What though the heaven be
lowering
now,
And look with a contracted brow?
And look with a contracted brow?
Robert Herrick - Hesperide and Noble Numbers
TO BLOSSOMS.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past
But you may stay yet here a while,
To blush and gently smile;
And go at last.
What! were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
Like you a while, they glide
Into the grave.
468. MAN'S DYING-PLACE UNCERTAIN.
Man knows where first he ships himself, but he
Never can tell where shall his landing be.
469. NOTHING FREE-COST.
Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let
His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.
470. FEW FORTUNATE.
Many we are, and yet but few possess
Those fields of everlasting happiness.
471. TO PERENNA.
How long, Perenna, wilt thou see
Me languish for the love of thee?
Consent, and play a friendly part
To save, when thou may'st kill a heart.
472. TO THE LADIES.
Trust me, ladies, I will do
Nothing to distemper you;
If I any fret or vex,
Men they shall be, not your sex.
473. THE OLD WIVES' PRAYER.
Holy rood, come forth and shield
Us i' th' city and the field:
Safely guard us, now and aye,
From the blast that burns by day;
And those sounds that us affright
In the dead of dampish night.
Drive all hurtful fiends us fro,
By the time the cocks first crow.
475. UPON HIS DEPARTURE HENCE.
Thus I
Pass by,
And die:
As one
Unknown
And gone:
I'm made
A shade,
And laid
I' th' grave:
There have
My cave,
Where tell
I dwell.
Farewell.
476. THE WASSAIL.
Give way, give way, ye gates, and win
An easy blessing to your bin
And basket, by our entering in.
May both with manchet stand replete;
Your larders, too, so hung with meat,
That though a thousand, thousand eat,
Yet, ere twelve moons shall whirl about
Their silv'ry spheres, there's none may doubt
But more's sent in than was served out.
Next, may your dairies prosper so
As that your pans no ebb may know;
But if they do, the more to flow,
Like to a solemn sober stream
Bank'd all with lilies, and the cream
Of sweetest cowslips filling them.
Then, may your plants be prest with fruit,
Nor bee, or hive you have be mute;
But sweetly sounding like a lute.
Next, may your duck and teeming hen
Both to the cock's tread say Amen;
And for their two eggs render ten.
Last, may your harrows, shears, and ploughs,
Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows,
All prosper by our virgin vows.
Alas! we bless, but see none here
That brings us either ale or beer;
_In a dry house all things are near_.
Let's leave a longer time to wait,
Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate,
And all live here with needy fate.
Where chimneys do for ever weep
For want of warmth, and stomachs keep,
With noise, the servants' eyes from sleep.
It is in vain to sing, or stay
Our free feet here; but we'll away:
Yet to the Lares this we'll say:
The time will come when you'll be sad
And reckon this for fortune bad,
T'ave lost the good ye might have had.
_Manchet_, fine white bread.
_Prest_, laden.
_Near_, penurious.
_Leave to wait_, cease waiting.
477. UPON A LADY FAIR BUT FRUITLESS.
Twice has Pudica been a bride, and led
By holy Hymen to the nuptial bed.
Two youths she's known thrice two, and twice three years;
Yet not a lily from the bed appears:
Nor will; for why, Pudica this may know,
_Trees never bear unless they first do blow_.
478. HOW SPRINGS CAME FIRST.
These springs were maidens once that lov'd,
But lost to that they most approv'd:
My story tells by Love they were
Turn'd to these springs which we see here;
The pretty whimpering that they make,
When of the banks their leave they take,
Tells ye but this, they are the same,
In nothing chang'd but in their name.
479. TO ROSEMARY AND BAYS.
My wooing's ended: now my wedding's near
When gloves are giving, gilded be you there.
481. UPON A SCAR IN A VIRGIN'S FACE.
'Tis heresy in others: in your face
That scar's no schism, but the sign of grace.
482. UPON HIS EYESIGHT FAILING HIM.
I begin to wane in sight;
Shortly I shall bid good-night:
Then no gazing more about,
When the tapers once are out.
483. TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, M. THOS. FALCONBIRGE.
Stand with thy graces forth, brave man, and rise
High with thine own auspicious destinies:
Nor leave the search, and proof, till thou canst find
These, or those ends, to which thou wast design'd.
Thy lucky genius and thy guiding star
Have made thee prosperous in thy ways thus far:
Nor will they leave thee till they both have shown
Thee to the world a prime and public one.
Then, when thou see'st thine age all turn'd to gold,
Remember what thy Herrick thee foretold,
When at the holy threshold of thine house
_He boded good luck to thy self and spouse_.
Lastly, be mindful, when thou art grown great,
_That towers high rear'd dread most the lightning's threat:
Whenas the humble cottages not fear
The cleaving bolt of Jove the thunderer_.
484. UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILL'D WITH DEW.
Dew sat on Julia's hair
And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are
With trembling dew:
Or glitter'd to my sight,
As when the beams
Have their reflected light
Danc'd by the streams.
485. ANOTHER ON HER.
How can I choose but love and follow her
Whose shadow smells like milder pomander?
How can I choose but kiss her, whence does come
The storax, spikenard, myrrh, and laudanum?
_Pomander_, ball of scent.
486. LOSS FROM THE LEAST.
Great men by small means oft are overthrown;
_He's lord of thy life who contemns his own_.
487. REWARD AND PUNISHMENTS.
All things are open to these two events,
Or to rewards, or else to punishments.
488. SHAME NO STATIST.
Shame is a bad attendant to a state:
_He rents his crown that fears the people's hate_.
489. TO SIR CLIPSEBY CREW.
Since to the country first I came
I have lost my former flame:
And, methinks, I not inherit,
As I did, my ravish'd spirit.
If I write a verse or two,
'Tis with very much ado;
In regard I want that wine
Which should conjure up a line.
Yet, though now of Muse bereft,
I have still the manners left
For to thank you, noble sir,
For those gifts you do confer
Upon him who only can
Be in prose a grateful man.
490. UPON HIMSELF.
I could never love indeed;
Never see mine own heart bleed:
Never crucify my life,
Or for widow, maid, or wife.
I could never seek to please
One or many mistresses:
Never like their lips to swear
Oil of roses still smelt there.
I could never break my sleep,
Fold mine arms, sob, sigh, or weep:
Never beg, or humbly woo
With oaths and lies, as others do.
I could never walk alone;
Put a shirt of sackcloth on:
Never keep a fast, or pray
For good luck in love that day.
