprightful green: And what though you had been embraced By me—were you for that unchaste? No, no! no more than is yond' moon Which, shining in her perfect noon, In all that great and glorious light, Continues cold as is the night. Then, beauteous maid, you may retire; And as for me, my chaste desire Shall move towards you, although I see Your face no more. So live you free From fame's black lips, as you from me.

Suspicion, discontent, and strife Come in for dowry with a wife.

Go, perjured man; and if thou e'er return To see the small remainders in mine urn, When thou shalt laugh at my religious dust, And ask: where's now the colour, form and trust Of woman's beauty? and with hand more rude Rifle the flowers which the virgins strewed: Know I have prayed to Fury that some wind May blow my ashes up, and strike thee blind.

Cupid, as he lay among Roses, by a bee was stung; Whereupon, in anger flying To his mother, said thus, crying: Help! oh help! your boy's a-dying. And why, my pretty lad, said she? Then, blubbering, replied he: A winged snake has bitten me, Which country people call a bee. At which she smiled; then, with her hairs And kisses drying up his tears: Alas! said she, my wag, if this Such a pernicious torment is, Come tell me then, how great's the smart Of those thou woundest with thy dart!

I burn, I burn; and beg of you To quench or cool me with your dew. I fry in fire, and so consume, Although the pile be all perfume. Alas! the heat and death's the same, Whether by choice or common flame, To be in oil of roses drowned, Or water; where's the comfort found? Both bring one death; and I die here Unless you cool me with a tear: Alas! I call; but ah! I see Ye cool and comfort all but me.

To conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall By the hand of him who is the general.

Sitting alone, as one forsook, Close by a silver-shedding brook, With hands held up to love, I wept; And after sorrows spent I slept: Then in a vision I did see A glorious form appear to me: A virgin's face she had; her dress Was like a sprightly Spartaness. A silver bow, with green silk strung, Down from her comely shoulders hung: And as she stood, the wanton air Dangled the ringlets of her hair. Her legs were such Diana shows When, tucked up, she a-hunting goes; With buskins shortened to descry The happy dawning of her thigh: Which when I saw, I made access To kiss that tempting nakedness: But she forbade me with a wand Of myrtle she had in her hand: And, chiding me, said: Hence, remove, Herrick, thou art too coarse to love.

You say, to me-wards your affection's strong; Pray love me little, so you love me long. Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire, Grown violent, does either die or tire.

'Twas but a single rose, Till you on it did breathe; But since, methinks, it shows Not so much rose as wreath.

In this little vault she lies, Here, with all her jealousies: Quiet yet; but if ye make Any noise they both will wake, And such spirits raise 'twill then Trouble death to lay again.

Never was day so over-sick with showers But that it had some intermitting hours; Never was night so tedious but it knew The last watch out, and saw the dawning too; Never was dungeon so obscurely deep Wherein or light or day did never peep; Never did moon so ebb, or seas so wane, But they left hope-seed to fill up again. So you, my lord, though you have now your stay, Your night, your prison, and your ebb, you may Spring up afresh, when all these mists are spent, And star-like, once more gild our firmament. Let but that mighty Cæsar speak, and then All bolts, all bars, all gates shall cleave; as when That earthquake shook the house, and gave the stout Apostles way, unshackled, to go out. This, as I wish for, so I hope to see; Though you, my lord, have been unkind to me, To wound my heart, and never to apply, When you had power, the meanest remedy. Well, though my grief by you was gall'd the more, Yet I bring balm and oil to heal your sore.

Cynthius, pluck ye by the ear, That ye may good doctrine hear; Play not with the maiden-hair, For each ringlet there's a snare. Cheek, and eye, and lip, and chin— These are traps to take fools in. Arms, and hands, and all parts else, Are but toils, or manacles, Set on purpose to enthral Men, but slothfuls most of all. Live employed, and so live free From these fetters; like to me, Who have found, and still can prove, The lazy man the most doth love.

