Volume 2 — POEMS NOT INCLUDED IN HESPERIDES.
Reading edition
THE DESCRIPTION OF A WOMAN.
Whose head, befringed with bescattered tresses, Shows like Apollo's when the morn he dresses,[B] Or like Aurora when with pearl she sets Her long, dishevell'd, rose-crown'd trammelets: Her forehead smooth, full, polish'd, bright and high Bears in itself a graceful majesty, Under the which two crawling eyebrows twine Like to the tendrils of a flatt'ring vine, Under whose shade two starry sparkling eyes Are beautifi'd with fair fring'd canopies. Her comely nose, with uniformal grace, Like purest white, stands in the middle place, Parting the pair, as we may well suppose. Each cheek resembling still a damask rose, Which like a garden manifestly show How roses, lilies, and carnations grow, Which sweetly mixed both with white and red, Like rose leaves, white and red, seem[C] mingled. Then nature for a sweet allurement sets Two smelling, swelling, bashful cherrylets, The which with ruby redness being tipp'd, Do speak a virgin, merry, cherry-lipp'd. Over the which a neat, sweet skin is drawn, Which makes them show like roses under lawn: These be the ruby portals, and divine, Which ope themselves to show a holy shrine Whose breath is rich perfume, that to the sense Smells like the burn'd Sabean frankincense: In which the tongue, though but a member small, Stands guarded with a rosy-hilly wall; And her white teeth, which in the gums are set Like pearl and gold, make one rich cabinet. Next doth her chin with dimpled beauty strive For his white, plump, and smooth prerogative; At whose fair top, to please the sight, there grows The fairest[D] image of a blushing rose, Mov'd by the chin, whose motion causeth this, That both her lips do part, do meet, do kiss; Her ears, which like two labyrinths are plac'd On either side, with rich rare jewels grac'd, Moving a question whether that by them The gem is grac'd, or they grac'd by the gem. But the foundation of the architect Is the swan-staining, fair, rare, stately neck Which with ambitious humbleness stands under, Bearing aloft this rich, round world of wonder. Her breast, a place for beauty's throne most fit, Bears up two globes where love and pleasure sit, Which, headed with two rich, round rubies, show Like wanton rosebuds growing out of snow; And in the milky valley that's between Sits Cupid, kissing of his mother queen, Fingering the paps that feel like sieved silk, And press'd a little they will weep pure milk. Then comes the belly, seated next below, Like a fair mountain in Riphean snow, Where Nature, in a whiteness without spot, Hath in the middle tied a Gordian knot. Now love invites me to survey her thighs, Swelling in likeness like two crystal skies, Which to the knees by Nature fastened on, Derive their ever well 'greed motion. Her legs with two clear calves, like silver tri'd, Kindly swell up with little pretty pride, Leaving a distance for the comely[E] small To beautify the leg and foot withal. Then lowly, yet most lovely stand the feet, Round, short and clear, like pounded spices sweet, And whatsoever thing they tread upon They make it scent like bruised cinnamon. The lovely shoulders now allure the eye To see two tablets of pure ivory From which two arms like branches seem to spread With tender rind[F] and silver coloured, With little hands and fingers long and small To grace a lute, a viol, virginal. In length each finger doth his next excel, Each richly headed with a pearly shell. Thus every part in contrariety Meet in the whole and make a harmony, As divers strings do singly disagree, But form'd by number make sweet melody.
MR. HERRICK: HIS DAUGHTER'S DOWRY.
