Robert Herrick

Fill me a mighty bowl Up to the brim, That I may drink

Drink up Your cup, But not spill wine;

LACON:    For a kiss or two, confess, What doth cause this pensiveness, Thou most lovely neat-herdess?

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

Play, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre,

Fly hence, pale care, no more remember Past sorrows with the fled December, But let each pleasant cheek appear

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

If so be a toad be laid In a sheep's-skin newly flay'd, And that tied to man, 'twill sever

Here a little child I stand Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be,

Chorus. What sweeter music can we bring, Than a Carol, for to sing

By those soft tods of wool With which the air is full; By all those tinctures there,

Thrice, and above, blest, my soul's half, art thou, In thy both last and better vow; Could'st leave the city, for exchange, to see

Naught are all women: I say no, Since for one bad, one good I know: For Clytemnestra most unkind,

My dearest Love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee; For love or pity, let me know

Hor.    While, Lydia, I was loved of thee, Nor any was preferred 'fore me To hug thy whitest neck, than I

Hence, hence, profane! soft silence let us have While we this trental sing about thy grave. Had wolves or tigers seen but thee,

Bring me my rosebuds, drawer, come; So, while I thus sit crown'd, I'll drink the aged C'cubum,

For truth I may this sentence tell, No man dies ill, that liveth well.

A Master of a house, as I have read, Must be the first man up, and last in bed. With the sun rising he must walk his grounds;

Bacchus, let me drink no more! Wild are seas that want a shore! When our drinking has no stint,

I sing thy praise, Iacchus, Who with thy thyrse dost thwack us: And yet thou so dost back us

Thou, thou that bear'st the sway, With whom the sea-nymphs play; And Venus, every way:

I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me,

'Twas not love's dart, Or any blow Of want, or foe,

When I love, as some have told Love I shall, when I am old, O ye Graces!    make me fit

It was, and still my care is, To worship ye, the Lares, With crowns of greenest parsley

Honour to you who sit Near to the well of wit, And drink your fill of it!

O you the virgins nine! That do our souls incline To noble discipline!

Sea-born goddess, let me be By thy son thus graced, and thee, That whene'er I woo, I find

A just man's like a rock that turns the wrath Of all the raging waves into a froth.

That prince who may do nothing but what's just, Rules but by leave, and takes his crown on trust.

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.

While the milder fates consent, Let's enjoy our merriment : Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ;

Though frankincense the deities require, We must not give all to the hallow'd fire. Such be our gifts, and such be our expense,

You are a tulip seen today, But (Dearest) of so short a stay; That where you grew, scarce man can say.

No news of navies burnt at seas; No noise of late spawn'd tittyries; No closet plot or open vent,

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

Spring with the lark, most comely bride, and meet Your eager bridegroom with auspicious feet. The morn's far spent, and the immortal sun

Till I shall come again, let this suffice, I send my salt, my sacrifice To thee, thy lady, younglings, and as far

Is this a life, to break thy sleep, To rise as soon as day doth peep? To tire thy patient ox or ass

MONTANO, SILVIO, AND MIRTILLO, SHEPHERDS MON. Bad are the times. SIL. And worse than they are we. MON. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree:

Mon. Bad are the times. Sil. And worse than they are we. Mon. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit and ill the tree: The feast of shepherds fail. Sil. None crowns the cup

AMIN. Good day, Mirtillo.    MIRT. And to you no less; And all fair signs lead on our shepherdess. AMAR. With all white luck to you.    MIRT. But say,

One man repentant is of more esteem With God, than one that never sinned 'gainst Him.

As many laws and lawyers do express Nought but a kingdom's ill-affectedness; Even so, those streets and houses do but show

Glory be to the Graces! That do in public places Drive thence whate'er encumbers

Ponder my words, if so that any be Known guilty here of incivility; Let what is graceless, discomposed, and rude,

Julia, I bring To thee this Ring. Made for thy finger fit;

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

Goddess, I do love a girl, Ruby-lipp'd and tooth'd with pearl; If so be I may but prove

Come down and dance ye in the toil Of pleasures to a heat; But if to moisture, let the oil

From me my Silvia ran away, And running therewithal A primrose bank did cross her way,

Burn, or drown me, choose ye whether, So I may but die together; Thus to slay me by degrees

Then did I live when I did see Perilla smile on none but me. But, ah! by stars malignant crossed,

A little saint best fits a little shrine, A little prop best fits a little vine: As my small cruse best fits my little wine.

Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell; An little house, whose humble roof

Store of courage to me grant, Now I'm turn'd a combatant; Help me, so that I my shield,

Goddess, I begin an art; Come thou in, with thy best part For to make the texture lie

Happily I had a sight Of my dearest dear last night; Make her this day smile on me,

Happily I had a sight Of my dearest dear last night; Make her this day smile on me,

Although we cannot turn the fervent fit Of sin, we must strive 'gainst the stream of it; And howsoe'er we have the conquest miss'd,

Speak, did the blood of Abel cry To God for vengeance? Yes, say I, Ev'n as the sprinkled blood called on

Against diseases here the strongest fence Is the defensive virtue, abstinence.

If accusation only can draw blood, None shall be guiltless, be he ne'er so good.

Love is maintain'd by wealth; when all is spent, Adversity then breeds the discontent.

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

Still take advice; though counsels, when they fly At random, sometimes hit most happily.

God ne'er afflicts us more than our desert, Though He may seem to overact His part: Sometimes He strikes us more than flesh can bear;

Die ere long, I'm sure, I shall; After leaves, the tree must fall.

Whene'er my heart love's warmth but entertains, Oh frost! oh snow! oh hail! forbid the banes. One drop now deads a spark, but if the same

Maidens tell me I am old; Let me in my glass behold Whether smooth or not I be,

All things decay with time: The forest sees The growth and down-fall of her aged trees; That timber tall, which three-score lustres stood

Adverse and prosperous fortunes both work on Here, for the righteous man's salvation; Be he oppos'd, or be he not withstood,

Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford, Instead of that, a sweet and gentle word: God crowns our goodness wheresoe'er He sees,

Give unto all, lest he, whom thou deni'st, May chance to be no other man but Christ.

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

In ways to greatness, think on this, That slippery all ambition is.

End.    Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why Thy whilom merry oat By thee doth so neglected lie,

Let's be jocund while we may, All things have an ending day; And when once the work is done,

Virgins promised when I died, That they would each primrose-tide Duly, morn and evening, come,

With blameless carriage, I lived here To the almost seven and fortieth year. Stout sons I had, and those twice three

Here a solemn fast we keep, While all beauty lies asleep; Hush'd be all things, no noise here

I. Now, now's the time, so oft by truth Promis'd should come to crown your youth.

Stately goddess, do thou please, Who are chief at marriages, But to dress the bridal bed

I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me,

Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests

Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests

In numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, oh JESU! Thou pretty Baby, born here,

In numbers, and but these few, I sing Thy birth, O JESU! Thou pretty baby, born here,

Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere

Here we securely live, and eat The cream of meat; And keep eternal fires,

Dear God, If Thy smart rod Here did not make me sorry,

Born I was to be old, And for to die here; After that, in the mould

Brisk methinks I am, and fine When I drink my cap'ring wine: Then to love I do incline,

I must Not trust Here to any;

Angels are called gods; yet of them, none Are gods but by participation: As just men are entitled gods, yet none

Wrongs, if neglected, vanish in short time, But heard with anger, we confess the crime.

