No More Learning

Sweet country life, to such unknown
Whose lives are others', not their own!
But serving courts and cities, be
Less happy, less enjoying thee.
Thou never plough'st the ocean's foam
To seek and bring rough pepper home;
Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove
To bring from thence the scorched clove;
Nor, with the loss of thy lov'd rest,
Bring'st home the ingot from the West.
No, thy ambition's masterpiece
Flies no thought higher than a fleece;
Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear
All scores, and so to end the year:
But walk'st about thine own dear bounds,
Not envying others larger grounds:
For well thou know'st _'tis not th' extent
Of land makes life, but sweet content_.
When now the cock (the ploughman's horn)
Calls forth the lily-wristed morn,
Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go,
Which though well soil'd, yet thou dost know
That the best compost for the lands
Is the wise master's feet and hands.
There at the plough thou find'st thy team
With a hind whistling there to them;
And cheer'st them up by singing how
The kingdom's portion is the plough.
This done, then to th' enamelled meads
Thou go'st, and as thy foot there treads,
Thou see'st a present God-like power
Imprinted in each herb and flower;
And smell'st the breath of great-ey'd kine,
Sweet as the blossoms of the vine.
Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat
Unto the dew-laps up in meat;
And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer,
The heifer, cow, and ox draw near
To make a pleasing pastime there.
These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks
Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox,
And find'st their bellies there as full
Of short sweet grass as backs with wool,
And leav'st them, as they feed and fill,
A shepherd piping on a hill.
For sports, for pageantry and plays
Thou hast thy eves and holidays;
On which the young men and maids meet
To exercise their dancing feet;
Tripping the comely country round,
With daffodils and daisies crown'd.
Thy wakes, thy quintels here thou hast,
Thy May-poles, too, with garlands grac'd;
Thy morris dance, thy Whitsun ale,
Thy shearing feast which never fail;
Thy harvest-home, thy wassail bowl,
That's toss'd up after fox i' th' hole;
Thy mummeries, thy Twelfth-tide kings
And queens, thy Christmas revellings,
Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit,
And no man pays too dear for it.
To these, thou hast thy times to go
And trace the hare i' th' treacherous snow;
Thy witty wiles to draw, and get
The lark into the trammel net;
Thou hast thy cockrood and thy glade
To take the precious pheasant made;
Thy lime-twigs, snares and pit-falls then
To catch the pilfering birds, not men.
O happy life! if that their good
The husbandmen but understood!
Who all the day themselves do please,
And younglings, with such sports as these,
And lying down have nought t' affright
Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night.
_Cætera desunt ----_

_Soil'd_, manured.
_Compost_, preparation.
_Fox i' th' hole_, a hopping game in which boys beat each other with
gloves.
_Cockrood_, a run for snaring woodcocks.
_Glade_, an opening in the wood across which nets were hung to catch
game. (Willoughby, _Ornithologie_, i. 3. )


663. TO ELECTRA.

I dare not ask a kiss,
I dare not beg a smile,
Lest having that, or this,
I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be
Only to kiss that air
That lately kissed thee.


664. TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, M. ARTHUR BARTLY.

When after many lusters thou shalt be
Wrapt up in sear-cloth with thine ancestry;
When of thy ragg'd escutcheons shall be seen
So little left, as if they ne'er had been;
Thou shalt thy name have, and thy fame's best trust,
Here with the generation of my Just.

_Luster_, a period of five years.


665. WHAT KIND OF MISTRESS HE WOULD HAVE.

Be the mistress of my choice
Clean in manners, clear in voice;
Be she witty more than wise,
Pure enough, though not precise;
Be she showing in her dress
Like a civil wilderness;
That the curious may detect
Order in a sweet neglect;
Be she rolling in her eye,
Tempting all the passers-by;
And each ringlet of her hair
An enchantment, or a snare
For to catch the lookers-on;
But herself held fast by none.
Let her Lucrece all day be,
Thais in the night to me.
Be she such as neither will
_Famish me, nor overfill_.