Ere I go hence and be no more Seen to the world, I'll give the score I owe unto a female child, And that is this, a verse enstyled My daughter's dowry; having which, I'll leave thee then completely rich. Instead of gold, pearl, rubies, bonds Long forfeit, pawned diamonds Or antique pledges, house or land, I give thee this that shall withstand The blow of ruin and of chance. These hurt not thine inheritance, For 'tis fee simple and no rent Thou fortune ow'st for tenement. However after times will praise, This portion, my prophetic bays, Cannot deliver up to th' rust, Yet I keep peaceful in my dust. As for thy birth and better seeds (Those which must grow to virtuous deeds), Thou didst derive from that old stem (Love and mercy cherish them), Which like a vestal virgin ply With holy fire lest that it die. Grow up with milder laws to know At what time to say aye or no; Let manners teach thee where to be More comely flowing, where less free. These bring thy husband, like to those Old coins and medals we expose To th' show, but never part with. Next, As in a more conspicuous text, Thy forehead, let therein be sign'd The maiden candour of thy mind; And under it two chaste-born spies To bar out bold adulteries, For through these optics fly the darts Of lust which set on fire our hearts. On either side of these quick ears There must be plac'd, for seasoned fears Which sweeten love, yet ne'er come nigh The plague of wilder jealousy. Then let each cheek of thine entice His soul as to a bed of spice Where he may roll and lose his sense, As in a bed of frankincense. A lip enkindled with that coal With which love chafes and warms the soul, Bring to him next, and in it show Love's cherries from such fires grow And have their harvest, which must stand The gathering of the lip, not hand; Then unto these be it thy care To clothe thy words in gentle air, That smooth as oil, sweet, soft and clean As is the childish bloom of bean, They may fall down and stroke, as the Beams of the sun the peaceful sea. With hands as smooth as mercy's bring Him for his better cherishing, That when thou dost his neck ensnare, Or with thy wrist, or flattering hair, He may, a prisoner, there descry Bondage more loved than liberty. A nature so well formed, so wrought To calm and tempest, let be brought With thee, that should he but incline To roughness, clasp him like a vine, Or like as wool meets steel, give way Unto the passion, not to stay; Wrath, if resisted, over-boils, If not, it dies or else recoils. And lastly, see you bring to him Somewhat peculiar to each limb; And I charge thee to be known By n'other face but by thine own. Let it in love's name be kept sleek, Yet to be found when he shall seek It, and not instead of saint Give up his worth unto the paint; For, trust me, girl, she over-does Who by a double proxy woos. But lest I should forget his bed, Be sure thou bring a maidenhead. That is a margarite, which lost, Thou bring'st unto his bed a frost Or a cold poison, which his blood Benumbs like the forgetful flood. Now for some jewels to supply The want of earrings' bravery For public eyes; take only these Ne'er travelled for beyond the seas; They're nobly home-bred, yet have price Beyond the far-fet merchandise: Obedience, wise distrust, peace, shy Distance and sweet urbanity; Safe modesty, lov'd patience, fear Of offending, temperance, dear Constancy, bashfulness and all The virtues less or cardinal, Take with my blessing, and go forth Enjewelled with thy native worth. And now if there a man be found That looks for such prepared ground, Let him, but with indifferent skill, So good a soil bestock and till; He may ere long have such a wife Nourish in's breast a tree of life.
MR. ROBERT HERRICK: HIS FAREWELL UNTO POETRY.