Another Wassail the trees, that they may bear You many a plum, and many a pear:

Hang up hooks and shears to scare Hence the hag that rides the mare, Till they be all over wet

Here a little child I stand Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be,

Here a little child I stand Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be,

1. Hence, hence profane, and none appear With anything unhallowed here; No jot of leaven must be found

God's said to leave this place, and for to come Nearer to that place than to other some, Of local motion, in no least respect,

No man so well a kingdom rules as he Who hath himself obeyed the sovereignty.

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

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

To house the hag, you must do this: Commix with meal a little piss Of him bewitch'd; then forthwith make

Lord, do not beat me, Since I do sob and cry, And swoon away to die,

Though Thou be'st all that active love Which heats those ravished souls above; And though all joys spring from the glance

If Thou be'st taken, God forbid I fly from Thee, as others did: But if Thou wilt so honour me

Mighty Neptune, may it please Thee, the rector of the seas, That my barque may safely run

Wash your hands, or else the fire Will not tend to your desire; Unwashed hands, ye maidens, know,

She by the river sat, and sitting there, She wept, and made it deeper by a tear.

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,

Wassail the trees, that they may bear You many a plum and many a pear: For more or less fruits they will bring,

The blood of Abel was a thing Of such a rev'rend reckoning, As that the old world thought it fit

In the morning when ye rise, Wash your hands and cleanse your eyes. Next be sure ye have a care

If ye fear to be affrighted When ye are by chance benighted, In your pocket for a trust

The shame of man's face is no more Than prayers repell'd, says Cassiodore.

That there's a God we all do know, But what God is we cannot show.

God is Jehovah call'd: which name of His Implies or Essence, or the He that Is.

Where love begins, there dead thy first desire: A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.

Art thou not destin'd? then with haste go on To make thy fair predestination: If thou can'st change thy life, God then will please

Sin is an act so free, that if we shall Say 'tis not free, 'tis then no sin at all.

Sin is the cause of death; and sin's alone The cause of God's predestination: And from God's prescience of man's sin doth flow

Thou bid'st me come; I cannot come; for why? Thou dwell'st aloft, and I want wings to fly. To mount my soul, she must have pinions given;

Love he that will, it best likes me To have my neck from love's yoke free.

Thou had'st the wreath before, now take the tree, That henceforth none be laurel-crown'd but thee.

As sunbeams pierce the glass, and streaming in, No crack or schism leave i' th' subtle skin: So the Divine Hand worked and brake no thread,

Anthea laugh'd, and, fearing lest excess Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness She with a dainty blush rebuked her face,

E'en all religious courses to be rich Hath been rehers'd by Joel Michelditch: But now perceiving that it still does please

When I behold a forest spread With silken trees upon thy head; And when I see that other dress

Man may at first transgress, but next do well: Vice doth in some but lodge a while, not dwell.

Like those infernal deities which eat The best of all the sacrificed meat; And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:

In this misfortune kings do most excel, To hear the worst from men when they do well.

The strength of baptism that's within, It saves the soul by drowning sin.

We two are last in hell; what may we fear To be tormented or kept pris'ners here Alas!    if kissing be of plagues the worst,

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

Our bastard children are but like to plate Made by the coiners--illegitimate.

Be my mistress short or tall And distorted therewithall Be she likewise one of those

Beauty's no other but a lovely grace Of lively colours flowing from the face.

Jacob God's beggar was; and so we wait, Though ne'er so rich, all beggars at His gate.

Hard are the two first stairs unto a crown: Which got, the third bids him a king come down.

Paul, he began ill, but he ended well; Judas began well, but he foully fell: In godliness not the beginnings so

When age or chance has made me blind, So that the path I cannot find, And when my falls and stumblings are

Fools are they who never know How the times away do go; But for us, who wisely see

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

Among disasters that dissension brings, This not the least is, which belongs to kings: If wars go well, each for a part lays claim;

In battles what disasters fall, The king he bears the blame of all.

To his book's end this last line he'd have placed: Jocund his muse was, but his life was chaste.

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

Man may want land to live in; but for all Nature finds out some place for burial.

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

God is not only merciful to call Men to repent, but when He strikes withal.

Play, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre,

Care keeps the conquest; 'tis no less renown To keep a city than to win a town.

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

Know when to speak; for many times it brings Danger to give the best advice to kings.

Down with the rosemary and bays, Down with the misletoe; Instead of holly, now up-raise

Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas Log to the firing;

Down with the rosemary, and so Down with the bays and misletoe; Down with the holly, ivy, all

All things subjected are to fate; Whom this morn sees most fortunate, The evening sees in poor estate.

What now we like anon we disapprove: The new successor drives away old love.

Bring the holy crust of bread, Lay it underneath the head; 'Tis a certain charm to keep

This I'll tell ye by the way: Maidens, when ye leavens lay, Cross your dough, and your dispatch

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?

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

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come, and buy: If so be you ask me where

Julia and I did lately sit, playing for sport at cherry-pit; She threw; I cast; and, having thrown

Give house-room to the best; 'tis never known Virtue and pleasure both to dwell in one.

Thou gav'st me leave to kiss, Thou gav'st me leave to woo; Thou mad'st me think, by this

Christ never did so great a work but there His human nature did in part appear; Or ne'er so mean a piece but men might see

One birth our Saviour had; the like none yet Was, or will be a second like to it.

Christ took our nature on Him, not that He 'Bove all things loved it for the purity: No, but He dress'd Him with our human trim,

Christ, He requires still, wheresoe'er He comes To feed or lodge, to have the best of rooms: Give Him the choice; grant Him the nobler part

Christ was not sad, i' th' garden, for His own Passion, but for His sheep's dispersion.

Justly our dearest Saviour may abhor us, Who hath more suffered by us far, than for us.

Thy former coming was to cure My soul's most desp'rate calenture; Thy second advent, that must be

Christ, when He hung the dreadful cross upon, Had, as it were, a dereliction In this regard, in those great terrors He

To all our wounds here, whatsoe'er they be, Christ is the one sufficient remedy.

Come guard this night the Christmas-Pie, That the thief, though ne'er so sly, With his flesh-hooks, don't come nigh

Kings must not only cherish up the good, But must be niggards of the meanest blood.

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;

Though from without no foes at all we fear, We shall be wounded by the clothes we wear.

Away with silks, away with lawn, I'll have no scenes or curtains drawn; Give me my mistress as she is,

Those garments lasting evermore, Are works of mercy to the poor, Which neither tettar, time, or moth

He that ascended in a cloud, shall come In clouds descending to the public doom.

We are co-heirs with Christ; nor shall His own Heirship be less by our adoption. The number here of heirs shall from the state

Bell-man of night, if I about shall go For to deny my Master, do thou crow! Thou stop'st Saint Peter in the midst of sin;

'Tis no discomfort in the world to fall, When the great crack not crushes one, but all.

Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's rain, Since, clouds dispers'd, suns gild the air again. Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and overboil,

What needs complaints, When she a place Has with the race

The same who crowns the conqueror, will be A coadjutor in the agony.

Be not dismayed though crosses cast thee down; Thy fall is but the rising to a crown.

To him who longs unto his Christ to go, Celerity even itself is slow.

Confession twofold is, as Austin says, The first of sin is, and the next of praise. If ill it goes with thee, thy faults confess:

Conformity gives comeliness to things: And equal shares exclude all murmurings.

Conformity was ever known A foe to dissolution: Nor can we that a ruin call,

God then confounds man's face when He not bears The vows of those who are petitioners.

Chorus Sacerdotum. From the temple to your home May a thousand blessings come! And a sweet concurring stream

Consult ere thou begin'st; that done, go on With all wise speed for execution.

