No More Learning

TO MEADOWS.

Ye have been fresh and green,
Ye have been fill'd with flowers,
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours.
You have beheld how they
With wicker arks did come
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.

Y'ave heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round:
Each virgin like a spring,
With honeysuckles crown'd.

But now we see none here
Whose silvery feet did tread,
And with dishevell'd hair
Adorn'd this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock and needy grown,
Y'are left here to lament
Your poor estates, alone.

_Round_, a rustic dance.


275. CROSSES.

Though good things answer many good intents,
_Crosses do still bring forth the best events_.


276. MISERIES.

Though hourly comforts from the gods we see,
_No life is yet life-proof from misery_.


278. TO HIS HOUSEHOLD GODS.

Rise, household gods, and let us go;
But whither I myself not know.
First, let us dwell on rudest seas;
Next, with severest savages;
Last, let us make our best abode
Where human foot as yet ne'er trod:
Search worlds of ice, and rather there
Dwell than in loathed Devonshire.


279. TO THE NIGHTINGALE AND ROBIN REDBREAST.

When I departed am, ring thou my knell,
Thou pitiful and pretty Philomel:
And when I'm laid out for a corse, then be
Thou sexton, redbreast, for to cover me.


280. TO THE YEW AND CYPRESS TO GRACE HIS FUNERAL.

Both you two have
Relation to the grave:
And where
The funeral-trump sounds, you are there,

I shall be made,
Ere long, a fleeting shade:
Pray, come
And do some honour to my tomb.

Do not deny
My last request; for I
Will be
Thankful to you, or friends, for me.


281. I CALL AND I CALL.

I call, I call: who do ye call?
The maids to catch this cowslip ball:
But since these cowslips fading be,
Troth, leave the flowers, and, maids, take me.
Yet, if that neither you will do,
Speak but the word and I'll take you.


282. ON A PERFUMED LADY.

You say you're sweet; how should we know
Whether that you be sweet or no?
From powders and perfumes keep free,
Then we shall smell how sweet you be.


283. A NUPTIAL SONG OR EPITHALAMY ON SIR CLIPSEBY CREW AND HIS LADY.

What's that we see from far? the spring of day
Bloom'd from the east, or fair enjewell'd May
Blown out of April, or some new
Star filled with glory to our view,
Reaching at heaven,
To add a nobler planet to the seven?
Say, or do we not descry
Some goddess in a cloud of tiffany
To move, or rather the
Emergent Venus from the sea?

'Tis she! 'tis she! or else some more divine
Enlightened substance; mark how from the shrine
Of holy saints she paces on,
Treading upon vermilion
And amber: spic-
ing the chaft air with fumes of Paradise.
Then come on, come on and yield
A savour like unto a blessed field
When the bedabbled morn
Washes the golden ears of corn.

See where she comes; and smell how all the street
Breathes vineyards and pomegranates: O how sweet!
As a fir'd altar is each stone,
Perspiring pounded cinnamon.
The phœnix' nest,
Built up of odours, burneth in her breast.
Who, therein, would not consume
His soul to ash-heaps in that rich perfume?
Bestroking fate the while
He burns to embers on the pile.

Hymen, O Hymen! tread the sacred ground;
Show thy white feet and head with marjoram crown'd:
Mount up thy flames and let thy torch
Display the bridegroom in the porch,
In his desires
More towering, more disparkling than thy fires:
Show her how his eyes do turn
And roll about, and in their motions burn
Their balls to cinders: haste
Or else to ashes he will waste.

Glide by the banks of virgins, then, and pass
The showers of roses, lucky four-leav'd grass:
The while the cloud of younglings sing
And drown ye with a flowery spring;
While some repeat
Your praise and bless you, sprinkling you with wheat;
While that others do divine,
_Bless'd is the bride on whom the sun doth shine_;
And thousands gladly wish
You multiply as doth a fish.

And, beauteous bride, we do confess y'are wise
In dealing forth these bashful jealousies:
In love's name do so; and a price
Set on yourself by being nice:
But yet take heed;
What now you seem be not the same indeed,
And turn apostate: love will,
Part of the way be met or sit stone-still.
On, then, and though you slow-
ly go, yet, howsoever, go.