I have beheld two lovers in a night Hatched o'er with moonshine from their stolen delight (When this to that, and that to this, had given A kiss to such a jewel of the heaven, Or while that each from other's breath did drink Health to the rose, the violet, or pink), Call'd on the sudden by the jealous mother, Some stricter mistress or suspicious other, Urging divorcement (worse than death to these) By the soon jingling of some sleepy keys, Part with a hasty kiss; and in that show How stay they would, yet forced they are to go. Even such are we, and in our parting do No otherwise than as those former two Natures like ours, we who have spent our time Both from the morning to the evening chime. Nay, till the bellman of the night had tolled Past noon of night, yet wear the hours not old Nor dulled with iron sleep, but have outworn The fresh and fairest nourish of the morn With flame and rapture; drinking to the odd Number of nine which makes us full with God, And in that mystic frenzy we have hurled, As with a tempest, nature through the world, And in a whirlwind twirl'd her home, aghast At that which in her ecstasy had past; Thus crowned with rosebuds, sack, thou mad'st me fly Like fire-drakes, yet didst me no harm thereby. O thou almighty nature, who didst give True heat wherewith humanity doth live Beyond its stinted circle, giving food, White fame and resurrection to the good; Shoring them up 'bove ruin till the doom, The general April of the world doth come That makes all equal. Many thousands should, Were't not for thee, have crumbled into mould, And with their serecloths rotted, not to show Whether the world such spirits had or no, Whereas by thee those and a million since, Nor fate, nor envy, can their fames convince. Homer, Musæus, Ovid, Maro, more Of those godful prophets long before Held their eternal fires, and ours of late (Thy mercy helping) shall resist strong fate, Nor stoop to the centre, but survive as long As fame or rumour hath or trump or tongue; But unto me be only hoarse, since now (Heaven and my soul bear record of my vow) I my desires screw from thee, and direct Them and my thoughts to that sublim'd respect And conscience unto priesthood; 'tis not need (The scarecrow unto mankind) that doth breed Wiser conclusions in me, since I know I've more to bear my charge than way to go, Or had I not, I'd stop the spreading itch Of craving more, so in conceit be rich; But 'tis the God of Nature who intends And shapes my function for more glorious ends. Kiss, so depart, yet stay a while to see The lines of sorrow that lie drawn in me In speech, in picture; no otherwise than when, Judgment and death denounced 'gainst guilty men, Each takes a weeping farewell, racked in mind With joys before and pleasures left behind; Shaking the head, whilst each to each doth mourn, With thought they go whence they must ne'er return. So with like looks, as once the ministrel Cast, leading his Eurydice through hell, I strike thy love, and greedily pursue Thee with mine eyes or in or out of view. So looked the Grecian orator when sent From's native country into banishment, Throwing his eyeballs backward to survey The smoke of his beloved Attica; So Tully looked when from the breasts of Rome The sad soul went, not with his love, but doom, Shooting his eyedarts 'gainst it to surprise It, or to draw the city to his eyes. Such is my parting with thee, and to prove There was not varnish only in my love, But substance, lo! receive this pearly tear Frozen with grief and place it in thine ear. Then part in name of peace, and softly on With numerous feet to hoofy Helicon; And when thou art upon that forked hill Amongst the thrice three sacred virgins, fill A full-brimm'd bowl of fury and of rage, And quaff it to the prophets of our age; When drunk with rapture curse the blind and lame, Base ballad-mongers who usurp thy name And foul thy altar; charm some into frogs, Some to be rats, and others to be hogs; Into the loathsom'st shapes thou canst devise To make fools hate them, only by disguise; Thus with a kiss of warmth and love I part Not so, but that some relic in my heart Shall stand for ever, though I do address Chiefly myself to what I must profess. Know yet, rare soul, when my diviner muse Shall want a handmaid (as she oft will use), Be ready, thou for me, to wait upon her, Though as a servant, yet a maid of honour. The crown of duty is our duty: well Doing's the fruit of doing well. Farewell.
Shoring, copies soaring.
A CAROL PRESENTED TO DR. WILLIAMS, BISHOP OF LINCOLN AS A NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
Fly hence, pale care, no more remember Past sorrows with the fled December, But let each pleasant cheek appear Smooth as the childhood of the year, And sing a carol here. 'Twas brave, 'twas brave, could we command the hand Of youth's swift watch to stand As you have done your day; Then should we not decay. But all we wither, and our light Is spilt in everlasting night, Whenas your sight Shows like the heavens above the moon, Like an eternal noon That sees no setting sun. Keep up those flames, and though you shroud Awhile your forehead in a cloud, Do it like the sun to write In the air a greater text of light; Welcome to all our vows, And since you pay To us this day So long desir'd, See we have fir'd Our holy spikenard, and there's none But brings his stick of cinnamon, His eager eye or smoother smile, And lays it gently on the pile, Which thus enkindled, we invoke Your name amidst the sacred smoke. Chorus. Come then, great Lord. And see our altar burn With love of your return, And not a man here but consumes His soul to glad you in perfumes.
SONG. HIS MISTRESS TO HIM AT HIS FAREWELL.