'Tis not the food, but the content That makes the table's merriment. Where trouble serves the board, we eat

Discreet and prudent we that discord call That either profits, or not hurts at all.

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming Morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair

God had but one Son free from sin; but none Of all His sons free from correction.

'Twas C'sar's saying: Kings no less conquerors are By their wise counsel, than they be by war.

Thrice, and above, blest, my soul's half, art thou, In thy both last and better vow; Could'st leave the city, for exchange, to see

I cannot love as I have lov'd before; For I'm grown old and, with mine age, grown poor. Love must be fed by wealth: this blood of mine

Fair and foul days trip cross and pile; the fair Far less in number than our foul days are.

Our crosses are no other than the rods, And our diseases, vultures of the gods: Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kite

Though good things answer many good intents, Crosses do still bring forth the best events.

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

Nothing can be more loathsome than to see Power conjoin'd with Nature's cruelty.

'Tis but a dog-like madness in bad kings, For to delight in wounds and murderings: As some plants prosper best by cuts and blows,

Thou see'st me, Lucia, this year droop; Three zodiacs fill'd more, I shall stoop; Let crutches then provided be

The lictors bundled up their rods; beside, Knit them with knots with much ado unti'd, That if, unknitting, men would yet repent,

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

Time is the bound of things; where'er we go Fate gives a meeting, Death's the end of woe.

Break off delay, since we but read of one That ever prospered by cunctation.

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown

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

What can I do in poetry, Now the good spirit's gone from me? Why, nothing now but lonely sit

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

If wholesome diet can recure a man, What need of physic or physician?

More discontents I never had Since I was born, than here; Where I have been, and still am, sad,

Fortune no higher project can devise Than to sow discord 'mongst the enemies.

Cynthius, pluck ye by the ear, That ye may good doctrine hear; Play not with the maiden-hair,

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

Whatever men for loyalty pretend, 'Tis wisdom's part to doubt a faithful friend.

To safeguard man from wrongs, there nothing must Be truer to him than a wise distrust. And to thyself be best this sentence known:

When a daffodil I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may what I must be:

Let not that day God's friends and servants scare; The bench is then their place, and not the bar.

Milk still your fountains and your springs: for why? The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.

At draw-gloves we'll play, And prithee let's lay A wager, and let it be this:

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

Good princes must be pray'd for; for the bad They must be borne with, and in rev'rence had. Do they first pill thee, next pluck off thy skin?

Why wore th' Egyptians jewels in the ear? But for to teach us, all the grace is there, When we obey, by acting what we hear.

God gives to none so absolute an ease As not to know or feel some grievances.

Empires of kings are now, and ever were, As Sallust saith, coincident to fear.

No trust to metals nor to marbles, when These have their fate and wear away as men; Times, titles, trophies may be lost and spent,

O years!    and age!    farewell: Behold I go, Where I do know

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,

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

Evil no nature hath; the loss of good Is that which gives to sin a livelihood.

Examples lead us, and we likely see; Such as the prince is, will his people be.

Excess is sluttish: keep the mean; for why? Virtue's clean conclave is sobriety.

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

The factions of the great ones call, To side with them, the commons all.

Tears quickly dry, griefs will in time decay: A clear will come after a cloudy day.

Fair was the dawn, and but e'en now the skies Show'd like to cream inspir'd with strawberries, But on a sudden all was chang'd and gone

Smooth was the sea, and seem'd to call Two pretty girls to play withal: Who paddling there, the sea soon frown'd,

Faith is a thing that's four-square; let it fall This way or that, it not declines at all.

What here we hope for, we shall once inherit; By faith we all walk here, not by the Spirit.

He who wears blacks, and mourns not for the dead, Does but deride the party buried.

To print our poems, the propulsive cause Is fame - the breath of popular applause.

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

Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appear Reclothed in fresh and verdant diaper; Thaw'd are the snows; and now the lusty Spring

Despair takes heart, when there's no hope to speed: The coward then takes arms and does the deed.

Man must do well out of a good intent; Not for the servile fear of punishment.

Of both our fortunes good and bad we find Prosperity more searching of the mind: Felicity flies o'er the wall and fence,

Every time seems short to be That's measured by felicity; But one half-hour that's made up here

Many we are, and yet but few possess Those fields of everlasting happiness.

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

What is't that wastes a prince? example shows, 'Tis flattery spends a king, more than his foes.

In's Tusc'lans, Tully doth confess, No plague there's like to foolishness.

Fortune did never favour one Fully, without exception; Though free she be, there's something yet

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

Health is the first good lent to men; A gentle disposition then: Next, to be rich by no by-ways;

God He refuseth no man, but makes way For all that now come or hereafter may.

Would ye have fresh cheese and cream? Julia's breast can give you them: And, if more, each nipple cries:

When others gain much by the present cast, The cobblers' getting time is at the last.

That prince must govern with a gentle hand Who will have love comply with his command.

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

I make no haste to have my numbers read: Seldom comes glory till a man be dead.

How am I bound to Two! God, who doth give The mind; the king, the means whereby I live.

God, when for sin He makes His children smart, His own He acts not, but another's part; But when by stripes He saves them, then 'tis known

God, who's in heaven, will hear from thence; If not to th' sound, yet to the sense.

God, as He is most holy known, So He is said to be most one.

'Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.

God still rewards us more than our desert; But when He strikes, He quarter-acts His part.

Honour thy parents; but good manners call Thee to adore thy God the first of all.

God when He's angry here with anyone, His wrath is free from perturbation; And when we think His looks are sour and grim,

God can't be wrathful: but we may conclude Wrathful He may be by similitude: God's wrathful said to be, when He doth do

In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be, Unless God gives the benedicite.

God's bounty, that ebbs less and less As men do wane in thankfulness.

God, as He's potent, so He's likewise known To give us more than hope can fix upon.

In God's commands ne'er ask the reason why; Let thy obedience be the best reply.

God is then said for to descend, when He Doth here on earth some thing of novity; As when in human nature He works more

God's said to dwell there, wheresoever He Puts down some prints of His high Majesty; As when to man He comes, and there doth place

God hears us when we pray, but yet defers His gifts, to exercise petitioners; And though a while He makes requesters stay,

God's grace deserves here to be daily fed That, thus increased, it might be perfected.

God's hands are round and smooth, that gifts may fall Freely from them and hold none back at all.

God has four keys, which He reserves alone: The first of rain; the key of hell next known; With the third key He opes and shuts the womb;

God's boundless mercy is, to sinful man, Like to the ever-wealthy ocean: Which though it sends forth thousand streams, 'tis ne'er

Where God is merry, there write down thy fears: What He with laughter speaks, hear thou with tears.

When I shall sin, pardon my trespass here; For once in hell, none knows remission there.

Prayers and praises are those spotless two Lambs, by the law, which God requires as due.

God is so potent, as His power can Draw out of bad a sovereign good to man.

God's evident, and may be said to be Present with just men, to the verity; But with the wicked if He doth comply,

God is all-present to whate'er we do, And as all-present, so all-filling too.

God bought man here with His heart's blood expense; And man sold God here for base thirty pence.

If all transgressions here should have their pay, What need there then be of a reckoning day? If God should punish no sin here of men,

God doth not promise here to man that He Will free him quickly from his misery; But in His own time, and when He thinks fit,

God is His name of nature; but that word Implies His power when He's called the Lord.

God, in the holy tongue, they call The place that filleth all in all.

God is more here than in another place, Not by His essence, but commerce of grace.

Gold serves for tribute to the king, The frankincense for God's off'ring.