And now y'are entered; see the coddled cook
Runs from his torrid zone to pry and look
And bless his dainty mistress: see
The aged point out, "This is she
Who now must sway
The house (love shield her) with her yea and nay":
And the smirk butler thinks it
Sin in's napery not to express his wit;
Each striving to devise
Some gin wherewith to catch your eyes.

To bed, to bed, kind turtles, now, and write
This the short'st day, and this the longest night;
But yet too short for you: 'tis we
Who count this night as long as three,
Lying alone,
Telling the clock strike ten, eleven, twelve, one.
Quickly, quickly then prepare,
And let the young men and the bride-maids share
Your garters; and their joints
Encircle with the bridegroom's points.

By the bride's eyes, and by the teeming life
Of her green hopes, we charge ye that no strife
(Farther than gentleness tends) gets place
Among ye, striving for her lace:
O do not fall
Foul in these noble pastimes, lest ye call
Discord in, and so divide
The youthful bridegroom and the fragrant bride:
Which love forfend; but spoken
Be't to your praise, no peace was broken.

Strip her of springtime, tender-whimpering maids,
Now autumn's come, when all these flowery aids
Of her delays must end; dispose
That lady-smock, that pansy, and that rose
Neatly apart,
But for prick-madam and for gentle-heart,
And soft maidens'-blush, the bride
Makes holy these, all others lay aside:
Then strip her, or unto her
Let him come who dares undo her.

And to enchant ye more, see everywhere
About the roof a siren in a sphere,
As we think, singing to the din
Of many a warbling cherubin.
O mark ye how
The soul of nature melts in numbers: now
See, a thousand Cupids fly
To light their tapers at the bride's bright eye.
To bed, or her they'll tire,
Were she an element of fire.

And to your more bewitching, see, the proud
Plump bed bear up, and swelling like a cloud,
Tempting the two too modest; can
Ye see it brusle like a swan,
And you be cold
To meet it when it woos and seems to fold
The arms to hug it? Throw, throw
Yourselves into the mighty overflow
Of that white pride, and drown
The night with you in floods of down.

The bed is ready, and the maze of love
Looks for the treaders; everywhere is wove
Wit and new mystery; read, and
Put in practice, to understand
And know each wile,
Each hieroglyphic of a kiss or smile;
And do it to the full; reach
High in your own conceit, and some way teach
Nature and art one more
Play than they ever knew before.

If needs we must for ceremony's sake,
Bless a sack-posset, luck go with it, take
The night-charm quickly, you have spells
And magics for to end, and hells
To pass; but such
And of such torture as no one would grutch
To live therein for ever: fry
And consume, and grow again to die
And live, and, in that case,
Love the confusion of the place.

But since it must be done, despatch, and sew
Up in a sheet your bride, and what if so
It be with rock or walls of brass
Ye tower her up, as Danae was;
Think you that this
Or hell itself a powerful bulwark is?
I tell ye no; but like a
Bold bolt of thunder he will make his way,
And rend the cloud, and throw
The sheet about like flakes of snow.

All now is hushed in silence: midwife-moon
With all her owl-eyed issue begs a boon,
Which you must grant; that's entrance; with
Which extract, all we can call pith
And quintessence
Of planetary bodies, so commence,
All fair constellations
Looking upon ye, that two nations,
Springing from two such fires
May blaze the virtue of their sires.

_Tiffany_, gauze.
_More disparkling_, more widespreading.
_Nice_, fastidious.
_Coddled_, lit. boiled.
_Lace_, girdle.
_Brusle_, raise its feathers.
_Grutch_, grumble.


284. THE SILKEN SNAKE.

For sport my Julia threw a lace
Of silk and silver at my face:
Watchet the silk was, and did make
A show as if't had been a snake:
The suddenness did me afright,
But though it scar'd, it did not bite.

_Lace_, a girdle.
_Watchet_, pale blue.