667. THE ROSEMARY BRANCH.

Grow for two ends, it matters not at all,
Be 't for my bridal or my burial.


669. UPON CRAB. EPIG.

Crab faces gowns with sundry furs; 'tis known
He keeps the fox fur for to face his own.


670. A PARANÆTICALL, OR ADVISIVE VERSE, TO HIS FRIEND, M. JOHN WICKS.

Is this a life, to break thy sleep,
To rise as soon as day doth peep?
To tire thy patient ox or ass
By noon, and let thy good days pass,
Not knowing this, that Jove decrees
Some mirth t' adulce man's miseries?
No; 'tis a life to have thine oil
Without extortion from thy soil;
Thy faithful fields to yield thee grain,
Although with some, yet little, pain;
To have thy mind, and nuptial bed,
With fears and cares uncumbered;
A pleasing wife, that by thy side
Lies softly panting like a bride.
This is to live, and to endear
Those minutes Time has lent us here.
Then, while fates suffer, live thou free
As is that air that circles thee,
And crown thy temples too, and let
Thy servant, not thy own self, sweat,
To strut thy barns with sheafs of wheat.
Time steals away like to a stream,
And we glide hence away with them.
_No sound recalls the hours once fled,
Or roses, being withered_;
Nor us, my friend, when we are lost,
Like to a dew or melted frost.
Then live we mirthful while we should,
And turn the iron age to gold.
Let's feast, and frolic, sing, and play,
And thus less last than live our day.
_Whose life with care is overcast,
That man's not said to live, but last;
Nor is't a life, seven years to tell,
But for to live that half seven well;_
And that we'll do, as men who know,
Some few sands spent, we hence must go,
Both to be blended in the urn
From whence there's never a return.

_Adulce_, sweeten.
_Strut_, swell.


671. ONCE SEEN AND NO MORE.

Thousands each day pass by, which we,
Once past and gone, no more shall see.


672. LOVE.

This axiom I have often heard,
_Kings ought to be more lov'd than fear'd_.


673. TO M. DENHAM ON HIS PROSPECTIVE POEM.

Or look'd I back unto the times hence flown
To praise those Muses and dislike our own--
Or did I walk those Pæan-gardens through,
To kick the flowers and scorn their odours too--
I might, and justly, be reputed here
One nicely mad or peevishly severe.
But by Apollo! as I worship wit,
Where I have cause to burn perfumes to it;
So, I confess, 'tis somewhat to do well
In our high art, although we can't excel
Like thee, or dare the buskins to unloose
Of thy brave, bold, and sweet Maronian muse.
But since I'm call'd, rare Denham, to be gone,
Take from thy Herrick this conclusion:
'Tis dignity in others, if they be
Crown'd poets, yet live princes under thee;
The while their wreaths and purple robes do shine
Less by their own gems than those beams of thine.

_Pæan-gardens_, gardens sacred to Apollo.
_Nicely_, fastidiously.


674. A HYMN TO THE LARES.

It was, and still my care is,
To worship ye, the Lares,
With crowns of greenest parsley
And garlic chives, not scarcely;
For favours here to warm me,
And not by fire to harm me;
For gladding so my hearth here
With inoffensive mirth here;
That while the wassail bowl here
With North-down ale doth troul here,
No syllable doth fall here
To mar the mirth at all here.
For which, O chimney-keepers!
(I dare not call ye sweepers)
So long as I am able
To keep a country table,
Great be my fare, or small cheer,
I'll eat and drink up all here.

_Troul_, pass round.


675. DENIAL IN WOMEN NO DISHEARTENING TO MEN.

Women, although they ne'er so goodly make it,
Their fashion is, but to say no, to take it.


676. ADVERSITY.

_Love is maintain'd by wealth_; when all is spent,
_Adversity then breeds the discontent_.


677. TO FORTUNE.

Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet;
Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a fear'd infection;
Yet, scare-crow-like, I'll walk as one
Neglecting thy derision.


678. TO ANTHEA.

Come, Anthea, know thou this,
_Love at no time idle is_;
Let's be doing, though we play
But at push-pin half the day;
Chains of sweet bents let us make
Captive one, or both, to take:
In which bondage we will lie,
Souls transfusing thus, and die.