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

The bad among the good are here mix'd ever; The good without the bad are here plac'd never.

Play their offensive and defensive parts, Till they be hid o'er with a wood of darts.

Put off Thy robe of purple, then go on To the sad place of execution: Thine hour is come, and the tormentor stands

If well the dice run, let's applaud the cast: The happy fortune will not always last.

This rule of manners I will teach my guests: To come with their own bellies unto feasts; Not to eat equal portions, but to rise

God makes not good men wantons, but doth bring Them to the field, and, there, to skirmishing. With trials those, with terrors these He proves,

In all thy need be thou possess'd Still with a well-prepared breast; Nor let the shackles make thee sad;

In all thy need, be thou possest Still with a well prepared breast; Nor let the shackles make thee sad;

Here, a little child, I stand, Heaving up my either hand: Cold as paddocks though they be,

What God gives, and what we take, 'Tis a gift for Christ, His sake: Be the meal of beans and peas,

Of flanks and chines of beef doth Gorrell boast He has at home; but who tastes boil'd or roast? Look in his brine-tub, and you shall find there

The less our sorrows here and suff'rings cease, The more our crowns of glory there increase.

To an old sore a long cure must go on: Great faults require great satisfaction.

Our mortal parts may wrapp'd in sear-cloths lie: Great spirits never with their bodies die.

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

Consider sorrows, how they are aright: Grief, if't be great, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light.

Jove may afford us thousands of reliefs, Since man expos'd is to a world of griefs.

Hanch, since he lately did inter his wife, He weeps and sighs, as weary of his life. Say, is't for real grief he mourns? not so;

First, may the hand of bounty bring Into the daily offering Of full provision such a store,

That happiness does still the longest thrive, Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.

God's said our hearts to harden then, Whenas His grace not supples men.

To the Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland Come, sons of summer, by whose toil We are the lords of wine and oil;

Haste is unhappy; what we rashly do Is both unlucky, aye, and foolish, too. Where war with rashness is attempted, there

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

Heaven is not given for our good works here; Yet it is given to the labourer.

Heaven is most fair; but fairer He That made that fairest canopy.

One only fire has hell; but yet it shall Not after one sort there excruciate all: But look, how each transgressor onward went

The fire of hell this strange condition hath, To burn, not shine, as learned Basil saith.

Hell is no other but a soundless pit, Where no one beam of comfort peeps in it.

Hell is the place where whipping-cheer abounds, But no one jailer there to wash the wounds.

See'st thou that cloud as silver clear, Plump, soft, and swelling every where? 'Tis Julia's bed, and she sleeps there.

Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.

The publisher's freak, by which Herrick's three chief Fairy poems ("The Fairy Temple; or, Oberon's Chapel," "Oberon's Feast," and "Oberon's Palace") are separated from each other, is greatly to be regretted. The last two, both dedicated to Shapcott, are distinctly connected by their opening lines, and "Oberon's Chapel," dedicated to Mr. John Merrifield, Herrick's other fairy-loving lawyer, of course belongs to the same group. All three were probably first written in 1626 and cannot be dissociated from Drayton's _Nymphidia_, published in 1627, and Sir Simeon Steward's "A Description of the King of Fayries clothes, brought to him on New-yeares day in the morning, 1626 [O. S.], by his Queenes Chambermaids". In 1635 there was published a little book of a dozen leaves, most kindly transcribed for this edition by Mr. E. Gordon Duff, from the unique copy at the Bodleian Library. It is entitled:-- "A | Description | of the King and Queene of | Fayries, their habit, fare, their | abode pompe and state. | Beeing very delightfull to the sense, and | full of mirth. | [Wood-cut.] London. | _Printed for Richard Harper, and are to be sold | at his shop, at the Hospitall gate._ 1635." Fol. 1 is blank; fol. 2 occupied by the title-page; ff. 3, 4 (verso blank) by a letter "To the Reader," signed: "Yours hereafter, If now approved on, R. S.," beginning: "Courteous Reader, I present thee here with the Description of the King of the Fayries, of his Attendants, Apparel, Gesture, and Victuals, which though comprehended in the brevity of so short a volume, yet as the Proverbe truely averres, it hath as mellifluous and pleasing discourse, as that whose amplitude contains the fulnesse of a bigger composition"; on fol. 5 (verso blank) occurs the following poem [spelling here modernised]:--

Ah, Posthumus!    our years hence fly And leave no sound:    nor piety, Or prayers, or vow

Here, here I live, And somewhat give Of what I have

You ask me what I do, and how I live? And, noble friend, this answer I must give: Drooping, I draw on to the vaults of death,

Some would know Why I so Long still do tarry,

When I behold Thee, almost slain, With one and all parts full of pain: When I Thy gentle heart do see

Give me that man that dares bestride The active sea-horse, and with pride Through that huge field of waters ride.

My many cares and much distress Has made me like a wilderness; Or, discompos'd, I'm like a rude

Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near That with my lines my life must full-stop here. Cut off thy hairs, and let thy tears be shed

The only comfort of my life Is, that I never yet had wife; Nor will hereafter; since I know

Hence they have borne my Lord; behold! the stone Is rolled away and my sweet Saviour's gone. Tell me, white angel, what is now become

Look how our foul days do exceed our fair; And as our bad, more than our good works are, E'en so those lines, pen'd by my wanton wit,

Here, Here I live with what my board Can with the smallest cost afford; Though ne'er so mean the viands be,

Why dost thou wound and break my heart, As if we should for ever part? Hast thou not heard an oath from me,

I do believe that die I must, And be return'd from out my dust: I do believe that when I rise,

Give me a man that is not dull, When all the world with rifts is full; But unamazed dares clearly sing,

I dreamt, last night, Thou didst transfuse Oil from Thy jar into my cruse; And pouring still Thy wealthy store,

My God! look on me with Thine eye Of pity, not of scrutiny; For if Thou dost, Thou then shalt see

For my embalming, Julia, do but this; Give thou my lips but their supremest kiss, Or else transfuse thy breath into the chest

Farewell thou thing, time past so known, so dear To me as blood to life and spirit; near, Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife,

Though clock, To tell how night draws hence, I've none, A cock

How well contented in this private grange Spend I my life, that's subject unto change: Under whose roof with moss-work wrought, there I

Among these tempests great and manifold My ship has here one only anchor-hold; That is my hope, which if that slip, I'm one

Call me no more, As heretofore, The music of a feast;

I have been wanton, and too bold, I fear, To chafe o'er-much the virgin's cheek or ear; Beg for my pardon, Julia!    he doth win

I have been wanton, and too bold, I fear, To chafe o'er-much the virgin's cheek or ear;-- Beg for my pardon, Julia!    he doth win

In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess,

All has been plunder'd from me but my wit: Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.

Be those few hours, which I have yet to spend, Blest with the meditation of my end; Though they be few in number, I'm content;

Water, water I espy; Come and cool ye, all who fry In your loves; but none as I.

You may vow I'll not forget To pay the debt Which to thy memory stands as due

To join with them who here confer Gifts to my Saviour's sepulchre, Devotion bids me hither bring

As wearied pilgrims, once possest Of long'd-for lodging, go to rest, So I, now having rid my way,

When I did go from thee I felt that smart Which bodies do when souls from them depart. Thou did'st not mind it; though thou then might'st see

If war or want shall make me grow so poor, As for to beg my bread from door to door; Lord! let me never act that beggar's part,

Only a little more I have to write: Then I'll give o'er,

God can do all things, save but what are known For to imply a contradiction.