285. UPON HIMSELF.

I am sieve-like, and can hold
Nothing hot or nothing cold.
Put in love, and put in too
Jealousy, and both will through:
Put in fear, and hope, and doubt;
What comes in runs quickly out:
Put in secrecies withal,
Whate'er enters, out it shall:
But if you can stop the sieve,
For mine own part, I'd as lief
Maids should say or virgins sing,
Herrick keeps, as holds nothing.


286. UPON LOVE.

Love's a thing, as I do hear,
Ever full of pensive fear;
Rather than to which I'll fall,
Trust me, I'll not like at all.
If to love I should intend,
Let my hair then stand an end:
And that terror likewise prove
Fatal to me in my love.
But if horror cannot slake
Flames which would an entrance make
Then the next thing I desire
Is, to love and live i' th' fire.

_An end_, on end.


287. REVERENCE TO RICHES.

Like to the income must be our expense;
_Man's fortune must be had in reverence_.


288. DEVOTION MAKES THE DEITY.

_Who forms a godhead out of gold or stone
Makes not a god, but he that prays to one. _


289. TO ALL YOUNG MEN THAT LOVE.

I could wish you all who love,
That ye could your thoughts remove
From your mistresses, and be
Wisely wanton, like to me,
I could wish you dispossessed
Of that _fiend that mars your rest_,
And with tapers comes to fright
Your weak senses in the night.
I could wish ye all who fry
Cold as ice, or cool as I;
But if flames best like ye, then,
Much good do 't ye, gentlemen.
I a merry heart will keep,
While you wring your hands and weep.


290. THE EYES.

'Tis a known principle in war,
The eyes be first that conquered are.


291. NO FAULT IN WOMEN.

No fault in women to refuse
The offer which they most would choose.
No fault in women to confess
How tedious they are in their dress.
No fault in women to lay on
The tincture of vermilion:
And there to give the cheek a dye
Of white, where nature doth deny.
No fault in women to make show
Of largeness when they're nothing so:
(When true it is the outside swells
With inward buckram, little else).
No fault in women, though they be
But seldom from suspicion free.
No fault in womankind at all
If they but slip and never fall.


293. OBERON'S FEAST.

_Shapcot! to thee the fairy state
I, with discretion, dedicate.
Because thou prizest things that are
Curious and unfamiliar.
Take first the feast; these dishes gone,
We'll see the Fairy Court anon. _

A little mushroom table spread,
After short prayers, they set on bread;
A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat,
With some small glittering grit to eat
His choice bits with; then in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all this while his eye is serv'd,
We must not think his ear was sterv'd;
But that there was in place to stir
His spleen, the chirring grasshopper,
The merry cricket, puling fly,
The piping gnat for minstrelsy.
And now we must imagine first,
The elves present, to quench his thirst,
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew
Brought and besweetened in a blue
And pregnant violet, which done,
His kitling eyes begin to run
Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery butterflies:
Of which he eats, and tastes a little
Of that we call the cuckoo's spittle.
A little fuzz-ball pudding stands
By, yet not blessed by his hands;
That was too coarse: but then forthwith
He ventures boldly on the pith
Of sugar'd rush, and eats the sagg
And well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag:
Gladding his palate with some store
Of emmets' eggs; what would he more?
But beards of mice, a newt's stewed thigh,
A bloated earwig and a fly;
With the red-capp'd worm that's shut
Within the concave of a nut,
Brown as his tooth. A little moth
Late fatten'd in a piece of cloth:
With withered cherries, mandrakes' ears,
Moles' eyes; to these the slain stag's tears
The unctuous dewlaps of a snail,
The broke-heart of a nightingale
O'ercome in music; with a wine
Ne'er ravish'd from the flattering vine,
But gently press'd from the soft side
Of the most sweet and dainty bride,
Brought in a dainty daisy, which
He fully quaffs up to bewitch
His blood to height; this done, commended
Grace by his priest; _the feast is ended_.

_Sagg_, laden.
_Bestrutted_, swollen.