_Push-pin_, a childish game in which one player placed a pin and the
other pushed it.
_Bents_, grasses.


679. CRUELTIES.

Nero commanded; but withdrew his eyes
From the beholding death and cruelties.


680. PERSEVERANCE.

Hast thou begun an act? ne'er then give o'er:
_No man despairs to do what's done before_.


681. UPON HIS VERSES.

What offspring other men have got,
The how, where, when, I question not.
These are the children I have left,
Adopted some, none got by theft;
But all are touch'd, like lawful plate,
And no verse illegitimate.

_Touch'd_, tested.


682. DISTANCE BETTERS DIGNITIES.

Kings must not oft be seen by public eyes:
_State at a distance adds to dignities_.


683. HEALTH.

Health is no other, as the learned hold,
But a just measure both of heat and cold.


684. TO DIANEME. A CEREMONY IN GLOUCESTER.

I'll to thee a simnel bring,
'Gainst thou go'st a-mothering:
So that when she blesseth thee,
Half that blessing thou'lt give me.

_Simnel_, a cake, originally made of fine flour, eaten at Mid-Lent.
_A-mothering_, visiting relations in Mid-Lent, but see Note.


685. TO THE KING.

Give way, give way! now, now my Charles shines here
A public light, in this immensive sphere;
Some stars were fix'd before, but these are dim
Compar'd, in this my ample orb, to him.
Draw in your feeble fires, while that he
Appears but in his meaner majesty.
Where, if such glory flashes from his name,
Which is his shade, who can abide his flame!
_Princes, and such like public lights as these,
Must not be look'd on but at distances:
For, if we gaze on these brave lamps too near,
Our eyes they'll blind, or if not blind, they'll blear. _

_Immensive_, immeasurable.


686. THE FUNERAL RITES OF THE ROSE.

The rose was sick, and smiling died;
And, being to be sanctified,
About the bed there sighing stood
The sweet and flowery sisterhood.
Some hung the head, while some did bring,
To wash her, water from the spring.
Some laid her forth, while others wept,
But all a solemn fast there kept.
The holy sisters, some among,
The sacred dirge and trentall sung.
But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere,
As heaven had spent all perfumes there.
At last, when prayers for the dead
And rites were all accomplished,
They, weeping, spread a lawny loom
And clos'd her up, as in a tomb.

_Trentall_, a service for the dead.


687. THE RAINBOW, OR CURIOUS COVENANT.

Mine eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain;
And as they thus did entertain
The gentle beams from Julia's sight
To mine eyes levell'd opposite,
O thing admir'd! there did appear
A curious rainbow smiling there;
Which was the covenant that she
No more would drown mine eyes or me.


688. THE LAST STROKE STRIKES SURE.

Though by well warding many blows we've pass'd,
_That stroke most fear'd is which is struck the last_.


689. FORTUNE.

Fortune's a blind profuser of her own,
Too much she gives to some, enough to none.


690. STOOL-BALL.

At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play
For sugar-cakes and wine:
Or for a tansy let us pay,
The loss, or thine, or mine.

If thou, my dear, a winner be
At trundling of the ball,
The wager thou shall have, and me,
And my misfortunes all.

But if, my sweetest, I shall get,
Then I desire but this:
That likewise I may pay the bet
And have for all a kiss.

_Stool-ball_, a game of ball played by girls.
_Tansy_, a cake made of eggs, cream, and herbs.


691. TO SAPPHO.

Let us now take time and play,
Love, and live here while we may;
Drink rich wine, and make good cheer,
While we have our being here;
For once dead and laid i' th' grave,
No return from thence we have.


692. ON POET PRAT. EPIG.

Prat he writes satires, but herein's the fault,
In no one satire there's a mite of salt.


693. UPON TUCK. EPIG.

At post and pair, or slam, Tom Tuck would play
This Christmas, but his want wherewith says nay.