But have hitherto liv'd free
As the air that circles me:
And kept credit with my heart,
Neither broke i' th' whole, or part.
491. FRESH CHEESE AND CREAM.
Would ye have fresh cheese and cream?
Julia's breast can give you them:
And, if more, each nipple cries:
To your cream here's strawberries.
492. AN ECLOGUE OR PASTORAL BETWEEN ENDYMION PORTER AND LYCIDAS HERRICK,
SET AND SUNG.
_End. _ Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why
Thy whilom merry oat
By thee doth so neglected lie,
And never purls a note?
I prithee speak. _Lyc. _ I will. _End. _ Say on.
_Lyc. _ 'Tis thou, and only thou,
That art the cause, Endymion.
_End. _ For love's sake, tell me how.
_Lyc. _ In this regard: that thou do'st play
Upon another plain,
And for a rural roundelay
Strik'st now a courtly strain.
Thou leav'st our hills, our dales, our bowers,
Our finer fleeced sheep,
Unkind to us, to spend thine hours
Where shepherds should not keep.
I mean the court: Let Latmos be
My lov'd Endymion's court.
_End. _ But I the courtly state would see.
_Lyc. _ Then see it in report.
What has the court to do with swains,
Where Phyllis is not known?
Nor does it mind the rustic strains
Of us, or Corydon.
Break, if thou lov'st us, this delay.
_End. _ Dear Lycidas, e're long
I vow, by Pan, to come away
And pipe unto thy song.
Then Jessamine, with Florabell,
And dainty Amaryllis,
With handsome-handed Drosomell
Shall prank thy hook with lilies.
_Lyc. _ Then Tityrus, and Corydon,
And Thyrsis, they shall follow
With all the rest; while thou alone
Shalt lead like young Apollo.
And till thou com'st, thy Lycidas,
In every genial cup,
Shall write in spice: Endymion 'twas
That kept his piping up.
And, my most lucky swain, when I shall live to see
Endymion's moon to fill up full, remember me:
Meantime, let Lycidas have leave to pipe to thee.
_Oat_, oaten pipe.
_Prank_, bedeck.
_Drosomell_, honey dew.
493. TO A BED OF TULIPS.
Bright tulips, we do know
You had your coming hither,
And fading-time does show
That ye must quickly wither.
Your sisterhoods may stay,
And smile here for your hour;
But die ye must away,
Even as the meanest flower.
Come, virgins, then, and see
Your frailties, and bemoan ye;
For, lost like these, 'twill be
As time had never known ye.
494. A CAUTION.
That love last long, let it thy first care be
To find a wife that is most fit for thee.
Be she too wealthy or too poor, be sure
_Love in extremes can never long endure_.
495. TO THE WATER NYMPHS DRINKING AT THE FOUNTAIN.
Reach, with your whiter hands, to me
Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this,
To th' glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine.
496. TO HIS HONOURED KINSMAN, SIR RICHARD STONE.
To this white temple of my heroes here,
Beset with stately figures everywhere
Of such rare saintships, who did here consume
Their lives in sweets, and left in death perfume,
Come, thou brave man! And bring with thee a stone
Unto thine own edification.
High are these statues here, besides no less
Strong than the heavens for everlastingness:
Where build aloft; and, being fix'd by these,
Set up thine own eternal images.
497. UPON A FLY.
A golden fly one show'd to me,
Clos'd in a box of ivory,
Where both seem'd proud: the fly to have
His burial in an ivory grave;
The ivory took state to hold
A corpse as bright as burnish'd gold.
One fate had both, both equal grace;
The buried, and the burying-place.
Not Virgil's gnat, to whom the spring
All flowers sent to's burying;
Not Martial's bee, which in a bead
Of amber quick was buried;
Nor that fine worm that does inter
Herself i' th' silken sepulchre;
Nor my rare Phil,[K] that lately was
With lilies tomb'd up in a glass;
More honour had than this same fly,
Dead, and closed up in ivory.
_Virgil's gnat_, see 256.
_Martial's bee_, see Note.
[K] _Sparrow. _ (Note in the original edition. )
499. TO JULIA.
Julia, when thy Herrick dies,
Close thou up thy poet's eyes:
And his last breath, let it be
Taken in by none but thee.
500. TO MISTRESS DOROTHY PARSONS.
If thou ask me, dear, wherefore
I do write of thee no more,
I must answer, sweet, thy part
Less is here than in my heart.
502. HOW HE WOULD DRINK HIS WINE.
Fill me my wine in crystal; thus, and thus
I see't in's _puris naturalibus_:
Unmix'd. I love to have it smirk and shine;
_'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throttle wine_.
What madman's he, that when it sparkles so,
Will cool his flames or quench his fires with snow?
503. HOW MARIGOLDS CAME YELLOW.
Jealous girls these sometimes were,
While they liv'd or lasted here:
Turn'd to flowers, still they be
Yellow, mark'd for jealousy.
504. THE BROKEN CRYSTAL.
To fetch me wine my Lucia went,
Bearing a crystal continent:
But, making haste, it came to pass
She brake in two the purer glass,
Then smil'd, and sweetly chid her speed;
So with a blush beshrew'd the deed.
_Continent_, holder.
505. PRECEPTS.
Good precepts we must firmly hold,
By daily learning we wax old.
506. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDWARD, EARL OF DORSET.
If I dare write to you, my lord, who are
Of your own self a public theatre,
And, sitting, see the wiles, ways, walks of wit,
And give a righteous judgment upon it,
What need I care, though some dislike me should,
If Dorset say what Herrick writes is good?
We know y'are learn'd i' th' Muses, and no less
In our state-sanctions, deep or bottomless.
Whose smile can make a poet, and your glance
Dash all bad poems out of countenance;
So that an author needs no other bays
For coronation than your only praise,
And no one mischief greater than your frown
To null his numbers, and to blast his crown.
_Few live the life immortal. He ensures
His fame's long life who strives to set up yours. _
507. UPON HIMSELF.
Thou'rt hence removing (like a shepherd's tent),
And walk thou must the way that others went:
Fall thou must first, then rise to life with these,
Mark'd in thy book for faithful witnesses.
508. HOPE WELL AND HAVE WELL: OR, FAIR AFTER FOUL WEATHER.
What though the heaven be lowering now,
And look with a contracted brow?
We shall discover, by-and-by,
A repurgation of the sky;
And when those clouds away are driven,
Then will appear a cheerful heaven.