294. EVENT OF THINGS NOT IN OUR POWER.

By time and counsel do the best we can,
Th' event is never in the power of man.


295. UPON HER BLUSH.

When Julia blushes she does show
Cheeks like to roses when they blow.


296. MERITS MAKE THE MAN.

Our honours and our commendations be
Due to the merits, not authority.


297. TO VIRGINS.

Hear, ye virgins, and I'll teach
What the times of old did preach.
Rosamond was in a bower
Kept, as Danae in a tower:
But yet Love, who subtle is,
Crept to that, and came to this.
Be ye lock'd up like to these,
Or the rich Hesperides,
Or those babies in your eyes,
In their crystal nunneries;
Notwithstanding Love will win,
Or else force a passage in:
And as coy be as you can,
Gifts will get ye, or the man.

_Babies in your eyes_, see Note to p. 17.


298. VIRTUE.

Each must in virtue strive for to excel;
_That man lives twice that lives the first life well_.


299. THE BELLMAN.

From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,
From murders _Benedicite_.
From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night,
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye while ye sleep.
Past one o'clock, and almost two!
My masters all, good-day to you.

_Scare-fires_, alarms of fire.


300. BASHFULNESS.

Of all our parts, the eyes express
The sweetest kind of bashfulness.


301. TO THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED GENTLEMAN, MASTER EDWARD NORGATE, CLERK OF
THE SIGNET TO HIS MAJESTY. EPIG.

For one so rarely tun'd to fit all parts,
For one to whom espous'd are all the arts,
Long have I sought for, but could never see
Them all concentr'd in one man, but thee.
Thus, thou that man art whom the fates conspir'd
To make but one, and that's thyself, admir'd.


302. UPON PRUDENCE BALDWIN: HER SICKNESS.

Prue, my dearest maid, is sick,
Almost to be lunatic:
Æsculapius! come and bring
Means for her recovering;
And a gallant cock shall be
Offer'd up by her to thee.

_Cock_, the traditional offering to Æsculapius; cp. the last words of
Socrates; cp. Ben Jonson, Epig. xiii.


303. TO APOLLO. A SHORT HYMN.

Phœbus! when that I a verse
Or some numbers more rehearse,
Tune my words that they may fall
Each way smoothly musical:
For which favour there shall be
Swans devoted unto thee.


304. A HYMN TO BACCHUS.

Bacchus, let me drink no more;
Wild are seas that want a shore.
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up, for to please
Thee, that great cup Hercules:
Urge no more, and there shall be
Daffodils given up to thee.


306. ON HIMSELF.

Here down my wearied limbs I'll lay;
My pilgrim's staff, my weed of gray,
My palmer's hat, my scallop's shell,
My cross, my cord, and all, farewell.
For having now my journey done,
Just at the setting of the sun,
Here I have found a chamber fit,
God and good friends be thanked for it,
Where if I can a lodger be,
A little while from tramplers free,
At my up-rising next I shall,
If not requite, yet thank ye all.
Meanwhile, the holy-rood hence fright
The fouler fiend and evil sprite
From scaring you or yours this night.


307. CASUALTIES.

Good things that come of course, far less do please
Than those which come by sweet contingencies.


308. BRIBES AND GIFTS GET ALL.

Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute;
But let that speak, the client gets the suit.


309. THE END.

If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right;
_It is the end that crowns us, not the fight_.


310. UPON A CHILD THAT DIED.

Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood:
Who as soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.


312. CONTENT, NOT CATES.

'Tis not the food, but the content
That makes the table's merriment.
Where trouble serves the board, we eat
The platters there as soon as meat.
A little pipkin with a bit
Of mutton or of veal in it,
Set on my table, trouble-free,
More than a feast contenteth me.