You may vow I'll not forget To pay the debt Which to thy memory stands as due As faith can seal it you; Take then tribute of my tears, So long as I have fears To prompt me I shall ever Languish and look, but thy return see never. Oh then to lessen my despair Print thy lips into the air, So by this Means I may kiss thy kiss Whenas some kind Wind Shall hither waft it, and in lieu My lips shall send a 1000 back to you.
UPON PARTING.
Go hence away, and in thy parting know 'Tis not my voice but Heaven's that bids thee go; Spring hence thy faith, nor think it ill desert I find in thee that makes me thus to part. But voice of fame, and voice of Heaven have thundered We both were lost, if both of us not sundered. Fold now thine arms, and in thy last look rear One sigh of love, and cool it with a tear. Since part we must, let's kiss; that done, retire With as cold frost as erst we met with fire; With such white vows as fate can ne'er dissever, But truth knit fast; and so, farewell for ever.
UPON MASTER FLETCHER'S INCOMPARABLE PLAYS.
Apollo sings, his harp resounds: give room, For now behold the golden pomp is come, Thy pomp of plays which thousands come to see With admiration both of them and thee. O volume! worthy, leaf by leaf and cover, To be with juice of cedar wash'd all over; Here words with lines and lines with scenes consent To raise an act to full astonishment; Here melting numbers, words of power to move Young men to swoon and maids to die for love. Love lies a-bleeding here, Evadne, there Swells with brave rage, yet comely everywhere; Here's A mad lover, there that high design Of King and no King, and the rare plot thine. So that whene'er we circumvolve our eyes, Such rich, such fresh, such sweet varieties Ravish our spirits, that entranc'd we see None writes love's passion in the world like thee.
THE NEW CHARON: Upon the Death of Henry, Lord Hastings.
The musical part being set by Mr. Henry Lawes. The Speakers, charon and eucosmia.
Euc. Charon, O Charon, draw thy boat to th' shore, And to thy many take in one soul more. Cha. Who calls? who calls? Euc. One overwhelm'd with ruth; Have pity either on my tears or youth, And take me in who am in deep distress; But first cast off thy wonted churlishness. Cha. I will be gentle as that air which yields A breath of balm along the Elysian fields. Speak, what art thou? Euc. One once that had a lover, Than which thyself ne'er wafted sweeter over. He was—— Cha. Say what? Euc. Ah me, my woes are deep. Cha. Prithee relate, while I give ear and weep. Euc. He was a Hastings; and that one name has In it all good that is, and ever was. He was my life, my love, my joy, but died Some hours before I should have been his bride. Chorus. Thus, thus the gods celestial still decree, For human joy contingent misery. Euc. The hallowed tapers all prepared were, And Hymen call'd to bless the rites. Cha. Stop there. Euc. Great are my woes. Cha. And great must that grief be That makes grim Charon thus to pity thee. But now come in. Euc. More let me yet relate. Cha. I cannot stay; more souls for waftage wait And I must hence. Euc. Yet let me thus much know, Departing hence, where good and bad souls go? Cha. Those souls which ne'er were drench'd in pleasure's stream, The fields of Pluto are reserv'd for them; Where, dress'd with garlands, there they walk the ground Whose blessed youth with endless flowers is crown'd. But such as have been drown'd in this wild sea, For those is kept the Gulf of Hecate, Where with their own contagion they are fed, And there do punish and are punished. This known, the rest of thy sad story tell When on the flood that nine times circles hell. Chorus. We sail along to visit mortals never; But there to live where love shall last for ever.
EPITAPH ON THE TOMB OF SIR EDWARD GILES AND HIS WIFE IN THE SOUTH AISLE OF DEAN PRIOR CHURCH, DEVON.
No trust to metals nor to marbles, when These have their fate and wear away as men; Times, titles, trophies may be lost and spent, But virtue rears the eternal monument. What more than these can tombs or tombstones pay? But here's the sunset of a tedious day: These two asleep are: I'll but be undress'd And so to bed: pray wish us all good rest.