509. UPON LOVE.
I held Love's head while it did ache;
But so it chanc'd to be,
The cruel pain did his forsake,
And forthwith came to me.
Ay me! how shall my grief be still'd?
Or where else shall we find
One like to me, who must be kill'd
For being too-too kind?
510. TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MRS. PENELOPE WHEELER.
Next is your lot, fair, to be number'd one,
Here, in my book's canonisation:
Late you come in; but you a saint shall be,
In chief, in this poetic liturgy.
511. ANOTHER UPON HER.
First, for your shape, the curious cannot show
Any one part that's dissonant in you:
And 'gainst your chaste behaviour there's no plea,
Since you are known to be Penelope.
Thus fair and clean you are, although there be
_A mighty strife 'twixt form and chastity_.
_Form_, beauty.
513. CROSS AND PILE.
Fair and foul days trip cross and pile; the fair
Far less in number than our foul days are.
_Trip cross and pile_, come haphazard, like the heads and tails of coins.
514. TO THE LADY CREW, UPON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD.
Why, madam, will ye longer weep,
Whenas your baby's lull'd asleep?
And (pretty child) feels now no more
Those pains it lately felt before.
All now is silent; groans are fled:
Your child lies still, yet is not dead;
But rather like a flower hid here
To spring again another year.
515. HIS WINDING-SHEET.
Come thou, who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest.
Thou art of what I did intend
The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee, my sheet.
Come then, and be to my chaste side
Both bed and bride.
We two, as reliques left, will have
One rest, one grave.
And, hugging close, we will not fear
Lust entering here,
Where all desires are dead or cold
As is the mould;
And all affections are forgot,
Or trouble not.
Here, here the slaves and pris'ners be
From shackles free:
And weeping widows long oppress'd
Do here find rest.
The wronged client ends his laws
Here, and his cause.
Here those long suits of chancery lie
Quiet, or die:
And all Star-Chamber bills do cease,
Or hold their peace.
Here needs no Court for our Request,
Where all are best,
All wise, all equal, and all just
Alike i' th' dust.
Nor need we here to fear the frown
Of court or crown:
_Where fortune bears no sway o'er things,
There all are kings_.
In this securer place we'll keep,
As lull'd asleep;
Or for a little time we'll lie
As robes laid by;
To be another day re-worn,
Turn'd, but not torn:
Or, like old testaments engrost,
Lock'd up, not lost.
And for a while lie here conceal'd,
To be reveal'd
Next at that great Platonick year,
And then meet here.
_Platonick year_, the 36,000th year, in which all persons and things
return to their original state.
516. TO MISTRESS MARY WILLAND.
One more by thee, love, and desert have sent,
T' enspangle this expansive firmament.
O flame of beauty! come, appear, appear
A virgin taper, ever shining here.
517. CHANGE GIVES CONTENT.
What now we like anon we disapprove:
_The new successor drives away old love_.
519. ON HIMSELF.
Born I was to meet with age,
And to walk life's pilgrimage.
Much I know of time is spent,
Tell I can't what's resident.
Howsoever, cares, adieu!
I'll have nought to say to you:
But I'll spend my coming hours
Drinking wine and crown'd with flowers.
_Resident_, remaining.
520. FORTUNE FAVOURS.
Fortune did never favour one
Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite.
521. TO PHYLLIS, TO LOVE AND LIVE WITH HIM.
Live, live with me, and thou shall see
The pleasures I'll prepare for thee;
What sweets the country can afford
Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board.
The soft, sweet moss shall be thy bed
With crawling woodbine over-spread;
By which the silver-shedding streams
Shall gently melt thee into dreams.
Thy clothing, next, shall be a gown
Made of the fleece's purest down.
The tongues of kids shall be thy meat,
Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat
The paste of filberts for thy bread,
With cream of cowslips buttered;
Thy feasting-tables shall be hills
With daisies spread and daffodils,
Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by,
For meat, shall give thee melody.
I'll give thee chains and carcanets
Of primroses and violets.
A bag and bottle thou shalt have,
That richly wrought, and this as brave;
So that as either shall express
The wearer's no mean shepherdess.
At shearing-times, and yearly wakes,
When Themilis his pastime makes,
There thou shalt be; and be the wit,
Nay, more, the feast, and grace of it.
On holidays, when virgins meet
To dance the heyes with nimble feet,
Thou shall come forth, and then appear
The queen of roses for that year;
And having danced, 'bove all the best,
Carry the garland from the rest.
In wicker baskets maids shall bring
To thee, my dearest shepherling,
The blushing apple, bashful pear,
And shame-fac'd plum, all simp'ring there.
Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find
The name of Phyllis in the rind
Of every straight and smooth-skin tree;
Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.
To thee a sheep-hook I will send,
Be-prank'd with ribands to this end;
This, this alluring hook might be
Less for to catch a sheep than me.
Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine,
Not made of ale, but spiced wine,
To make thy maids and self free mirth,
All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth.
Thou shalt have ribands, roses, rings,
Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings
Of winning colours, that shall move
Others to lust, but me to love.
These, nay, and more, thine own shall be
If thou wilt love, and live with me.
_Carcanets_, necklaces.
_Wakes_, village feasts on the dedication day of the church.
_The heyes_, a winding, country dance.
_Be-prank'd_, be-decked.
522. TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MISTRESS SUSANNA HERRICK.
When I consider, dearest, thou dost stay
But here a-while, to languish and decay,
Like to these garden-glories, which here be
The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee;
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry:
Would thou hadst ne'er been born, or might'st not die.
523. UPON MISTRESS SUSANNA SOUTHWELL, HER CHEEKS.
Rare are thy cheeks, Susanna, which do show
Ripe cherries smiling, while that others blow.
524. UPON HER EYES.
Clear are her eyes,
Like purest skies,
Discovering from thence
A baby there
That turns each sphere,
Like an Intelligence.
_A baby_, see Note to 38, "To his mistress objecting to him neither
toying nor talking".
525. UPON HER FEET.
Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-Peep,
Did soon draw in again.
526. TO HIS HONOURED FRIEND, SIR JOHN MINCE.
For civil, clean, and circumcised wit,
And for the comely carriage of it,
Thou art the man, the only man best known,
Mark'd for the true wit of a million:
From whom we'll reckon. Wit came in but since
The calculation of thy birth, brave Mince.
527. UPON HIS GREY HAIRS.
Fly me not, though I be grey:
Lady, this I know you'll say;
Better look the roses red
When with white commingled.