313. THE ENTERTAINMENT; OR, PORCH-VERSE, AT THE MARRIAGE OF MR. HENRY
NORTHLY AND THE MOST WITTY MRS. LETTICE YARD.

Welcome! but yet no entrance, till we bless
First you, then you, and both for white success.
Profane no porch, young man and maid, for fear
Ye wrong the Threshold-god that keeps peace here:
Please him, and then all good-luck will betide
You, the brisk bridegroom, you, the dainty bride.
Do all things sweetly, and in comely wise;
Put on your garlands first, then sacrifice:
That done, when both of you have seemly fed,
We'll call on Night, to bring ye both to bed:
Where, being laid, all fair signs looking on,
Fish-like, increase then to a million;
And millions of spring-times may ye have,
Which spent, one death bring to ye both one grave.


314. THE GOOD-NIGHT OR BLESSING.

Blessings in abundance come
To the bride and to her groom;
May the bed and this short night
Know the fulness of delight!
Pleasures many here attend ye,
And, ere long, a boy Love send ye
Curled and comely, and so trim,
Maids, in time, may ravish him.
Thus a dew of graces fall
On ye both; good-night to all.


316. TO DAFFODILS.

Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the evensong;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die,
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.


318. UPON A LADY THAT DIED IN CHILD-BED, AND LEFT A DAUGHTER BEHIND HER.

As gilliflowers do but stay
To blow, and seed, and so away;
So you, sweet lady, sweet as May,
The garden's glory, lived a while
To lend the world your scent and smile.
But when your own fair print was set
Once in a virgin flosculet,
Sweet as yourself, and newly blown,
To give that life, resigned your own:
But so as still the mother's power
Lives in the pretty lady-flower.


319. A NEW-YEAR'S GIFT SENT TO SIR SIMON STEWARD.

No news of navies burnt at seas;
No noise of late-spawn'd tittyries;
No closet plot, or open vent,
That frights men with a parliament;
No new device or late-found trick
To read by the stars the kingdom's sick;
No gin to catch the state, or wring
The freeborn nostril of the king,
We send to you; but here a jolly
Verse, crown'd with ivy and with holly,
That tells of winter's tales and mirth,
That milkmaids make about the hearth,
Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,
That['s] tost up, after fox-i'-th'-hole;
Of blind-man-buff, and of the care
That young men have to shoe the mare;
Of Twelfth-tide cakes, of peas and beans,
Wherewith you make those merry scenes,
Whenas ye choose your king and queen,
And cry out: _Hey, for our town green_;
Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use
Husbands and wives by streaks to choose;
Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds
A plenteous harvest to your grounds:
Of these and such-like things for shift,
We send instead of New-Year's gift.
Read then, and when your faces shine
With buxom meat and cap'ring wine,
Remember us in cups full crown'd,
And let our city-health go round,
Quite through the young maids and the men,
To the ninth number, if not ten;
Until the fired chesnuts leap
For joy to see the fruits ye reap
From the plump chalice and the cup,
That tempts till it be tossed up;
Then as ye sit about your embers,
Call not to mind those fled Decembers,
But think on these that are t' appear
As daughters to the instant year:
Sit crown'd with rosebuds, and carouse
Till Liber Pater twirls the house
About your ears; and lay upon
The year your cares that's fled and gone.
And let the russet swains the plough
And harrow hang up, resting now;
And to the bagpipe all address,
Till sleep takes place of weariness.
And thus, throughout, with Christmas plays
Frolic the full twelve holidays.

_Tittyries_, _i. e. _, the Tityre-tues; see Note.
_Fox-i'-th'-hole_, a game of hopping.
_To shoe the mare_, or, shoe the wild mare, a Christmas game.
_Buxom_, tender.
_Liber Pater_, Father Bacchus.


320. MATINS; OR, MORNING PRAYER.

When with the virgin morning thou dost rise,
Crossing thyself, come thus to sacrifice;
First wash thy heart in innocence, then bring
Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure everything.
Next to the altar humbly kneel, and thence
Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense.
Thy golden censers, fill'd with odours sweet,
Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet.


321. EVENSONG.

Begin with Jove; then is the work half done,
And runs most smoothly when 'tis well begun.
Jove's is the first and last: the morn's his due,
The midst is thine; but Jove's the evening too;
As sure a matins does to him belong,
So sure he lays claim to the evensong.