For those my unbaptized rhymes, Writ in my wild unhallowed times, For every sentence, clause, and word,

When I a verse shall make, Know I have pray'd thee, For old religion's sake,

Noonday and midnight shall at once be seen: Trees, at one time, shall be both sere and green: Fire and water shall together lie

Love, I recant, And pardon crave That lately I offended;

Julia, if I chance to die Ere I print my poetry, I most humbly thee desire

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

When that day comes, whose evening says I'm gone Unto that watery desolation; Devoutly to thy Closet-gods then pray,

Have, have ye no regard, all ye Who pass this way, to pity Me, Who am a man of misery!

I send, I send here my supremest kiss To thee, my silver-footed Thamesis. No more shall I reiterate thy Strand,

I cannot suffer; and in this my part Of patience wants. Grief breaks the stoutest heart.

Come thou, who art the wine and wit Of all I've writ; The grace, the glory, and the best

I would to God, that mine old age might have Before my last, but here a living grave; Some one poor almshouse, there to lie, or stir,

I would to God that mine old age might have Before my last, but here a living grave, Some one poor almshouse; there to lie, or stir

Give me a cell To dwell, Where no foot hath

Fat be my hind; unlearned be my wife; Peaceful my night; my day devoid of strife: To these a comely offspring I desire,

It is sufficient if we pray To Jove, who gives and takes away: Let him the land and living find;

When Thou wast taken, Lord, I oft have read, All Thy disciples Thee forsook and fled. Let their example not a pattern be

Give me honours! what are these, But the pleasing hindrances? Stiles, and stops, and stays that come

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

What though the heaven be lowering now, And look with a contracted brow? We shall discover, by-and-by,

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;

My soul would one day go and seek For roses, and in Julia's cheek A richess of those sweets she found,

White though ye be, yet, lilies, know, From the first ye were not so; But I'll tell ye

Jealous girls these sometimes were, While they liv'd or lasted here: Turn'd to flowers, still they be

Frolic virgins once these were, Overloving, living here; Being here their ends denied

Virgins, time-past, known were these, Troubled with green-sicknesses: Turn'd to flowers, still the hue,

Roses at first were white, Till they could not agree, Whether my Sappho's breast

'Tis said, as Cupid danc'd among The gods he down the nectar flung, Which on the white rose being shed

These springs were maidens once that loved, But lost to that they most approved: My story tells, by Love they were

Why this flower is now call'd so, List, sweet maids, and you shall know. Understand, this firstling was

Love on a day, wise poets tell, Some time in wrangling spent, Whether the violets should excel,

Humble we must be, if to heaven we go: High is the roof there; but the gate is low: Whene'er thou speak'st, look with a lowly eye:

Ask me what hunger is, and I'll reply, 'Tis but a fierce desire of hot and dry.

Bacchus, let me drink no more! Wild are seas that want a shore! When our drinking has no stint,

I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me,

When I love, as some have told Love I shall, when I am old, O ye Graces!    make me fit

Sea-born goddess, let me be By thy son thus graced, and thee, That whene'er I woo, I find

I call, I call:    who do ye call? The maids to catch this cowslip ball! But since these cowslips fading be,

Preposterous is that government, and rude, When kings obey the wilder multitude.

My faithful friend, if you can see The fruit to grow up, or the tree; If you can see the colour come

O Jupiter, should I speak ill Of woman-kind, first die I will; Since that I know, 'mong all the rest

Night hides our thefts, all faults then pardon'd be; All are alike fair when no spots we see. Lais and Lucrece in the night-time are

Since Jack and Jill both wicked be; It seems a wonder unto me, That they, no better do agree.

Jehovah, as Bo'tius saith, No number of the plural hath.

Put on thy holy filletings, and so To th' temple with the sober midwife go. Attended thus, in a most solemn wise,

Thy azure robe I did behold As airy as the leaves of gold, Which, erring here, and wandering there,

'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known: Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own.

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

I abhor the slimy kiss, Which to me most loathsome is. Those lips please me which are placed

Give me the food that satisfies a guest: Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast.

Kissing and bussing differ both in this; We buss our wantons, but our wives we kiss.

Biancha, let Me pay the debt I owe thee for a kiss

Science in God is known to be A substance, not a quality.

Labour we must, and labour hard I' th' forum here, or vineyard.

At my homely country-seat I have there a little wheat, Which I work to meal, and make

All things o'er-ruled are here by chance: The greatest man's inheritance, Where'er the lucky lot doth fall,

Lasciviousness is known to be The sister to saturity.

Y'ave laughed enough, sweet, vary now your text! And laugh no more; or laugh, and lie down next.

Who violates the customs, hurts the health, Not of one man, but all the commonwealth.

When laws full power have to sway, we see Little or no part there of tyranny.

To loose the button is no less, Than to cast off all bashfulness.

When as Leander young was drown'd No heart by Love receiv'd a wound, But on a rock himself sat by,

Love is a leaven; and a loving kiss The leaven of a loving sweetheart is.

'Tis the Chirurgeon's praise, and height of art, Not to cut off, but cure the vicious part.

When flowing garments I behold Inspir'd with purple, pearl and gold, I think no other, but I see

When to a house I come, and see The Genius wasteful, more than free: The servants thumbless, yet to eat

Those ills that mortal men endure So long, are capable of cure, As they of freedom may be sure;

Life is the body's light; which, once declining, Those crimson clouds i' th' cheeks and lips leave shining: Those counter-changed tabbies in the air,

Like will to like, each creature loves his kind; Chaste words proceed still from a bashful mind.

This is the height of justice: that to do Thyself which thou put'st other men unto. As great men lead, the meaner follow on,

As in our clothes, so likewise he who looks, Shall find much farcing buckram in our books.

In the old Scripture I have often read, The calf without meal ne'er was offered; To figure to us nothing more than this,

For my part, I never care For those lips that tongue-tied are: Tell-tales I would have them be

Little you are, for woman's sake be proud; For my sake next, though little, be not loud.

One feeds on lard, and yet is lean, And I but feasting with a bean Grow fat and smooth. The reason is:

God loads and unloads, thus His work begins, To load with blessings and unload from sins.

That was the proverb. Let my mistress be Lazy to others, but be long to me.

The longer thread of life we spin, The more occasion still to sin.

Though long it be, years may repay the debt; None loseth that which he in time may get.

Great men by small means oft are overthrown; He's lord of thy life, who contemns his own.

Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot or not, to be content with all.

Whatsoever thing I see, Rich or poor although it be, 'Tis a mistress unto me.

Whatsoever thing I see, Rich or poor although it be, 'Tis a mistress unto me.

Love is a syrup; and whoe'er we see Sick and surcharg'd with this satiety, Shall by this pleasing trespass quickly prove

Let me be warm, let me be fully fed, Luxurious love by wealth is nourished. Let me be lean, and cold, and once grown poor,

Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit,

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

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

If I kiss Anthea's breast, There I smell the ph[oe]nix nest: If her lip, the most sincere

Love and myself, believe me, on a day At childish push-pin, for our sport, did play; I put, he pushed, and, heedless of my skin,

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

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

A Gyges ring they bear about them still, To be, and not seen when and where they will; They tread on clouds, and though they sometimes fall,

Gold I've none, for use or show, Neither silver to bestow At my death; but this much know;

Maids' nays are nothing, they are shy But to desire what they deny.

Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon, This, that, and every base impression,

Man knows where first he ships himself; but he Never can tell where shall his landing be.

That manna, which God on His people cast, Fitted itself to ev'ry feeder's taste.

The repetition of the name made known No other than Christ's full affection.