Black your hairs are, mine are white;
This begets the more delight,
When things meet most opposite:
As in pictures we descry
Venus standing Vulcan by.
528. ACCUSATION.
If accusation only can draw blood,
None shall be guiltless, be he ne'er so good.
529. PRIDE ALLOWABLE IN POETS.
As thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let
The Muse give thee the Delphic coronet.
530. A VOW TO MINERVA.
Goddess, I begin an art;
Come thou in, with thy best part
For to make the texture lie
Each way smooth and civilly;
And a broad-fac'd owl shall be
Offer'd up with vows to thee.
_Civilly_, orderly.
_Owl_, the bird sacred to Athene or Minerva.
534. TO ELECTRA.
'Tis evening, my sweet,
And dark, let us meet;
Long time w'ave here been a-toying,
And never, as yet,
That season could get
Wherein t'ave had an enjoying.
For pity or shame,
Then let not love's flame
Be ever and ever a-spending;
Since now to the port
The path is but short,
And yet our way has no ending.
Time flies away fast,
Our hours do waste,
The while we never remember
How soon our life, here,
Grows old with the year
That dies with the next December.
535. DISCORD NOT DISADVANTAGEOUS.
Fortune no higher project can devise
Than to sow discord 'mongst the enemies.
536. ILL GOVERNMENT.
Preposterous is that government, and rude,
When kings obey the wilder multitude.
_Preposterous_, lit. hind-part before.
537. TO MARIGOLDS.
Give way, and be ye ravish'd by the sun,
And hang the head whenas the act is done,
Spread as he spreads, wax less as he does wane;
And as he shuts, close up to maids again.
538. TO DIANEME.
Give me one kiss
And no more:
If so be this
Makes you poor,
To enrich you,
I'll restore
For that one two
Thousand score.
539. TO JULIA, THE FLAMINICA DIALIS OR QUEEN-PRIEST.
Thou know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turn
This morning's incense to prepare and burn.
The chaplet and Inarculum[L] here be,
With the white vestures, all attending thee.
This day the queen-priest thou art made, t' appease
Love for our very many trespasses.
One chief transgression is, among the rest,
Because with flowers her temple was not dressed;
The next, because her altars did not shine
With daily fires; the last, neglect of wine;
For which her wrath is gone forth to consume
Us all, unless preserved by thy perfume.
Take then thy censer, put in fire, and thus,
O pious priestess! make a peace for us.
For our neglect Love did our death decree;
That we escape. _Redemption comes by thee_.
[L] A twig of a pomegranate, which the queen-priest did use to wear on
her head at sacrificing. (Note in the original edition. )
540. ANACREONTIC.
Born I was to be old,
And for to die here:
After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
But before that day comes
Still I be bousing,
For I know in the tombs
There's no carousing.
541. MEAT WITHOUT MIRTH.
Eaten I have; and though I had good cheer,
I did not sup, because no friends were there.
Where mirth and friends are absent when we dine
Or sup, there wants the incense and the wine.
542. LARGE BOUNDS DO BUT BURY US.
All things o'er-ruled are here by chance:
The greatest man's inheritance,
Where'er the lucky lot doth fall,
Serves but for place of burial.
543. UPON URSLEY.
Ursley, she thinks those velvet patches grace
The candid temples of her comely face;
But he will say, whoe'er those circlets seeth,
They be but signs of Ursley's hollow teeth.
544. AN ODE TO SIR CLIPSEBY CREW.
Here we securely live and eat
The cream of meat,
And keep eternal fires,
By which we sit, and do divine
As wine
And rage inspires.
If full we charm, then call upon
Anacreon
To grace the frantic thyrse;
And having drunk, we raise a shout
Throughout
To praise his verse.
Then cause we Horace to be read,
Which sung, or said,
A goblet to the brim
Of lyric wine, both swell'd and crown'd,
Around
We quaff to him.
Thus, thus we live, and spend the hours
In wine and flowers,
And make the frolic year,
The month, the week, the instant day
To stay
The longer here.
Come then, brave knight, and see the cell
Wherein I dwell,
And my enchantments too,
Which love and noble freedom is;
And this
Shall fetter you.
Take horse, and come, or be so kind
To send your mind,
Though but in numbers few,
And I shall think I have the heart,
Or part
Of Clipseby Crew.
_Securely_, free from care.
_Thyrse_, a Bacchic staff.
_Instant_, oncoming.
_Numbers_, verses.
545. TO HIS WORTHY KINSMAN, MR. STEPHEN SOAME.
Nor is my number full till I inscribe
Thee, sprightly Soame, one of my righteous tribe;
A tribe of one lip, leaven, and of one
Civil behaviour, and religion;
A stock of saints, where ev'ry one doth wear
A stole of white, and canonised here;
Among which holies be thou ever known,
Brave kinsman, mark'd out with the whiter stone
Which seals thy glory, since I do prefer
Thee here in my eternal calender.
546. TO HIS TOMB-MAKER.
Go I must; when I am gone,
Write but this upon my stone:
Chaste I lived, without a wife,
That's the story of my life.
Strewings need none, every flower
Is in this word, bachelour.
547. GREAT SPIRITS SUPERVIVE.
Our mortal parts may wrapp'd in sear-cloths lie:
_Great spirits never with their bodies die_.
548. NONE FREE FROM FAULT.
Out of the world he must, who once comes in.
_No man exempted is from death, or sin. _
549. UPON HIMSELF BEING BURIED.
Let me sleep this night away,
Till the dawning of the day;
Then at th' opening of mine eyes
I, and all the world, shall rise.
550. PITY TO THE PROSTRATE.
'Tis worse than barbarous cruelty to show
No part of pity on a conquered foe.
552. HIS CONTENT IN THE COUNTRY.
Here, here I live with what my board
Can with the smallest cost afford.
Though ne'er so mean the viands be,
They well content my Prew and me.
Or pea, or bean, or wort, or beet,
Whatever comes, content makes sweet.
Here we rejoice, because no rent
We pay for our poor tenement,
Wherein we rest, and never fear
The landlord or the usurer.
The quarter-day does ne'er affright
Our peaceful slumbers in the night.
We eat our own and batten more,
Because we feed on no man's score;
But pity those whose flanks grow great,
Swell'd with the lard of others' meat.
We bless our fortunes when we see
Our own beloved privacy;
And like our living, where we're known
To very few, or else to none.