322. THE BRACELET TO JULIA.

Why I tie about thy wrist,
Julia, this my silken twist;
For what other reason is't,
But to show thee how, in part,
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bondslave is my heart;
'Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Knap the thread and thou art free:
But 'tis otherwise with me;
I am bound, and fast bound, so
That from thee I cannot go;
If I could, I would not so.


323. THE CHRISTIAN MILITANT.

A man prepar'd against all ills to come,
That dares to dead the fire of martyrdom;
That sleeps at home, and sailing there at ease,
Fears not the fierce sedition of the seas;
That's counter-proof against the farm's mishaps,
Undreadful too of courtly thunderclaps;
That wears one face, like heaven, and never shows
A change when fortune either comes or goes;
That keeps his own strong guard in the despite
Of what can hurt by day or harm by night;
That takes and re-delivers every stroke
Of chance (as made up all of rock and oak);
That sighs at others' death, smiles at his own
Most dire and horrid crucifixion.
Who for true glory suffers thus, we grant
Him to be here our Christian militant.


324. A SHORT HYMN TO LAR.

Though I cannot give thee fires
Glittering to my free desires;
These accept, and I'll be free,
Offering poppy unto thee.


325. ANOTHER TO NEPTUNE.

Mighty Neptune, may it please
Thee, the rector of the seas,
That my barque may safely run
Through thy watery region;
And a tunny-fish shall be
Offered up with thanks to thee.


327. HIS EMBALMING TO JULIA.

For my embalming, Julia, do but this;
Give thou my lips but their supremest kiss,
Or else transfuse thy breath into the chest
Where my small relics must for ever rest;
That breath the balm, the myrrh, the nard shall be,
To give an incorruption unto me.


328. GOLD BEFORE GOODNESS.

How rich a man is all desire to know;
But none inquires if good he be or no.


329. THE KISS. A DIALOGUE.

1. Among thy fancies tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kiss?
2. I shall resolve ye what it is.

It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips (all cherry-red),
By love and warm desires fed.
_Chor. _ And makes more soft the bridal bed.

2. It is an active flame that flies,
First, to the babies of the eyes;
And charms them there with lullabies.
_Chor. _ And stills the bride, too, when she cries.

2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,
It frisks and flies, now here, now there,
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near.
_Chor. _ And here and there and everywhere.

1. Has it a speaking virtue? 2. Yes.
1. How speaks it, say? 2. Do you but this;
Part your joined lips, then speaks your kiss
_Chor. _ And this love's sweetest language is.

1. Has it a body? 2. Aye, and wings
With thousand rare encolourings;
And, as it flies, it gently sings,
_Chor. _ Love honey yields, but never stings.


330. THE ADMONITION.

Seest thou those diamonds which she wears
In that rich carcanet;
Or those, on her dishevell'd hairs,
Fair pearls in order set?
Believe, young man, all those were tears
By wretched wooers sent,
In mournful hyacinths and rue,
That figure discontent;
Which when not warmed by her view,
By cold neglect, each one
Congeal'd to pearl and stone;
Which precious spoils upon her
She wears as trophies of her honour.
Ah then, consider, what all this implies:
She that will wear thy tears would wear thine eyes.

_Carcanet_, necklace.


331. TO HIS HONOURED KINSMAN, SIR WILLIAM SOAME. EPIG.

I can but name thee, and methinks I call
All that have been, or are canonical
For love and bounty to come near, and see
Their many virtues volum'd up in thee;
In thee, brave man! whose incorrupted fame
Casts forth a light like to a virgin flame;
And as it shines it throws a scent about,
As when a rainbow in perfumes goes out.
So vanish hence, but leave a name as sweet
As benjamin and storax when they meet.

_Benjamin_, gum benzoin.
_Storax_ or _Styrax_, another resinous gum.


332. ON HIMSELF.

Ask me why I do not sing
To the tension of the string
As I did not long ago,
When my numbers full did flow?
Grief, ay, me! hath struck my lute
And my tongue, at one time, mute.