I. Now, now's the time, so oft by truth Promis'd should come to crown your youth. Then, fair ones, do not wrong Your joys by staying long; Or let love's fire go out, By lingering thus in doubt; But learn that time once lost Is ne'er redeem'd by cost. Then away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride. II. Is it, sweet maid, your fault these holy Bridal rites go on so slowly? Dear, is it this you dread The loss of maidenhead? Believe me, you will most Esteem it when 'tis lost; Then it no longer keep, Lest issue lie asleep. Then, away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride. III. These precious, pearly, purling tears But spring from ceremonious fears. And 'tis but native shame That hides the loving flame, And may a while control The soft and am'rous soul; But yet love's fire will waste Such bashfulness at last. Then, away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride. IV. Night now hath watch'd herself half blind, Yet not a maidenhead resign'd! 'Tis strange, ye will not fly To love's sweet mystery. Might yon full moon the sweets Have, promised to your sheets, She soon would leave her sphere, To be admitted there. Then, away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride. V. On, on devoutly, make no stay; While Domiduca leads the way, And Genius, who attends The bed for lucky ends. With Juno goes the Hours And Graces strewing flowers. And the boys with sweet tunes sing: Hymen, O Hymen, bring Home the turtles; Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride. VI. Behold! how Hymen's taper-light Shows you how much is spent of night. See, see the bridegroom's torch Half wasted in the porch. And now those tapers five, That show the womb shall thrive, Their silv'ry flames advance, To tell all prosp'rous chance Still shall crown the happy life Of the goodman and the wife. VII. Move forward then your rosy feet, And make whate'er they touch turn sweet. May all, like flowery meads, Smell where your soft foot treads; And everything assume To it the like perfume, As Zephyrus when he 'spires Through woodbine and sweetbriars. Then, away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride. VIII. And now the yellow veil at last Over her fragrant cheek is cast. Now seems she to express A bashful willingness: Showing a heart consenting, As with a will repenting. Then gently lead her on With wise suspicion; For that, matrons say, a measure Of that passion sweetens pleasure. IX. You, you that be of her nearest kin, Now o'er the threshold force her in. But to avert the worst Let her her fillets first Knit to the posts, this point Remembering, to anoint The sides, for 'tis a charm Strong against future harm; And the evil deads, the which There was hidden by the witch. X. O Venus! thou to whom is known The best way how to loose the zone Of virgins, tell the maid She need not be afraid, And bid the youth apply Close kisses if she cry, And charge he not forbears Her though she woo with tears. Tell them now they must adventure, Since that love and night bid enter. XI. No fatal owl the bedstead keeps, With direful notes to fright your sleeps; No furies here about To put the tapers out, Watch or did make the bed: 'Tis omen full of dread; But all fair signs appear Within the chamber here. Juno here far off doth stand, Cooling sleep with charming wand. XII. Virgins, weep not; 'twill come when, As she, so you'll be ripe for men. Then grieve her not with saying She must no more a-maying, Or by rosebuds divine Who'll be her valentine. Nor name those wanton reaks You've had at barley-breaks, But now kiss her and thus say, "Take time, lady, while ye may". XIII. Now bar the doors; the bridegroom puts The eager boys to gather nuts. And now both love and time To their full height do climb: Oh! give them active heat And moisture both complete: Fit organs for increase, To keep and to release That which may the honour'd stem Circle with a diadem. XIV. And now, behold! the bed or couch That ne'er knew bride's or bridegroom's touch, Feels in itself a fire; And, tickled with desire, Pants with a downy breast, As with a heart possesst, Shrugging as it did move Ev'n with the soul of love. And, oh! had it but a tongue, Doves, 'twould say, ye bill too long. XV. O enter then! but see ye shun A sleep until the act be done. Let kisses in their close, Breathe as the damask rose, Or sweet as is that gum Doth from Panchaia come. Teach nature now to know Lips can make cherries grow Sooner than she ever yet In her wisdom could beget. XVI. On your minutes, hours, days, months, years, Drop the fat blessing of the spheres. That good which heav'n can give To make you bravely live Fall like a spangling dew By day and night on you. May fortune's lily-hand Open at your command; With all lucky birds to side With the bridegroom and the bride. XVII. Let bounteous Fate[s] your spindles full Fill, and wind up with whitest wool. Let them not cut the thread Of life until ye bid. May death yet come at last, And not with desp'rate haste, But when ye both can say "Come, let us now away," Be ye to the barn then borne, Two, like two ripe shocks of corn.