_Prew_, _i. e. _, his servant, Prudence Baldwin.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past
But you may stay yet here a while,
To blush and gently smile;
And go at last.
What! were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
Like you a while, they glide
Into the grave.
468. MAN'S DYING-PLACE UNCERTAIN.
Man knows where first he ships himself, but he
Never can tell where shall his landing be.
469. NOTHING FREE-COST.
Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let
His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.
470. FEW FORTUNATE.
Many we are, and yet but few possess
Those fields of everlasting happiness.
471. TO PERENNA.
How long, Perenna, wilt thou see
Me languish for the love of thee?
Consent, and play a friendly part
To save, when thou may'st kill a heart.
472. TO THE LADIES.
Trust me, ladies, I will do
Nothing to distemper you;
If I any fret or vex,
Men they shall be, not your sex.
473. THE OLD WIVES' PRAYER.
Holy rood, come forth and shield
Us i' th' city and the field:
Safely guard us, now and aye,
From the blast that burns by day;
And those sounds that us affright
In the dead of dampish night.
Drive all hurtful fiends us fro,
By the time the cocks first crow.
475. UPON HIS DEPARTURE HENCE.
Thus I
Pass by,
And die:
As one
Unknown
And gone:
I'm made
A shade,
And laid
I' th' grave:
There have
My cave,
Where tell
I dwell.
Farewell.
476. THE WASSAIL.
Give way, give way, ye gates, and win
An easy blessing to your bin
And basket, by our entering in.
May both with manchet stand replete;
Your larders, too, so hung with meat,
That though a thousand, thousand eat,
Yet, ere twelve moons shall whirl about
Their silv'ry spheres, there's none may doubt
But more's sent in than was served out.
Next, may your dairies prosper so
As that your pans no ebb may know;
But if they do, the more to flow,
Like to a solemn sober stream
Bank'd all with lilies, and the cream
Of sweetest cowslips filling them.
Then, may your plants be prest with fruit,
Nor bee, or hive you have be mute;
But sweetly sounding like a lute.
Next, may your duck and teeming hen
Both to the cock's tread say Amen;
And for their two eggs render ten.
Last, may your harrows, shears, and ploughs,
Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows,
All prosper by our virgin vows.
Alas! we bless, but see none here
That brings us either ale or beer;
_In a dry house all things are near_.
Let's leave a longer time to wait,
Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate,
And all live here with needy fate.
Where chimneys do for ever weep
For want of warmth, and stomachs keep,
With noise, the servants' eyes from sleep.
It is in vain to sing, or stay
Our free feet here; but we'll away:
Yet to the Lares this we'll say:
The time will come when you'll be sad
And reckon this for fortune bad,
T'ave lost the good ye might have had.
_Manchet_, fine white bread.
_Prest_, laden.
_Near_, penurious.
_Leave to wait_, cease waiting.
477. UPON A LADY FAIR BUT FRUITLESS.
Twice has Pudica been a bride, and led
By holy Hymen to the nuptial bed.
Two youths she's known thrice two, and twice three years;
Yet not a lily from the bed appears:
Nor will; for why, Pudica this may know,
_Trees never bear unless they first do blow_.
478. HOW SPRINGS CAME FIRST.
These springs were maidens once that lov'd,
But lost to that they most approv'd:
My story tells by Love they were
Turn'd to these springs which we see here;
The pretty whimpering that they make,
When of the banks their leave they take,
Tells ye but this, they are the same,
In nothing chang'd but in their name.
479. TO ROSEMARY AND BAYS.
My wooing's ended: now my wedding's near
When gloves are giving, gilded be you there.
481. UPON A SCAR IN A VIRGIN'S FACE.
'Tis heresy in others: in your face
That scar's no schism, but the sign of grace.
482. UPON HIS EYESIGHT FAILING HIM.
I begin to wane in sight;
Shortly I shall bid good-night:
Then no gazing more about,
When the tapers once are out.
483. TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, M. THOS. FALCONBIRGE.
Stand with thy graces forth, brave man, and rise
High with thine own auspicious destinies:
Nor leave the search, and proof, till thou canst find
These, or those ends, to which thou wast design'd.
Thy lucky genius and thy guiding star
Have made thee prosperous in thy ways thus far:
Nor will they leave thee till they both have shown
Thee to the world a prime and public one.
Then, when thou see'st thine age all turn'd to gold,
Remember what thy Herrick thee foretold,
When at the holy threshold of thine house
_He boded good luck to thy self and spouse_.
Lastly, be mindful, when thou art grown great,
_That towers high rear'd dread most the lightning's threat:
Whenas the humble cottages not fear
The cleaving bolt of Jove the thunderer_.
484. UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILL'D WITH DEW.
Dew sat on Julia's hair
And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are
With trembling dew:
Or glitter'd to my sight,
As when the beams
Have their reflected light
Danc'd by the streams.
485. ANOTHER ON HER.
How can I choose but love and follow her
Whose shadow smells like milder pomander?
How can I choose but kiss her, whence does come
The storax, spikenard, myrrh, and laudanum?
_Pomander_, ball of scent.
486. LOSS FROM THE LEAST.
Great men by small means oft are overthrown;
_He's lord of thy life who contemns his own_.
487. REWARD AND PUNISHMENTS.
All things are open to these two events,
Or to rewards, or else to punishments.
488. SHAME NO STATIST.
Shame is a bad attendant to a state:
_He rents his crown that fears the people's hate_.
489. TO SIR CLIPSEBY CREW.
Since to the country first I came
I have lost my former flame:
And, methinks, I not inherit,
As I did, my ravish'd spirit.
If I write a verse or two,
'Tis with very much ado;
In regard I want that wine
Which should conjure up a line.
Yet, though now of Muse bereft,
I have still the manners left
For to thank you, noble sir,
For those gifts you do confer
Upon him who only can
Be in prose a grateful man.
490. UPON HIMSELF.
I could never love indeed;
Never see mine own heart bleed:
Never crucify my life,
Or for widow, maid, or wife.
I could never seek to please
One or many mistresses:
Never like their lips to swear
Oil of roses still smelt there.
I could never break my sleep,
Fold mine arms, sob, sigh, or weep:
Never beg, or humbly woo
With oaths and lies, as others do.
I could never walk alone;
Put a shirt of sackcloth on:
Never keep a fast, or pray
For good luck in love that day.