333. TO LAR.

No more shall I, since I am driven hence,
Devote to thee my grains of frankincense;
No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down,
To honour thee, my little parsley crown;
No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bring
My chives of garlic for an offering;
No more shall I from henceforth hear a choir
Of merry crickets by my country fire.
Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here,
Warm by a glitt'ring chimney all the year.

_Chives_, shreds.


334. THE DEPARTURE OF THE GOOD DEMON.

What can I do in poetry
Now the good spirit's gone from me?
Why, nothing now but lonely sit
And over-read what I have writ.


335. CLEMENCY.

For punishment in war it will suffice
If the chief author of the faction dies;
Let but few smart, but strike a fear through all;
Where the fault springs there let the judgment fall.


336. HIS AGE, DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, M. JOHN WICKES, UNDER
THE NAME OF POSTHUMUS.

Ah Posthumus! our years hence fly,
And leave no sound; nor piety,
Or prayers, or vow
Can keep the wrinkle from the brow;
But we must on,
As fate does lead or draw us; none,
None, Posthumus, could ere decline
The doom of cruel Proserpine.

The pleasing wife, the house, the ground,
Must all be left, no one plant found
To follow thee,
Save only the curs'd cypress tree;
A merry mind
Looks forward, scorns what's left behind;
Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may,
And here enjoy our holiday.

W'ave seen the past best times, and these
Will ne'er return; we see the seas
And moons to wane
But they fill up their ebbs again;
But vanish'd man,
Like to a lily lost, ne'er can,
Ne'er can repullulate, or bring
His days to see a second spring.

But on we must, and thither tend,
Where Anchus and rich Tullus blend
Their sacred seed:
Thus has infernal Jove decreed;
We must be made,
Ere long a song, ere long a shade.
Why then, since life to us is short,
Let's make it full up by our sport.

Crown we our heads with roses then,
And 'noint with Tyrian balm; for when
We two are dead,
The world with us is buried.
Then live we free
As is the air, and let us be
Our own fair wind, and mark each one
Day with the white and lucky stone.

We are not poor, although we have
No roofs of cedar, nor our brave
Baiæ, nor keep
Account of such a flock of sheep;
Nor bullocks fed
To lard the shambles: barbels bred
To kiss our hands; nor do we wish
For Pollio's lampreys in our dish.

If we can meet and so confer
Both by a shining salt-cellar,
And have our roof,
Although not arch'd, yet weather-proof,
And ceiling free
From that cheap candle bawdery;
We'll eat our bean with that full mirth
As we were lords of all the earth.

Well then, on what seas we are toss'd,
Our comfort is, we can't be lost.
Let the winds drive
Our barque, yet she will keep alive
Amidst the deeps.
'Tis constancy, my Wickes, which keeps
The pinnace up; which, though she errs
I' th' seas, she saves her passengers.

Say, we must part (sweet mercy bless
Us both i' th' sea, camp, wilderness),
Can we so far
Stray to become less circular
Than we are now?
No, no, that self-same heart, that vow
Which made us one, shall ne'er undo,
Or ravel so to make us two.

Live in thy peace; as for myself,
When I am bruised on the shelf
Of time, and show
My locks behung with frost and snow;
When with the rheum,
The cough, the ptisick, I consume
Unto an almost nothing; then
The ages fled I'll call again,

And with a tear compare these last
Lame and bad times with those are past;
While Baucis by,
My old lean wife, shall kiss it dry.
And so we'll sit
By th' fire, foretelling snow and sleet,
And weather by our aches, grown
Now old enough to be our own

True calendars, as puss's ear
Washed o'er's, to tell what change is near:
Then to assuage
The gripings of the chine by age,
I'll call my young
Iülus to sing such a song
I made upon my Julia's breast;
And of her blush at such a feast.

Then shall he read that flower of mine,
Enclos'd within a crystal shrine;
A primrose next;
A piece, then, of a higher text,
For to beget
In me a more transcendent heat
Than that insinuating fire,
Which crept into each aged sire,

When the fair Helen, from her eyes,
Shot forth her loving sorceries;
At which I'll rear
Mine aged limbs above my chair,
And, hearing it,
Flutter and crow as in a fit
Of fresh concupiscence, and cry:
_No lust there's like to poetry_.