When with the virgin morning thou dost rise, Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice; First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring

Though frankincense the deities require, We must not give all to the hallow'd fire. Such be our gifts, and such be our expense,

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

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

You are a Tulip seen to-day, But, Dearest, of so short a stay, That where you grew, scarce man can say.

That flow of gallants which approach To kiss thy hand from out the coach; That fleet of lackeys which do run

God hath two wings which He doth ever move; The one is mercy, and the next is love: Under the first the sinners ever trust;

Mercy, the wise Athenians held to be Not an affection, but a deity.

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

True mirth resides not in the smiling skin; The sweetest solace is to act no sin.

Though hourly comforts from the gods we see, No life is yet life-proof from misery.

In things a moderation keep: Kings ought to shear, not skin their sheep.

Let moderation on thy passions wait; Who loves too much, too much the lov'd will hate.

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

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

The mountains of the Scriptures are, some say, Moses, and Jesus, called Joshua: The prophets, mountains of the Old are meant,

The time the bridegroom stays from hence Is but the time of penitence.

'Tis still observ'd those men most valiant are, That are most modest ere they come to war.

He that may sin, sins least: leave to transgress Enfeebles much the seeds of wickedness.

In desp'rate cases all, or most, are known Commanders, few for execution.

Ere I go hence and be no more Seen to the world, I'll give the score I owe unto a female child,

I have beheld two lovers in a night Hatched o'er with moonshine from their stolen delight (When this to that, and that to this, had given

Among the myrtles as I walk'd Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd: Tell me, said I, in deep distress,

We trust not to the multitude in war, But to the stout, and those that skilful are.

Who begs to die for fear of human need, Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.

Art quickens nature; care will make a face; Neglected beauty perisheth apace.

God will have all, or none; serve Him, or fall Down before Baal, Bel, or Belial: Either be hot or cold: God doth despise,

No man comes late unto that place from whence Never man yet had a regredience.

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

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

Good and great God! how should I fear To come to Thee if Christ not there! Could I but think He would not be

When fear admits no hope of safety, then Necessity makes dastards valiant men.

Reproach we may the living, not the dead: 'Tis cowardice to bite the buried.

Night makes no difference 'twixt the priest and clerk; Joan as my lady is as good i' th' dark.

God scourgeth some severely, some He spares; But all in smart have less or greater shares.

No fault in women, to refuse The offer which they most would chuse. No fault: in women, to confess

What I fancy I approve, No dislike there is in love. Be my mistress short or tall,

Bar close as you can, and bolt fast too your door, To keep out the letcher, and keep in the whore; Yet quickly you'll see by the turn of a pin,

I do love I know not what, Sometimes this and sometimes that; All conditions I aim at.

No man such rare parts hath, that he can swim, If favour or occasion help not him.

If little labour, little are our gains; Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

Thou sail'st with others in this Argus here; Nor wreck or bulging thou hast cause to fear; But trust to this, my noble passenger;

A bachelor I will Live as I have liv'd still, And never take a wife

By hours we all live here; in Heaven is known No spring of time, or time's succession.

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

Out of the world he must, who once comes in. No man exempted is from death, or sin.

Happy's that man to whom God gives A stock of goods, whereby he lives Near to the wishes of his heart:

Now, if you love me, tell me, For as I will not sell ye, So not one cross to buy thee

The Jews their beds and offices of ease, Placed north and south for these clean purposes; That man's uncomely froth might not molest

'Tis not ev'ry day that I Fitted am to prophesy: No, but when the spirit fills

Why should we covet much, whenas we know W'ave more to bear our charge than way to go?

He that will not love must be My scholar, and learn this of me: There be in love as many fears

Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.

Nothing is new; we walk where others went; There's no vice now but has his precedent.

The gods to kings the judgment give to sway: The subjects only glory to obey.

The power of princes rests in the consent Of only those who are obedient: Which if away, proud sceptres then will lie

A way enhanced with glass and beads There is, that to the Chapel leads; Whose structure, for his holy rest,

Hapcot! To thee the Fairy State I with discretion, dedicate. Because thou prizest things that are

After the feast, my Shapcot, see The fairy court I give to thee; Where we'll present our Oberon, led

The Jews, when they built houses, I have read, One part thereof left still unfinished, To make them thereby mindful of their own

The Virgin Mother stood at distance, there, From her Son's cross, not shedding once a tear, Because the law forbad to sit and cry

Horne sells to others teeth; but has not one To grace his own gums, or of box, or bone.

I'll get me hence, Because no fence Or fort that I can make here,

I do not love, nor can it be Love will in vain spend shafts on me; I did this godhead once defy,

How Love came in, I do not know, Whether by th'eye, or ear, or no; Or whether with the soul it came,

You say you're sweet: how should we know Whether that you be sweet or no? From powders and perfumes keep free;

This is my comfort when she's most unkind: She can but spoil me of my means, not mind.

What was't that fell but now From that warm kiss of ours? Look, look! by love I vow

Permit mine eyes to see Part, or the whole of Thee, O happy place!

A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here, Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year; Long I have lasted in this world; 'tis true

Live by thy Muse thou shalt, when others die, Leaving no fame to long posterity; When monarchies trans-shifted are, and gone,

Ask me why I do not sing To the tension of the string As I did not long ago,

The bound, almost, now of my book I see, But yet no end of these therein, or me: Here we begin new life, while thousands quite

Honour to you who sit Near to the well of wit, And drink your fill of it!

Joan would go tell her hairs; and well she might, Having but seven in all: three black, four white.

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

Sweet are my Julia's lips and clean, As if o'erwashed in Hippocrene.

How am I ravish'd! when I do but see The painter's art in thy sciography? If so, how much more shall I dote thereon

So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice, As, could they hear, the Damned would make no noise, But listen to thee (walking in thy chamber)

Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear! No cowards must his royal ensigns bear.

Love bade me ask a gift, And I no more did move But this, that I might shift

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

Grow up in beauty, as thou dost begin, And be of all admired, Tomasin.

Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard: The fattest hogs we grease the more with lard. To him that has, there shall be added more;

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

Orpheus he went, as poets tell, To fetch Eurydice from hell; And had her, but it was upon

Other men's sins we ever bear in mind; None sees the fardell of his faults behind.

We blame, nay, we despise her pains That wets her garden when it rains: But when the drought has dried the knot,

God suffers not His saints and servants dear To have continual pain or pleasure here; But look how night succeeds the day, so He

Afflictions bring us joy in times to come, When sins, by stripes, to us grow wearisome.

A long life's-day I've taken pains For very little, or no gains; The evening's come, here now I'll stop,

If Nature do deny Colours, let Art supply.

Till I shall come again, let this suffice, I send my salt, my sacrifice To thee, thy lady, younglings, and as far

Paradise is, as from the learn'd I gather, A choir of bless'd souls circling in the Father.

Let's strive to be the best; the gods, we know it, Pillars and men, hate an indifferent poet.

Those ends in war the best contentment bring, Whose peace is made up with a pardoning.

God pardons those who do through frailty sin, But never those that persevere therein.

Were there not a matter known, There would be no passion.

Pastoral Sung To The King MON.    Bad are the times.    SIL.    And worse than they are we. MON.    Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree:

Kings must not use the axe for each offence: Princes cure some faults by their patience.

Abundant plagues I late have had, Yet none of these have made me sad: For why? My Saviour with the sense

Great cities seldom rest; if there be none T' invade from far, they'll find worse foes at home.

Who after his transgression doth repent, Is half, or altogether innocent.