But have hitherto liv'd free
As the air that circles me:
And kept credit with my heart,
Neither broke i' th' whole, or part.
491. FRESH CHEESE AND CREAM.
Would ye have fresh cheese and cream?
Julia's breast can give you them:
And, if more, each nipple cries:
To your cream here's strawberries.
492. AN ECLOGUE OR PASTORAL BETWEEN ENDYMION PORTER AND LYCIDAS HERRICK,
SET AND SUNG.
_End. _ Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why
Thy whilom merry oat
By thee doth so neglected lie,
And never purls a note?
I prithee speak. _Lyc. _ I will. _End. _ Say on.
_Lyc. _ 'Tis thou, and only thou,
That art the cause, Endymion.
_End. _ For love's sake, tell me how.
_Lyc. _ In this regard: that thou do'st play
Upon another plain,
And for a rural roundelay
Strik'st now a courtly strain.
Thou leav'st our hills, our dales, our bowers,
Our finer fleeced sheep,
Unkind to us, to spend thine hours
Where shepherds should not keep.
I mean the court: Let Latmos be
My lov'd Endymion's court.
_End. _ But I the courtly state would see.
_Lyc. _ Then see it in report.
What has the court to do with swains,
Where Phyllis is not known?
Nor does it mind the rustic strains
Of us, or Corydon.
Break, if thou lov'st us, this delay.
_End. _ Dear Lycidas, e're long
I vow, by Pan, to come away
And pipe unto thy song.
Then Jessamine, with Florabell,
And dainty Amaryllis,
With handsome-handed Drosomell
Shall prank thy hook with lilies.
_Lyc. _ Then Tityrus, and Corydon,
And Thyrsis, they shall follow
With all the rest; while thou alone
Shalt lead like young Apollo.
And till thou com'st, thy Lycidas,
In every genial cup,
Shall write in spice: Endymion 'twas
That kept his piping up.
And, my most lucky swain, when I shall live to see
Endymion's moon to fill up full, remember me:
Meantime, let Lycidas have leave to pipe to thee.
_Oat_, oaten pipe.
_Prank_, bedeck.
_Drosomell_, honey dew.
493. TO A BED OF TULIPS.
Bright tulips, we do know
You had your coming hither,
And fading-time does show
That ye must quickly wither.
Your sisterhoods may stay,
And smile here for your hour;
But die ye must away,
Even as the meanest flower.
Come, virgins, then, and see
Your frailties, and bemoan ye;
For, lost like these, 'twill be
As time had never known ye.
494. A CAUTION.
That love last long, let it thy first care be
To find a wife that is most fit for thee.
Be she too wealthy or too poor, be sure
_Love in extremes can never long endure_.
495. TO THE WATER NYMPHS DRINKING AT THE FOUNTAIN.
Reach, with your whiter hands, to me
Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this,
To th' glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine.
496. TO HIS HONOURED KINSMAN, SIR RICHARD STONE.
To this white temple of my heroes here,
Beset with stately figures everywhere
Of such rare saintships, who did here consume
Their lives in sweets, and left in death perfume,
Come, thou brave man! And bring with thee a stone
Unto thine own edification.
High are these statues here, besides no less
Strong than the heavens for everlastingness:
Where build aloft; and, being fix'd by these,
Set up thine own eternal images.
497. UPON A FLY.
A golden fly one show'd to me,
Clos'd in a box of ivory,
Where both seem'd proud: the fly to have
His burial in an ivory grave;
The ivory took state to hold
A corpse as bright as burnish'd gold.
One fate had both, both equal grace;
The buried, and the burying-place.
Not Virgil's gnat, to whom the spring
All flowers sent to's burying;
Not Martial's bee, which in a bead
Of amber quick was buried;
Nor that fine worm that does inter
Herself i' th' silken sepulchre;
Nor my rare Phil,[K] that lately was
With lilies tomb'd up in a glass;
More honour had than this same fly,
Dead, and closed up in ivory.
_Virgil's gnat_, see 256.
_Martial's bee_, see Note.
[K] _Sparrow. _ (Note in the original edition. )
499. TO JULIA.
Julia, when thy Herrick dies,
Close thou up thy poet's eyes:
And his last breath, let it be
Taken in by none but thee.
500. TO MISTRESS DOROTHY PARSONS.
If thou ask me, dear, wherefore
I do write of thee no more,
I must answer, sweet, thy part
Less is here than in my heart.
502. HOW HE WOULD DRINK HIS WINE.
Fill me my wine in crystal; thus, and thus
I see't in's _puris naturalibus_:
Unmix'd. I love to have it smirk and shine;
_'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throttle wine_.
What madman's he, that when it sparkles so,
Will cool his flames or quench his fires with snow?
503. HOW MARIGOLDS CAME YELLOW.
Jealous girls these sometimes were,
While they liv'd or lasted here:
Turn'd to flowers, still they be
Yellow, mark'd for jealousy.
504. THE BROKEN CRYSTAL.
To fetch me wine my Lucia went,
Bearing a crystal continent:
But, making haste, it came to pass
She brake in two the purer glass,
Then smil'd, and sweetly chid her speed;
So with a blush beshrew'd the deed.
_Continent_, holder.
505. PRECEPTS.
Good precepts we must firmly hold,
By daily learning we wax old.
506. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDWARD, EARL OF DORSET.
If I dare write to you, my lord, who are
Of your own self a public theatre,
And, sitting, see the wiles, ways, walks of wit,
And give a righteous judgment upon it,
What need I care, though some dislike me should,
If Dorset say what Herrick writes is good?
We know y'are learn'd i' th' Muses, and no less
In our state-sanctions, deep or bottomless.
Whose smile can make a poet, and your glance
Dash all bad poems out of countenance;
So that an author needs no other bays
For coronation than your only praise,
And no one mischief greater than your frown
To null his numbers, and to blast his crown.
_Few live the life immortal. He ensures
His fame's long life who strives to set up yours. _
507. UPON HIMSELF.
Thou'rt hence removing (like a shepherd's tent),
And walk thou must the way that others went:
Fall thou must first, then rise to life with these,
Mark'd in thy book for faithful witnesses.
508. HOPE WELL AND HAVE WELL: OR, FAIR AFTER FOUL WEATHER.
What though the heaven be lowering now,
And look with a contracted brow?
We shall discover, by-and-by,
A repurgation of the sky;
And when those clouds away are driven,
Then will appear a cheerful heaven.