Thus, frantic-crazy man, God wot,
I'll call to mind things half-forgot,
And oft between
Repeat the times that I have seen!
Thus ripe with tears,
And twisting my Iülus' hairs,
Doting, I'll weep and say, in truth,
Baucis, these were my sins of youth.

Then next I'll cause my hopeful lad,
If a wild apple can be had,
To crown the hearth,
Lar thus conspiring with our mirth;
Then to infuse
Our browner ale into the cruse,
Which sweetly spic'd, we'll first carouse
Unto the Genius of the house.

Then the next health to friends of mine,
Loving the brave Burgundian wine,
High sons of pith,
Whose fortunes I have frolicked with;
Such as could well
Bear up the magic bough and spell;
And dancing 'bout the mystic thyrse,
Give up the just applause to verse:

To those, and then again to thee,
We'll drink, my Wickes, until we be
Plump as the cherry,
Though not so fresh, yet full as merry
As the cricket,
The untam'd heifer, or the pricket,
Until our tongues shall tell our ears
We're younger by a score of years.

Thus, till we see the fire less shine
From th' embers than the kitling's eyne,
We'll still sit up,
Sphering about the wassail-cup
To all those times
Which gave me honour for my rhymes.
The coal once spent, we'll then to bed,
Far more than night-bewearied.

_Posthumus_, the name is taken from Horace, Ode ii. 14, from which the
beginning of this lyric is translated.
_Repullulate_, be born again.
_Anchus and rich Tullus. _ Herrick is again translating from Horace (Ode
iv. 7, 14).
_Baiæ_, the favourite sea-side resort of the Romans in the time of
Horace.
_Pollio_, Vedius Pollio, who fed his lampreys with human flesh. _Ob_. ,
B. C. 15.
_Bawdery_, dirt (with no moral meaning).
_Circular_, self-sufficing, the "in se ipso totus teres atque rotundus"
of Horace. Sat. ii. 7, 86.
_Iülus_, the son of Æneas.
_Pith_, marrow.
_Thyrse_, bacchic staff.
_Pricket_, a buck in his second year.


337. A SHORT HYMN TO VENUS.

Goddess, I do love a girl,
Ruby-lipp'd and tooth'd with pearl;
If so be I may but prove
Lucky in this maid I love,
I will promise there shall be
Myrtles offer'd up to thee.


338. TO A GENTLEWOMAN ON JUST DEALING.

True to yourself and sheets, you'll have me swear;
You shall, if righteous dealing I find there.
Do not you fall through frailty; I'll be sure
To keep my bond still free from forfeiture.


339. THE HAND AND TONGUE.

Two parts of us successively command:
The tongue in peace; but then in war the hand.


340. UPON A DELAYING LADY.

Come, come away,
Or let me go;
Must I here stay
Because y'are slow,
And will continue so?
Troth, lady, no.

I scorn to be
A slave to state:
And, since I'm free,
I will not wait
Henceforth at such a rate
For needy fate.

If you desire
My spark should glow,
The peeping fire
You must blow,
Or I shall quickly grow
To frost or snow.


341. TO THE LADY MARY VILLARS, GOVERNESS TO THE PRINCESS HENRIETTA.

When I of Villars do but hear the name,
It calls to mind that mighty Buckingham,
Who was your brave exalted uncle here,
Binding the wheel of fortune to his sphere,
Who spurned at envy, and could bring with ease
An end to all his stately purposes.
For his love then, whose sacred relics show
Their resurrection and their growth in you;
And for my sake, who ever did prefer
You above all those sweets of Westminster;
Permit my book to have a free access
To kiss your hand, most dainty governess.


342. UPON HIS JULIA.

Will ye hear what I can say
Briefly of my Julia?
Black and rolling is her eye,
Double-chinn'd and forehead high;
Lips she has all ruby red,
Cheeks like cream enclareted;
And a nose that is the grace
And proscenium of her face.