_Post and pair, or slam_, old games of cards. Ben Jonson calls the
former a "thrifty and right worshipful game".


694. BITING OF BEGGARS.

Who, railing, drives the lazar from his door,
Instead of alms, sets dogs upon the poor.


695. THE MAY-POLE.

The May-pole is up!
Now give me the cup,
I'll drink to the garlands around it;
But first unto those
Whose hands did compose
The glory of flowers that crown'd it.

A health to my girls,
Whose husbands may earls
Or lords be, granting my wishes,
And when that ye wed
To the bridal bed,
Then multiply all like to fishes.


696. MEN MIND NO STATE IN SICKNESS.

That flow of gallants which approach
To kiss thy hand from out the coach;
That fleet of lackeys which do run
Before thy swift postillion;
Those strong-hoof'd mules which we behold
Rein'd in with purple, pearl, and gold,
And shod with silver, prove to be
The drawers of the axletree.
Thy wife, thy children, and the state
Of Persian looms and antique plate;
All these, and more, shall then afford
No joy to thee, their sickly lord.


697. ADVERSITY.

Adversity hurts none, but only such
Whom whitest fortune dandled has too much.


698. WANT.

Need is no vice at all, though here it be
With men a loathed inconveniency.


699. GRIEF.

Sorrows divided amongst many, less
Discruciate a man in deep distress.

_Discruciate_, torture.


700. LOVE PALPABLE.

I press'd my Julia's lips, and in the kiss
Her soul and love were palpable in this.


701. NO ACTION HARD TO AFFECTION.

Nothing hard or harsh can prove
Unto those that truly love.


702. MEAN THINGS OVERCOME MIGHTY.

By the weak'st means things mighty are o'erthrown.
_He's lord of thy life who contemns his own_.


705. THE BRACELET OF PEARL: TO SILVIA.
I brake thy bracelet 'gainst my will,
And, wretched, I did see
Thee discomposed then, and still
Art discontent with me.

One gem was lost, and I will get
A richer pearl for thee,
Than ever, dearest Silvia, yet
Was drunk to Antony.

Or, for revenge, I'll tell thee what
Thou for the breach shall do;
First crack the strings, and after that
Cleave thou my heart in two.


706. HOW ROSES CAME RED.

'Tis said, as Cupid danc'd among
The gods he down the nectar flung,
Which on the white rose being shed
Made it for ever after red.


707. KINGS.

Men are not born kings, but are men renown'd;
Chose first, confirm'd next, and at last are crown'd.


708. FIRST WORK, AND THEN WAGES.

Preposterous is that order, when we run
To ask our wages ere our work be done.

_Preposterous_, lit. hind part before.


709. TEARS AND LAUGHTER.

Knew'st thou one month would take thy life away,
Thou'dst weep; but laugh, should it not last a day.


710. GLORY.

Glory no other thing is, Tully says,
Than a man's frequent fame spoke out with praise.


711. POSSESSIONS.

Those possessions short-liv'd are,
Into the which we come by war.


713. HIS RETURN TO LONDON.

From the dull confines of the drooping West
To see the day spring from the pregnant East,
Ravish'd in spirit I come, nay, more, I fly
To thee, bless'd place of my nativity!
Thus, thus with hallowed foot I touch the ground,
With thousand blessings by thy fortune crown'd.
O fruitful Genius! that bestowest here
An everlasting plenty, year by year.
O place! O people! Manners! fram'd to please
All nations, customs, kindreds, languages!
I am a free-born Roman; suffer, then,
That I amongst you live a citizen.
London my home is: though by hard fate sent
Into a long and irksome banishment;
Yet since call'd back; henceforward let me be,
O native country, repossess'd by thee!
For, rather than I'll to the West return,
I'll beg of thee first here to have mine urn.
Weak I am grown, and must in short time fall;
Give thou my sacred relics burial.


714. NOT EVERY DAY FIT FOR VERSE.

'Tis not ev'ry day that I
Fitted am to prophesy;
No; but when the spirit fills
The fantastic pannicles
Full of fire, then I write
As the godhead doth indite.
Thus enrag'd, my lines are hurled,
Like the Sybil's, through the world.
Look how next the holy fire
Either slakes, or doth retire;
So the fancy cools, till when
That brave spirit comes again.