When Julia chid I stood as mute the while As is the fish or tongueless crocodile. Air coin'd to words my Julia could not hear, But she could see each eye to stamp a tear; By which mine angry mistress might descry Tears are the noble language of the eye. And when true love of words is destitute The eyes by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.

Let all chaste matrons, when they chance to see My num'rous issue, praise and pity me: Praise me for having such a fruitful womb, Pity me, too, who found so soon a tomb.

I'll come to thee in all those shapes As Jove did when he made his rapes, Only I'll not appear to thee As he did once to Semele. Thunder and lightning I'll lay by, To talk with thee familiarly. Which done, then quickly we'll undress To one and th' other's nakedness, And, ravish'd, plunge into the bed, Bodies and souls commingled, And kissing, so as none may hear, We'll weary all the fables there.

It is sufficient if we pray To Jove, who gives and takes away: Let him the land and living find; Let me alone to fit the mind.

Noonday and midnight shall at once be seen: Trees, at one time, shall be both sere and green: Fire and water shall together lie In one self-sweet-conspiring sympathy: Summer and winter shall at one time show Ripe ears of corn, and up to th' ears in snow: Seas shall be sandless; fields devoid of grass; Shapeless the world, as when all chaos was, Before, my dear Perilla, I will be False to my vow, or fall away from thee.

If I kiss Anthea's breast, There I smell the phœnix nest: If her lip, the most sincere Altar of incense I smell there— Hands, and thighs, and legs are all Richly aromatical. Goddess Isis can't transfer Musks and ambers more from her: Nor can Juno sweeter be, When she lies with Jove, than she.

Permit me, Julia, now to go away; Or by thy love decree me here to stay. If thou wilt say that I shall live with thee, Here shall my endless tabernacle be: If not, as banish'd, I will live alone There where no language ever yet was known.

Love-sick I am, and must endure A desperate grief, that finds no cure. Ah me! I try; and trying, prove No herbs have power to cure love. Only one sovereign salve I know, And that is death, the end of woe.

Though a wise man all pressures can sustain, His virtue still is sensible of pain: Large shoulders though he has, and well can bear, He feels when packs do pinch him, and the where.

And cruel maid, because I see You scornful of my love and me, I'll trouble you no more; but go My way where you shall never know What is become of me: there I Will find me out a path to die, Or learn some way how to forget You and your name for ever: yet, Ere I go hence, know this from me, What will, in time, your fortune be: This to your coyness I will tell, And, having spoke it once, farewell. The lily will not long endure, Nor the snow continue pure; The rose, the violet, one day, See, both these lady-flowers decay: And you must fade as well as they. And it may chance that Love may turn, And, like to mine, make your heart burn And weep to see't; yet this thing do, That my last vow commends to you: When you shall see that I am dead, For pity let a tear be shed; And, with your mantle o'er me cast, Give my cold lips a kiss at last: If twice you kiss you need not fear That I shall stir or live more here. Next, hollow out a tomb to cover Me—me, the most despisèd lover, And write thereon: This, reader, know: Love kill'd this man. No more, but so.

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes Which, starlike, sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air; Whenas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty's gone.

To find that tree of life whose fruits did feed And leaves did heal all sick of human seed: To find Bethesda and an angel there Stirring the waters, I am come; and here, At last, I find (after my much to do) The tree, Bethesda and the angel too: And all in your blest hand, which has the powers Of all those suppling-healing herbs and flowers. To that soft charm, that spell, that magic bough, That high enchantment, I betake me now, And to that hand (the branch of heaven's fair tree), I kneel for help; O! lay that hand on me, Adored Cæsar! and my faith is such I shall be heal'd if that my king but touch. The evil is not yours: my sorrow sings, "Mine is the evil, but the cure the king's".