509. UPON LOVE.
I held Love's head while it did ache;
But so it chanc'd to be,
The cruel pain did his forsake,
And forthwith came to me.
Ay me! how shall my grief be still'd?
Or where else shall we find
One like to me, who must be kill'd
For being too-too kind?
510. TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MRS. PENELOPE WHEELER.
Next is your lot, fair, to be number'd one,
Here, in my book's canonisation:
Late you come in; but you a saint shall be,
In chief, in this poetic liturgy.
511. ANOTHER UPON HER.
First, for your shape, the curious cannot show
Any one part that's dissonant in you:
And 'gainst your chaste behaviour there's no plea,
Since you are known to be Penelope.
Thus fair and clean you are, although there be
_A mighty strife 'twixt form and chastity_.
_Form_, beauty.
513. CROSS AND PILE.
Fair and foul days trip cross and pile; the fair
Far less in number than our foul days are.
_Trip cross and pile_, come haphazard, like the heads and tails of coins.
514. TO THE LADY CREW, UPON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD.
Why, madam, will ye longer weep,
Whenas your baby's lull'd asleep?
And (pretty child) feels now no more
Those pains it lately felt before.
All now is silent; groans are fled:
Your child lies still, yet is not dead;
But rather like a flower hid here
To spring again another year.
515. HIS WINDING-SHEET.
Come thou, who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest.
Thou art of what I did intend
The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee, my sheet.
Come then, and be to my chaste side
Both bed and bride.
We two, as reliques left, will have
One rest, one grave.
And, hugging close, we will not fear
Lust entering here,
Where all desires are dead or cold
As is the mould;
And all affections are forgot,
Or trouble not.
Here, here the slaves and pris'ners be
From shackles free:
And weeping widows long oppress'd
Do here find rest.
The wronged client ends his laws
Here, and his cause.
Here those long suits of chancery lie
Quiet, or die:
And all Star-Chamber bills do cease,
Or hold their peace.
Here needs no Court for our Request,
Where all are best,
All wise, all equal, and all just
Alike i' th' dust.
Nor need we here to fear the frown
Of court or crown:
_Where fortune bears no sway o'er things,
There all are kings_.
In this securer place we'll keep,
As lull'd asleep;
Or for a little time we'll lie
As robes laid by;
To be another day re-worn,
Turn'd, but not torn:
Or, like old testaments engrost,
Lock'd up, not lost.
And for a while lie here conceal'd,
To be reveal'd
Next at that great Platonick year,
And then meet here.
_Platonick year_, the 36,000th year, in which all persons and things
return to their original state.
516. TO MISTRESS MARY WILLAND.
One more by thee, love, and desert have sent,
T' enspangle this expansive firmament.
O flame of beauty! come, appear, appear
A virgin taper, ever shining here.
517. CHANGE GIVES CONTENT.
What now we like anon we disapprove:
_The new successor drives away old love_.
519. ON HIMSELF.
Born I was to meet with age,
And to walk life's pilgrimage.
Much I know of time is spent,
Tell I can't what's resident.
Howsoever, cares, adieu!
I'll have nought to say to you:
But I'll spend my coming hours
Drinking wine and crown'd with flowers.
_Resident_, remaining.
520. FORTUNE FAVOURS.
Fortune did never favour one
Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite.
521. TO PHYLLIS, TO LOVE AND LIVE WITH HIM.
Live, live with me, and thou shall see
The pleasures I'll prepare for thee;
What sweets the country can afford
Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board.
The soft, sweet moss shall be thy bed
With crawling woodbine over-spread;
By which the silver-shedding streams
Shall gently melt thee into dreams.
Thy clothing, next, shall be a gown
Made of the fleece's purest down.
The tongues of kids shall be thy meat,
Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat
The paste of filberts for thy bread,
With cream of cowslips buttered;
Thy feasting-tables shall be hills
With daisies spread and daffodils,
Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by,
For meat, shall give thee melody.
I'll give thee chains and carcanets
Of primroses and violets.
A bag and bottle thou shalt have,
That richly wrought, and this as brave;
So that as either shall express
The wearer's no mean shepherdess.
At shearing-times, and yearly wakes,
When Themilis his pastime makes,
There thou shalt be; and be the wit,
Nay, more, the feast, and grace of it.
On holidays, when virgins meet
To dance the heyes with nimble feet,
Thou shall come forth, and then appear
The queen of roses for that year;
And having danced, 'bove all the best,
Carry the garland from the rest.
In wicker baskets maids shall bring
To thee, my dearest shepherling,
The blushing apple, bashful pear,
And shame-fac'd plum, all simp'ring there.
Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find
The name of Phyllis in the rind
Of every straight and smooth-skin tree;
Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.
To thee a sheep-hook I will send,
Be-prank'd with ribands to this end;
This, this alluring hook might be
Less for to catch a sheep than me.
Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine,
Not made of ale, but spiced wine,
To make thy maids and self free mirth,
All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth.
Thou shalt have ribands, roses, rings,
Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings
Of winning colours, that shall move
Others to lust, but me to love.
These, nay, and more, thine own shall be
If thou wilt love, and live with me.
_Carcanets_, necklaces.
_Wakes_, village feasts on the dedication day of the church.
_The heyes_, a winding, country dance.
_Be-prank'd_, be-decked.
522. TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MISTRESS SUSANNA HERRICK.
When I consider, dearest, thou dost stay
But here a-while, to languish and decay,
Like to these garden-glories, which here be
The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee;
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry:
Would thou hadst ne'er been born, or might'st not die.
523. UPON MISTRESS SUSANNA SOUTHWELL, HER CHEEKS.
Rare are thy cheeks, Susanna, which do show
Ripe cherries smiling, while that others blow.
524. UPON HER EYES.
Clear are her eyes,
Like purest skies,
Discovering from thence
A baby there
That turns each sphere,
Like an Intelligence.
_A baby_, see Note to 38, "To his mistress objecting to him neither
toying nor talking".
525. UPON HER FEET.
Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-Peep,
Did soon draw in again.
526. TO HIS HONOURED FRIEND, SIR JOHN MINCE.
For civil, clean, and circumcised wit,
And for the comely carriage of it,
Thou art the man, the only man best known,
Mark'd for the true wit of a million:
From whom we'll reckon. Wit came in but since
The calculation of thy birth, brave Mince.
527. UPON HIS GREY HAIRS.
Fly me not, though I be grey:
Lady, this I know you'll say;
Better look the roses red
When with white commingled.