_Fantastic pannicles_, brain cells of the imagination.
_Sybil's_, the oracles of the Cumæan Sybil were written on leaves,
which the wind blew about her cave. --Virg. Æn. iv.


715. POVERTY THE GREATEST PACK.

To mortal men great loads allotted be,
_But of all packs, no pack like poverty_.


716. A BUCOLIC, OR DISCOURSE OF NEATHERDS.

1. Come, blitheful neatherds, let us lay
A wager who the best shall play,
Of thee or I, the roundelay
That fits the business of the day.

_Chor. _ And Lalage the judge shall be,
To give the prize to thee, or me.

2. Content, begin, and I will bet
A heifer smooth, and black as jet,
In every part alike complete,
And wanton as a kid as yet.

_Chor. _ And Lalage, with cow-like eyes,
Shall be disposeress of the prize.

1. Against thy heifer, I will here
Lay to thy stake a lusty steer
With gilded horns, and burnish'd clear.

_Chor. _ Why, then, begin, and let us hear
The soft, the sweet, the mellow note
That gently purls from either's oat.

2. The stakes are laid: let's now apply
Each one to make his melody.

_Lal. _ The equal umpire shall be I,
Who'll hear, and so judge righteously.

_Chor. _ Much time is spent in prate; begin,
And sooner play, the sooner win.

[_1 Neatherd plays_

2. That's sweetly touch'd, I must confess,
Thou art a man of worthiness;
But hark how I can now express
My love unto my neatherdess. [_He sings_

_Chor. _ A sugar'd note! and sound as sweet
As kine when they at milking meet.

1. Now for to win thy heifer fair,
I'll strike thee such a nimble air
That thou shalt say thyself 'tis rare,
And title me without compare.

_Chor. _ Lay by a while your pipes, and rest,
Since both have here deserved best.

2. To get thy steerling, once again
I'll play thee such another strain
That thou shalt swear my pipe does reign
Over thine oat as sovereign. [_He sings_

_Chor. _ And Lalage shall tell by this,
Whose now the prize and wager is.

1. Give me the prize. 2. The day is mine.
1. Not so; my pipe has silenc'd thine:
And hadst thou wager'd twenty kine,
They were mine own. _Lal. _ In love combine.

_Chor. _ And lay ye down your pipes together,
As weary, not o'ercome by either.

_And lay_ ye _down your pipes_. The original edition reads _And lay_
we _down_ our _pipes_.


717. TRUE SAFETY.

'Tis not the walls or purple that defends
A prince from foes, but 'tis his fort of friends.


718. A PROGNOSTIC.

As many laws and lawyers do express
Nought but a kingdom's ill-affectedness;
Even so, those streets and houses do but show
Store of diseases where physicians flow.


719. UPON JULIA'S SWEAT.

Would ye oil of blossoms get?
Take it from my Julia's sweat:
Oil of lilies and of spike?
From her moisture take the like.
Let her breathe, or let her blow,
All rich spices thence will flow.

_Spike_, lavender.


720. PROOF TO NO PURPOSE.

You see this gentle stream that glides,
Shov'd on by quick-succeeding tides;
Try if this sober stream you can
Follow to th' wilder ocean;
And see if there it keeps unspent
In that congesting element.
Next, from that world of waters, then
By pores and caverns back again
Induct that inadult'rate same
Stream to the spring from whence it came.
This with a wonder when ye do,
As easy, and else easier too,
Then may ye recollect the grains
Of my particular remains,
After a thousand lusters hurl'd
By ruffling winds about the world.


721. FAME.

_'Tis still observ'd that fame ne'er sings
The order, but the sum of things. _


722. BY USE COMES EASINESS.

Oft bend the bow, and thou with ease shalt do
What others can't with all their strength put to.