Water, water I espy; Come and cool ye, all who fry In your loves; but none as I. Though a thousand showers be Still a-falling, yet I see Not one drop to light on me. Happy you who can have seas For to quench ye, or some ease From your kinder mistresses. I have one, and she alone, Of a thousand thousand known, Dead to all compassion. Such an one as will repeat Both the cause and make the heat More by provocation great. Gentle friends, though I despair Of my cure, do you beware Of those girls which cruel are.

Am I despised because you say, And I dare swear, that I am gray? Know, lady, you have but your day: And time will come when you shall wear Such frost and snow upon your hair; And when (though long, it comes to pass) You question with your looking-glass; And in that sincere crystal seek, But find no rose-bud in your cheek: Nor any bed to give the show Where such a rare carnation grew. Ah! then too late, close in your chamber keeping, It will be told That you are old, By those true tears y'are weeping.

If 'mongst my many poems I can see One only worthy to be wash'd by thee, I live for ever, let the rest all lie In dens of darkness or condemn'd to die.

Love like a gipsy lately came, And did me much importune To see my hand, that by the same He might foretell my fortune. He saw my palm, and then, said he, I tell thee by this score here, That thou within few months shalt be The youthful Prince d'Amour here. I smil'd, and bade him once more prove, And by some cross-line show it, That I could ne'er be prince of love, Though here the princely poet.

Virgins, time-past, known were these, Troubled with green-sicknesses: Turn'd to flowers, still the hue, Sickly girls, they bear of you.

Whom should I fear to write to if I can Stand before you, my learn'd diocesan? And never show blood-guiltiness or fear To see my lines excathedrated here. Since none so good are but you may condemn, Or here so bad but you may pardon them. If then, my lord, to sanctify my muse One only poem out of all you'll choose, And mark it for a rapture nobly writ, 'Tis good confirm'd, for you have bishop'd it.

I saw about her spotless wrist, Of blackest silk, a curious twist; Which, circumvolving gently, there Enthrall'd her arm as prisoner. Dark was the jail, but as if light Had met t'engender with the night; Or so as darkness made a stay To show at once both night and day. One fancy more! but if there be Such freedom in captivity, I beg of Love that ever I May in like chains of darkness lie.

I fear no earthly powers, But care for crowns of flowers; And love to have my beard With wine and oil besmear'd. This day I'll drown all sorrow: Who knows to live to-morrow?

Julia, I bring To thee this ring, Made for thy finger fit; To show by this That our love is (Or should be) like to it. Close though it be The joint is free; So, when love's yoke is on, It must not gall, Or fret at all With hard oppression. But it must play Still either way, And be, too, such a yoke As not too wide To overslide, Or be so strait to choke. So we who bear This beam must rear Ourselves to such a height As that the stay Of either may Create the burden light. And as this round Is nowhere found To flaw, or else to sever: So let our love As endless prove, And pure as gold for ever.

Where others love and praise my verses, still Thy long black thumb-nail marks them out for ill: A fellon take it, or some whitflaw come For to unslate or to untile that thumb! But cry thee mercy: exercise thy nails To scratch or claw, so that thy tongue not rails: Some numbers prurient are, and some of these Are wanton with their itch; scratch, and 'twill please.

I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read, And lik'st the best. Still thou reply'st: The dead. I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be; Then sure thou'lt like or thou wilt envy me.