Black your hairs are, mine are white;
This begets the more delight,
When things meet most opposite:
As in pictures we descry
Venus standing Vulcan by.
528. ACCUSATION.
If accusation only can draw blood,
None shall be guiltless, be he ne'er so good.
529. PRIDE ALLOWABLE IN POETS.
As thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let
The Muse give thee the Delphic coronet.
530. A VOW TO MINERVA.
Goddess, I begin an art;
Come thou in, with thy best part
For to make the texture lie
Each way smooth and civilly;
And a broad-fac'd owl shall be
Offer'd up with vows to thee.
_Civilly_, orderly.
_Owl_, the bird sacred to Athene or Minerva.
534. TO ELECTRA.
'Tis evening, my sweet,
And dark, let us meet;
Long time w'ave here been a-toying,
And never, as yet,
That season could get
Wherein t'ave had an enjoying.
For pity or shame,
Then let not love's flame
Be ever and ever a-spending;
Since now to the port
The path is but short,
And yet our way has no ending.
Time flies away fast,
Our hours do waste,
The while we never remember
How soon our life, here,
Grows old with the year
That dies with the next December.
535. DISCORD NOT DISADVANTAGEOUS.
Fortune no higher project can devise
Than to sow discord 'mongst the enemies.
536. ILL GOVERNMENT.
Preposterous is that government, and rude,
When kings obey the wilder multitude.
_Preposterous_, lit. hind-part before.
537. TO MARIGOLDS.
Give way, and be ye ravish'd by the sun,
And hang the head whenas the act is done,
Spread as he spreads, wax less as he does wane;
And as he shuts, close up to maids again.
538. TO DIANEME.
Give me one kiss
And no more:
If so be this
Makes you poor,
To enrich you,
I'll restore
For that one two
Thousand score.
539. TO JULIA, THE FLAMINICA DIALIS OR QUEEN-PRIEST.
Thou know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turn
This morning's incense to prepare and burn.
The chaplet and Inarculum[L] here be,
With the white vestures, all attending thee.
This day the queen-priest thou art made, t' appease
Love for our very many trespasses.
One chief transgression is, among the rest,
Because with flowers her temple was not dressed;
The next, because her altars did not shine
With daily fires; the last, neglect of wine;
For which her wrath is gone forth to consume
Us all, unless preserved by thy perfume.
Take then thy censer, put in fire, and thus,
O pious priestess! make a peace for us.
For our neglect Love did our death decree;
That we escape. _Redemption comes by thee_.
[L] A twig of a pomegranate, which the queen-priest did use to wear on
her head at sacrificing. (Note in the original edition. )
540. ANACREONTIC.
Born I was to be old,
And for to die here:
After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
But before that day comes
Still I be bousing,
For I know in the tombs
There's no carousing.
541. MEAT WITHOUT MIRTH.
Eaten I have; and though I had good cheer,
I did not sup, because no friends were there.
Where mirth and friends are absent when we dine
Or sup, there wants the incense and the wine.
542. LARGE BOUNDS DO BUT BURY US.
All things o'er-ruled are here by chance:
The greatest man's inheritance,
Where'er the lucky lot doth fall,
Serves but for place of burial.
543. UPON URSLEY.
Ursley, she thinks those velvet patches grace
The candid temples of her comely face;
But he will say, whoe'er those circlets seeth,
They be but signs of Ursley's hollow teeth.
544. AN ODE TO SIR CLIPSEBY CREW.
Here we securely live and eat
The cream of meat,
And keep eternal fires,
By which we sit, and do divine
As wine
And rage inspires.
If full we charm, then call upon
Anacreon
To grace the frantic thyrse;
And having drunk, we raise a shout
Throughout
To praise his verse.
Then cause we Horace to be read,
Which sung, or said,
A goblet to the brim
Of lyric wine, both swell'd and crown'd,
Around
We quaff to him.
Thus, thus we live, and spend the hours
In wine and flowers,
And make the frolic year,
The month, the week, the instant day
To stay
The longer here.
Come then, brave knight, and see the cell
Wherein I dwell,
And my enchantments too,
Which love and noble freedom is;
And this
Shall fetter you.
Take horse, and come, or be so kind
To send your mind,
Though but in numbers few,
And I shall think I have the heart,
Or part
Of Clipseby Crew.
_Securely_, free from care.
_Thyrse_, a Bacchic staff.
_Instant_, oncoming.
_Numbers_, verses.
545. TO HIS WORTHY KINSMAN, MR. STEPHEN SOAME.
Nor is my number full till I inscribe
Thee, sprightly Soame, one of my righteous tribe;
A tribe of one lip, leaven, and of one
Civil behaviour, and religion;
A stock of saints, where ev'ry one doth wear
A stole of white, and canonised here;
Among which holies be thou ever known,
Brave kinsman, mark'd out with the whiter stone
Which seals thy glory, since I do prefer
Thee here in my eternal calender.
546. TO HIS TOMB-MAKER.
Go I must; when I am gone,
Write but this upon my stone:
Chaste I lived, without a wife,
That's the story of my life.
Strewings need none, every flower
Is in this word, bachelour.
547. GREAT SPIRITS SUPERVIVE.
Our mortal parts may wrapp'd in sear-cloths lie:
_Great spirits never with their bodies die_.
548. NONE FREE FROM FAULT.
Out of the world he must, who once comes in.
_No man exempted is from death, or sin. _
549. UPON HIMSELF BEING BURIED.
Let me sleep this night away,
Till the dawning of the day;
Then at th' opening of mine eyes
I, and all the world, shall rise.
550. PITY TO THE PROSTRATE.
'Tis worse than barbarous cruelty to show
No part of pity on a conquered foe.
552. HIS CONTENT IN THE COUNTRY.
Here, here I live with what my board
Can with the smallest cost afford.
Though ne'er so mean the viands be,
They well content my Prew and me.
Or pea, or bean, or wort, or beet,
Whatever comes, content makes sweet.
Here we rejoice, because no rent
We pay for our poor tenement,
Wherein we rest, and never fear
The landlord or the usurer.
The quarter-day does ne'er affright
Our peaceful slumbers in the night.
We eat our own and batten more,
Because we feed on no man's score;
But pity those whose flanks grow great,
Swell'd with the lard of others' meat.
We bless our fortunes when we see
Our own beloved privacy;
And like our living, where we're known
To very few, or else to none.
_Prew_, _i. e. _, his servant, Prudence Baldwin.