723. TO THE GENIUS OF HIS HOUSE.

Command the roof, great Genius, and from thence
Into this house pour down thy influence,
That through each room a golden pipe may run
Of living water by thy benison.
Fulfill the larders, and with strengthening bread
Be evermore these bins replenished.
Next, like a bishop consecrate my ground,
That lucky fairies here may dance their round;
And after that, lay down some silver pence
The master's charge and care to recompense.
Charm then the chambers, make the beds for ease,
More than for peevish, pining sicknesses.
Fix the foundation fast, and let the roof
Grow old with time but yet keep weather-proof.


724. HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH.

Though clock,
To tell how night draws hence, I've none,
A cock
I have to sing how day draws on.
I have
A maid, my Prew, by good luck sent
To save
That little Fates me gave or lent.
A hen
I keep, which creeking day by day,
Tells when
She goes her long white egg to lay.
A goose
I have, which with a jealous ear
Lets loose
Her tongue to tell that danger's near.
A lamb
I keep, tame, with my morsels fed,
Whose dam
An orphan left him, lately dead.
A cat
I keep that plays about my house,
Grown fat
With eating many a miching mouse.
To these
A Tracy[A] I do keep whereby
I please
The more my rural privacy;
Which are
But toys to give my heart some ease;
Where care
None is, slight things do lightly please.

_My Prew_, Prudence Baldwin.
_Creeking_, clucking.
_Miching_, skulking.

[A] His spaniel. (Note in the original edition. )


725. GOOD PRECEPTS OR COUNSEL.

In all thy need be thou possess'd
Still with a well-prepared breast;
Nor let the shackles make thee sad;
Thou canst but have what others had.
And this for comfort thou must know
Times that are ill won't still be so.
Clouds will not ever pour down rain;
_A sullen day will clear again_.
First peals of thunder we must hear,
Then lutes and harps shall stroke the ear.


726. MONEY MAKES THE MIRTH.

When all birds else do of their music fail,
Money's the still sweet-singing nightingale.


727. UP TAILS ALL.

Begin with a kiss,
Go on too with this;
And thus, thus, thus let us smother
Our lips for awhile,
But let's not beguile
Our hope of one for the other.

This play, be assur'd,
Long enough has endur'd,
Since more and more is exacted;
For Love he doth call
For his _uptails all_;
And that's the part to be acted.

_Uptails all_, the refrain of a song beginning "Fly Merry News": see
Note.


729. UPON LUCIA DABBLED IN THE DEW.

My Lucia in the dew did go,
And prettily bedabbled so,
Her clothes held up, she showed withal
Her decent legs, clean, long, and small.
I follow'd after to descry
Part of the nak'd sincerity;
But still the envious scene between
Denied the mask I would have seen.

_Decent_, in the Latin sense, comely; _sincerity_, purity.
_Scene_, a curtain or "drop-scene".
_Mask_, a play.


730. CHARON AND PHILOMEL; A DIALOGUE SUNG.

_Ph. _ Charon! O gentle Charon! let me woo thee
By tears and pity now to come unto me.
_Ch. _ What voice so sweet and charming do I hear?
Say what thou art. _Ph. _ I prithee first draw near.
_Ch. _ A sound I hear, but nothing yet can see;
Speak, where thou art. _Ph. _ O Charon pity me!
I am a bird, and though no name I tell,
My warbling note will say I'm Philomel.
_Ch. _ What's that to me? I waft nor fish or fowls,
Nor beasts, fond thing, but only human souls.
_Ph. _ Alas for me! _Ch. _ Shame on thy witching note
That made me thus hoist sail and bring my boat:
But I'll return; what mischief brought thee hither?
_Ph. _ A deal of love and much, much grief together.
_Ch. _ What's thy request? _Ph. _ That since she's now beneath
Who fed my life, I'll follow her in death.
_Ch. _ And is that all? I'm gone. _Ph. _ By love I pray thee.
_Ch. _ Talk not of love; all pray, but few souls pay me.
_Ph. _ I'll give thee vows and tears. _Ch. _ Can tears pay scores
For mending sails, for patching boat and oars?