Thy azure robe I did behold As airy as the leaves of gold, Which, erring here, and wandering there, Pleas'd with transgression ev'rywhere: Sometimes 'twould pant, and sigh, and heave, As if to stir it scarce had leave: But, having got it, thereupon 'Twould make a brave expansion. And pounc'd with stars it showed to me Like a celestial canopy. Sometimes 'twould blaze, and then abate, Like to a flame grown moderate: Sometimes away 'twould wildly fling, Then to thy thighs so closely cling That some conceit did melt me down As lovers fall into a swoon: And, all confus'd, I there did lie Drown'd in delights, but could not die. That leading cloud I follow'd still, Hoping t' have seen of it my fill; But ah! I could not: should it move To life eternal, I could love.

Begin to charm, and, as thou strok'st mine ears With thy enchantment, melt me into tears. Then let thy active hand scud o'er thy lyre, And make my spirits frantic with the fire. That done, sink down into a silvery strain, And make me smooth as balm and oil again.

To safeguard man from wrongs, there nothing must Be truer to him than a wise distrust. And to thyself be best this sentence known: Hear all men speak, but credit few or none.

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herb and tree. Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east Above an hour since: yet you not dress'd; Nay! not so much as out of bed? When all the birds have matins said And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, Nay, profanation to keep in, Whereas a thousand virgins on this day Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair: Fear not; the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you: Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept; Come and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying: Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying. Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green and trimm'd with trees: see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch: each porch, each door ere this An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street And open fields and we not see't? Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey The proclamation made for May: And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying. There's not a budding boy or girl this day But is got up, and gone to bring in May. A deal of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home. Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream Before that we have left to dream: And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: Many a green-gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even: Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye, love's firmament; Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not a-Maying. Come, let us go while we are in our prime; And take the harmless folly of the time. We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun; And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, Once lost, can ne'er be found again, So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade, All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

Breathe, Julia, breathe, and I'll protest, Nay more, I'll deeply swear, That all the spices of the east Are circumfused there.

But born, and like a short delight, I glided by my parents' sight. That done, the harder fates denied My longer stay, and so I died. If, pitying my sad parents' tears, You'll spill a tear or two with theirs, And with some flowers my grave bestrew, Love and they'll thank you for't. Adieu.

Hor. While, Lydia, I was loved of thee, Nor any was preferred 'fore me To hug thy whitest neck, than I The Persian king lived not more happily. Lyd. While thou no other didst affect, Nor Chloe was of more respect Than Lydia, far-famed Lydia, I flourished more than Roman Ilia. Hor. Now Thracian Chloe governs me, Skilful i' th' harp and melody; For whose affection, Lydia, I (So fate spares her) am well content to die. Lyd. My heart now set on fire is By Ornithes' son, young Calais, For whose commutual flames here I, To save his life, twice am content to die. Hor. Say our first loves we should revoke, And, severed, join in brazen yoke; Admit I Chloe put away, And love again love-cast-off Lydia? Lyd. Though mine be brighter than the star, Thou lighter than the cork by far, Rough as the Adriatic sea, yet I Will live with thee, or else for thee will die.

As Julia once a-slumbering lay It chanced a bee did fly that way, After a dew or dew-like shower, To tipple freely in a flower. For some rich flower he took the lip Of Julia, and began to sip; But when he felt he sucked from thence Honey, and in the quintessence, He drank so much he scarce could stir, So Julia took the pilferer. And thus surprised, as filchers use, He thus began himself t' excuse: Sweet lady-flower, I never brought Hither the least one thieving thought; But, taking those rare lips of yours For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers, I thought I might there take a taste, Where so much syrup ran at waste. Besides, know this: I never sting The flower that gives me nourishing; But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay For honey that I bear away. This said, he laid his little scrip Of honey 'fore her ladyship: And told her, as some tears did fall, That that he took, and that was all. At which she smiled, and bade him go And take his bag; but thus much know: When next he came a-pilfering so, He should from her full lips derive Honey enough to fill his hive.

Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest As dead within the west; Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east. Alas! for me, that I have lost E'en all almost; Sunk is my sight, set is my sun, And all the loom of life undone: The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt'ring wall Whereon my vine did crawl, Now, now blown down; needs must the old stock fall. Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive, In death I thrive: And like a phœnix re-aspire From out my nard and fun'ral fire: And as I prune my feathered youth, so I Do mar'l how I could die When I had thee, my chief preserver, by. I'm up, I'm up, and bless that hand Which makes me stand Now as I do, and but for thee I must confess I could not be. The debt is paid; for he who doth resign Thanks to the gen'rous vine Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.

Life of my life, 'take not so soon thy flight, But stay the time till we have bade good-night. Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way As soon despatch'd is by the night as day. Let us not then so rudely henceforth go Till we have wept, kissed, sigh'd, shook hands, or so. There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell, When once true lovers take their last farewell. What! shall we two our endless leaves take here Without a sad look or a solemn tear? He knows not love that hath not this truth proved, Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved. Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part, Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none To warm my breast when thou, my pulse, art gone. No, here I'll last, and walk (a harmless shade) About this urn wherein thy dust is laid, To guard it so as nothing here shall be Heavy to hurt those sacred seeds of thee.

Sadly I walk'd within the field, To see what comfort it would yield; And as I went my private way An olive branch before me lay, And seeing it I made a stay, And took it up and view'd it; then Kissing the omen, said Amen; Be, be it so, and let this be A divination unto me; That in short time my woes shall cease And Love shall crown my end with peace.

Ye may simper, blush and smile, And perfume the air awhile; But, sweet things, ye must be gone, Fruit, ye know, is coming on; Then, ah! then, where is your grace, Whenas cherries come in place?

White though ye be, yet, lilies, know, From the first ye were not so; But I'll tell ye What befell ye: Cupid and his mother lay In a cloud, while both did play, He with his pretty finger press'd The ruby niplet of her breast; Out of which the cream of light, Like to a dew, Fell down on you And made ye white.

Ah, cruel love! must I endure Thy many scorns and find no cure? Say, are thy medicines made to be Helps to all others but to me? I'll leave thee and to pansies come, Comforts you'll afford me some; You can ease my heart and do What love could ne'er be brought unto.

What was't that fell but now From that warm kiss of ours? Look, look! by love I vow They were two gilly-flowers. Let's kiss and kiss again, For if so be our closes Make gilly-flowers, then I'm sure they'll fashion roses.

You have beheld a smiling rose When virgins' hands have drawn O'er it a cobweb-lawn; And here you see this lily shows, Tomb'd in a crystal stone, More fair in this transparent case Than when it grew alone And had but single grace. You see how cream but naked is Nor dances in the eye Without a strawberry, Or some fine tincture like to this, Which draws the sight thereto More by that wantoning with it Than when the paler hue No mixture did admit. You see how amber through the streams More gently strokes the sight With some conceal'd delight Than when he darts his radiant beams Into the boundless air; Where either too much light his worth Doth all at once impair, Or set it little forth. Put purple grapes or cherries in- To glass, and they will send More beauty to commend Them from that clean and subtle skin Than if they naked stood, And had no other pride at all But their own flesh and blood And tinctures natural. Thus lily, rose, grape, cherry, cream, And strawberry do stir More love when they transfer A weak, a soft, a broken beam, Than if they should discover At full their proper excellence; Without some scene cast over To juggle with the sense. Thus let this crystal'd lily be A rule how far to teach Your nakedness must reach; And that no further than we see Those glaring colours laid By art's wise hand, but to this end They should obey a shade, Lest they too far extend. So though you're white as swan or snow, And have the power to move A world of men to love, Yet when your lawns and silks shall flow, And that white cloud divide Into a doubtful twilight, then, Then will your hidden pride Raise greater fires in men.

Like to a bride, come forth, my book, at last, With all thy richest jewels overcast; Say, if there be, 'mongst many gems here, one Deserveless of the name of paragon; Blush not at all for that, since we have set Some pearls on queens that have been counterfeit.

Thou who wilt not love, do this, Learn of me what woman is. Something made of thread and thrum. A mere botch of all and some. Pieces, patches, ropes of hair; Inlaid garbage everywhere. Outside silk and outside lawn; Scenes to cheat us neatly drawn. False in legs, and false in thighs; False in breast, teeth, hair, and eyes; False in head, and false enough; Only true in shreds and stuff.

While leanest beasts in pastures feed, The fattest ox the first must bleed.

So soft streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles Meet after long divorcement by the isles; When love, the child of likeness, urgeth on Their crystal natures to a union: So meet stolen kisses, when the moony nights Call forth fierce lovers to their wish'd delights; So kings and queens meet, when desire convinces All thoughts but such as aim at getting princes, As I meet thee. Soul of my life and fame! Eternal lamp of love! whose radiant flame Out-glares the heaven's Osiris,[H] and thy gleams Out-shine the splendour of his mid-day beams. Welcome, O welcome, my illustrious spouse; Welcome as are the ends unto my vows; Aye! far more welcome than the happy soil The sea-scourged merchant, after all his toil, Salutes with tears of joy, when fires betray The smoky chimneys of his Ithaca. Where hast thou been so long from my embraces, Poor pitied exile? Tell me, did thy graces Fly discontented hence, and for a time Did rather choose to bless another clime? Or went'st thou to this end, the more to move me, By thy short absence, to desire and love thee? Why frowns my sweet? Why won't my saint confer Favours on me, her fierce idolater? Why are those looks, those looks the which have been Time-past so fragrant, sickly now drawn in Like a dull twilight? Tell me, and the fault I'll expiate with sulphur, hair and salt; And, with the crystal humour of the spring, Purge hence the guilt and kill this quarrelling. Wo't thou not smile or tell me what's amiss? Have I been cold to hug thee, too remiss, Too temp'rate in embracing? Tell me, has desire To thee-ward died i' th' embers, and no fire Left in this rak'd-up ash-heap as a mark To testify the glowing of a spark? Have I divorc'd thee only to combine In hot adult'ry with another wine? True, I confess I left thee, and appeal 'Twas done by me more to confirm my zeal And double my affection on thee, as do those Whose love grows more inflam'd by being foes. But to forsake thee ever, could there be A thought of such-like possibility? When thou thyself dar'st say thy isles shall lack Grapes before Herrick leaves canary sack. Thou mak'st me airy, active to be borne, Like Iphiclus, upon the tops of corn. Thou mak'st me nimble, as the winged hours, To dance and caper on the heads of flowers, And ride the sunbeams. Can there be a thing Under the heavenly Isis[I] that can bring More love unto my life, or can present My genius with a fuller blandishment? Illustrious idol! could th' Egyptians seek Help from the garlic, onion and the leek And pay no vows to thee, who wast their best God, and far more transcendent than the rest? Had Cassius, that weak water-drinker, known Thee in thy vine, or had but tasted one Small chalice of thy frantic liquor, he, As the wise Cato, had approv'd of thee. Had not Jove's son,[J] that brave Tirynthian swain, Invited to the Thesbian banquet, ta'en Full goblets of thy gen'rous blood, his sprite Ne'er had kept heat for fifty maids that night. Come, come and kiss me; love and lust commends Thee and thy beauties; kiss, we will be friends Too strong for fate to break us. Look upon Me with that full pride of complexion As queens meet queens, or come thou unto me As Cleopatra came to Anthony, When her high carriage did at once present To the triumvir love and wonderment. Swell up my nerves with spirit; let my blood Run through my veins like to a hasty flood. Fill each part full of fire, active to do What thy commanding soul shall put it to; And till I turn apostate to thy love, Which here I vow to serve, do not remove Thy fires from me, but Apollo's curse Blast these-like actions, or a thing that's worse. When these circumstants shall but live to see The time that I prevaricate from thee. Call me the son of beer, and then confine Me to the tap, the toast, the turf; let wine Ne'er shine upon me; may my numbers all Run to a sudden death and funeral. And last, when thee, dear spouse, I disavow, Ne'er may prophetic Daphne crown my brow.