The doctors, in the Talmud, say, That in this world one only day In true repentance spent will be

A man's transgressions God does then remit, When man He makes a penitent for it.

Afflictions they most profitable are To the beholder and the sufferer: Bettering them both, but by a double strain,

God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent, To make, not mar her, by this punishment; So where He gives the bitter pills, be sure

Hast thou begun an act? ne'er then give o'er: No man despairs to do what's done before.

Physicians fight not against men; but these Combat for men by conquering the disease.

God doth embrace the good with love; and gains The good by mercy, as the bad by pains.

'Tis worse than barbarous cruelty to show No part of pity on a conquered foe.

Where pleasures rule a kingdom, never there Is sober virtue seen to move her sphere.

All are not ill plots that do sometimes fail; Nor those false vows which ofttimes don't prevail.

Here I myself might likewise die, And utterly forgotten lie, But that eternal poetry

Wantons we are, and though our words be such, Our lives do differ from our lines by much.

That princes may possess a surer seat, 'Tis fit they make no one with them too great.

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

Let others to the printing-press run fast; Since after death comes glory, I'll not haste.

Love and the Graces evermore do wait Upon the man that is a potentate.

Who with a little cannot be content, Endures an everlasting punishment.

Give Want her welcome if she comes; we find Riches to be but burdens to the mind.

To mortal men great loads allotted be, But of all packs, no pack like poverty.

'Tis never, or but seldom known, Power and peace to keep one throne.

First offer incense; then, thy field and meads Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads. The spangling dew dredged o'er the grass shall be

First offer incense, then thy field and meads Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads. The spangling dew, dredg'd o'er the grass, shall be

A prayer that is said alone Starves, having no companion. Great things ask for when thou dost pray,

God, He rejects all prayers that are slight And want their poise: words ought to have their weight.

Good precepts we must firmly hold, By daily learning we wax old.

Predestination is the cause alone Of many standing, but of fall to none.

God's prescience makes none sinful; but th' offence Of man's the chief cause of God's prescience.

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

Men are suspicious, prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present government.

That prince takes soon enough the victor's room Who first provides not to be overcome.

As thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let The Muse give thee the Delphic coronet.

Princes and fav'rites are most dear, while they By giving and receiving hold the play; But the relation then of both grows poor,

You see this gentle stream that glides, Shoved on, by quick-succeeding tides: Try if this sober stream you can

Readers, we entreat ye pray For the soul of Lucia; That in little time she be

No wrath of men, or rage of seas, Can shake a just man's purposes; No threats of tyrants, or the grim

Putrefaction is the end Of all that nature doth intend.

What are our patches, tatters, rags, and rents, But the base dregs and lees of vestiments?

What's got by justice is established sure: No kingdoms got by rapine long endure.

The readiness of doing doth express No other but the doer's willingness.

Who plants an olive, but to eat the oil? Reward, we know, is the chief end of toil.

Hast thou attempted greatness? then go on: Back-turning slackens resolution.

Physicians say repletion springs More from the sweet than sour things.

Ponder my words, if so that any be Known guilty here of incivility; Let what is graceless, discomposed, and rude,

Lay by the good a while; a resting field Will, after ease, a richer harvest yield; Trees this year bear: next, they their wealth withhold:

On with thy work, though thou be'st hardly press'd: Labour is held up by the hope of rest.

Man's disposition is for to requite An injury, before a benefit: Thanksgiving is a burden and a pain;

Like to the income must be our expense; Man's fortune must be had in reverence.

True rev'rence is, as Cassiodore doth prove, The fear of God commix'd with cleanly love.

All things are open to these two events, Or to rewards, or else to punishments.

Still to our gains our chief respect is had; Reward it is that makes us good or bad.

God could have made all rich, or all men poor; But why He did not, let me tell wherefore: Had all been rich, where then had patience been?

Roaring is nothing but a weeping part Forced from the mighty dolour of the heart.

Men must have bounds how far to walk; for we Are made far worse by lawless liberty.

Sabbaths are threefold, as St. Austin says: The first of time, or Sabbath here of days; The second is a conscience trespass-free;

What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore; Ships have been drown'd, where late they danced before.

For my neighbour I'll not know, Whether high he builds or no: Only this I'll look upon,

Partly work and partly play Ye must on S. Distaff's day: From the plough soon free your team,

Christ, I have read, did to His chaplains say, Sending them forth, Salute no man by th' way: Not that He taught His ministers to be

When we 'gainst Satan stoutly fight, the more He tears and tugs us than he did before; Neglecting once to cast a frown on those

For all our works a recompence is sure; 'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t'endure.

Although our suffering meet with no relief, An equal mind is the best sauce for grief.

Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.

Shame is a bad attendant to a state: He rents his crown that fears the people's hate.

He who has suffered shipwreck fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.

This lady's short, that mistress she is tall; But long or short, I'm well content with all.

Suffer thy legs, but not thy tongue to walk: God, the Most Wise, is sparing of His talk.

After true sorrow for our sins, our strife Must last with Satan to the end of life.

When once the sin has fully acted been, Then is the horror of the trespass seen.

God in His own day will be then severe To punish great sins, who small faults whipt here.

Sin once reached up to God's eternal sphere, And was committed, not remitted there.

Sin leads the way, but as it goes, it feels The following plague still treading on his heels.

Wash clean the vessel, lest ye sour Whatever liquor in ye pour.

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

Sinners confounded are a twofold way, Either as when, the learned schoolmen say, Men's sins destroyed are when they repent,

Shame checks our first attempts; but then 'tis prov'd Sins first dislik'd are after that belov'd.

'Tis liberty to serve one lord; but he Who many serves, serves base servility.

Stripes, justly given, yerk us with their fall; But causeless whipping smarts the most of all.

To seek of God more than we well can find, Argues a strong distemper of the mind.

Two things do make society to stand: The first commerce is, and the next command.

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

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

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

Sorrows our portion are: ere hence we go, Crosses we must have; or, hereafter woe.

When times are troubled, then forbear; but speak When a clear day out of a cloud does break.

If meat the gods give, I the steam High-towering will devote to them, Whose easy natures like it well,

At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play For sugar-cakes and wine: Or for a tansy let us pay,

Let kings and rulers learn this line from me: Where power is weak, unsafe is majesty.

Studies themselves will languish and decay, When either price or praise is ta'en away.

Does fortune rend thee? Bear with thy hard fate: Virtuous instructions ne'er are delicate. Say, does she frown? still countermand her threats:

In the hope of ease to come, Let's endure one martyrdom.

We merit all we suffer, and by far More stripes than God lays on the sufferer.

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

Bad are all surfeits; but physicians call That surfeit took by bread the worst of all.

He that will live of all cares dispossess'd, Must shun the bad, aye, and suspect the best.

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown

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

Those tapers which we set upon the grave In fun'ral pomp, but this importance have: That souls departed are not put out quite;

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

When Julia chid I stood as mute the while As is the fish or tongueless crocodile. Air coin'd to words my Julia could not hear,

Our present tears here, not our present laughter, Are but the handsels of our joys hereafter.

God from our eyes all tears hereafter wipes, And gives His children kisses then, not stripes.

These temporal goods God, the most wise, commends To th' good and bad in common for two ends: First, that these goods none here may o'er-esteem

Those saints which God loves best, The devil tempts not least.

God tempteth no one, as St. Austin saith, For any ill, but for the proof of faith; Unto temptation God exposeth some,

No man is tempted so but may o'ercome, If that he has a will to masterdom.

Temptations hurt not, though they have access: Satan o'ercomes none, but by willingness.

Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof

Thanksgiving for a former, doth invite God to bestow a second benefit.

Seest thou those diamonds which she wears In that rich carcanet; Or those, on her dishevell'd hairs,

I saw a fly within a bead Of amber cleanly buried; The urn was little, but the room

THE APPARITION OF HIS, MISTRESS, CALLING HIM TO ELYSIUM DESUNT NONNULLA

To gather flowers, Sappha went, And homeward she did bring Within her lawny continent,

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,

God did forbid the Israelites to bring An ass unto Him for an offering, Only, by this dull creature, to express

Dull to myself, and almost dead to these My many fresh and fragrant mistresses; Lost to all music now, since everything

About the sweet bag of a bee Two cupids fell at odds, And whose the pretty prize should be

Thou hast made many houses for the dead; When my lot calls me to be buried, For love or pity, prithee let there be

Please your Grace, from out your store Give an alms to one that's poor, That your mickle may have more.

Shall I a daily beggar be, For love's sake asking alms of thee? Still shall I crave, and never get

Along the dark and silent night, With my lantern and my light And the tinkling of my bell,

From noise of scare-fires rest ye free, From murders Benedicite. From all mischances that may fright

From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smell,

The body is the soul's poor house or home, Whose ribs the laths are, and whose flesh the loam.

Bind me but to thee with thine hair, And quickly I shall be Made by that fetter or that snare

I brake thy bracelet 'gainst my will, And, wretched, I did see Thee discomposed then, and still

Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this silken twist; For what other reason 'tis

This day, my Julia, thou must make For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake: Knead but the dough, and it will be

To fetch me wine my Lucia went, Bearing a crystal continent: But, making haste, it came to pass

To my revenge, and to her desperate fears, Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs and tears! In the wild air, when thou hast roll'd about,

White as Zenobia's teeth, the which the girls Of Rome did wear for their most precious pearls.

As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay, It chanced a bee did fly that way, After a dew, or dew-like shower,

Instead of orient pearls of jet I sent my love a carcanet; About her spotless neck she knit

Kindle the Christmas brand, and then Till sunset let it burn; Which quench'd, then lay it up again,

Be not proud, but now incline Your soft ear to discipline; You have changes in your life,

One silent night of late, When every creature rested, Came one unto my gate,

When well we speak and nothing do that's good, We not divide the hoof, but chew the cud; But when good words by good works have their proof,

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,

Seest thou that cloud that rides in state, Part ruby-like, part candidate? It is no other than the bed

Come sit we by the fire's side, And roundly drink we here; Till that we see our cheeks ale-dy'd

So Good-Luck came, and on my roof did light, Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night; Not all at once, but gently, as the trees

TO THE HONOURED MR ENDYMION PORTER, GROOM OF THE BED-CHAMBER TO HIS MAJESTY Sweet country life, to such unknown,

Let's live with that small pittance that we have; Who covets more, is evermore a slave.

He who commends the vanquished, speaks the power And glorifies the worthy conqueror.

In holy meetings there a man may be One of the crowd, not of the company.

And, cruel maid, because I see You scornful of my love, and me, I'll trouble you no more, but go

Go, perjured man; and if thou e'er return To see the small remainders in mine urn, When thou shalt laugh at my religious dust,

For second course, last night, a custard came To th' board, so hot as none could touch the same: Furze three or four times with his cheeks did blow

Beauty no other thing is, than a beam Flash'd out between the middle and extreme.

Why so slowly do you move To the centre of your love? On your niceness though we wait,

Drowning, drowning, I espy Coming from my Julia's eye: 'Tis some solace in our smart,

What can I do in poetry Now the good spirit's gone from me? Why, nothing now but lonely sit

Whose head, befringed with bescattered tresses, Shows like Apollo's when the morn he dresses,[B] Or like Aurora when with pearl she sets

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

O thou, the wonder of all days! O paragon, and pearl of praise! O Virgin-martyr, ever blest

By dream I saw one of the three Sisters of fate appear to me; Close to my bedside she did stand,

Methought last night Love in an anger came And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same; Myrtle the twigs were, merely to imply

Part of the work remains; one part is past: And here my ship rides, having anchor cast.

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

Conquer we shall, but we must first contend; 'Tis not the fight that crowns us, but the end.

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

He that is hurt seeks help: sin is the wound; The salve for this i' th' Eucharist is found.

Make me a heaven, and make me there Many a less and greater sphere: Make me the straight and oblique lines,

A wanton and lascivious eye Betrays the heart's adultery.

We credit most our sight; one eye doth please Our trust far more than ten ear-witnesses.

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

If ye will with Mab find grace, Set each platter in his place; Rake the fire up, and get

A way enhanced with glass and beads There is, that to the Chapel leads; Whose structure, for his holy rest,

Rare temples thou hast seen, I know, And rich for in and outward show: Survey this chapel, built alone,

Noah the first was, as tradition says, That did ordain the fast of forty days.

In all our high designments 'twill appear, The first event breeds confidence or fear.

When my off'ring next I make, Be thy hand the hallowed cake, And thy breast the altar whence

I freeze, I freeze, and nothing dwells In me but snow and icicles. For pity's sake, give your advice,

Whither? say, whither shall I fly, To slack these flames wherein I fry? To the treasures, shall I go,

The Rose was sick, and smiling died; And, being to be sanctified, About the bed, there sighing stood

Blessings in abundance come To the bride and to her groom; May the bed and this short night

When winds and seas do rage And threaten to undo me, Thou dost, their wrath assuage

The hag is astride This night for to ride, The devil and she together;

The staff is now greas'd; And very well pleas'd, She cocks out her arse at the parting,

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

My head doth ache, O Sappho! take Thy fillet,

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

To the Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland Come, sons of summer, by whose toil We are the lords of wine and oil;

If thou hast found an honeycomb, Eat thou not all, but taste on some: For if thou eat'st it to excess,

That hour-glass which there you see With water fill'd, sirs, credit me, The humour was, as I have read,

To sup with thee thou didst me home invite, And mad'st a promise that mine appetite Should meet and tire, on such lautitious meat,

Thou sent'st to me a true love-knot, but I Returned a ring of jimmals to imply Thy love had one knot, mine a triple tie.

In doing justice God shall then be known, Who showing mercy here, few prized, or none.

God hides from man the reck'ning day, that he May fear it ever for uncertainty; That being ignorant of that one, he may

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

When a man's faith is frozen up, as dead; Then is the lamp and oil extinguished.

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

Would I see lawn, clear as the heaven, and thin? It should be only in my Julia's skin, Which so betrays her blood as we discover

You have beheld a smiling rose When virgins' hands have drawn O'er it a cobweb-lawn:

You have beheld a smiling rose When virgins' hands have drawn O'er it a cobweb-lawn;

As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay, It chanced a bee did fly that way, After a dew, or dew-like shower,

Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, sir, to you; Good morrow to mine own torn hair,

So look the mornings when the sun Paints them with fresh vermilion: So cherries blush, and Kathern pears,

The May-pole is up, Now give me the cup; I'll drink to the garlands around it;

Come with the spring-time forth, fair maid, and be This year again the meadow's deity. Yet ere ye enter give us leave to set

Imparity doth ever discord bring; The mean the music makes in everything.

'Tis much among the filthy to be clean; Our heat of youth can hardly keep the mean.

Who may do most, does least: the bravest will Show mercy there, where they have power to kill.

After thy labour take thine ease, Here with the sweet Pierides. But if so be that men will not

UPON THE DEATH OF HENRY, LORD HASTINGS. The musical part being set by Mr. Henry Lawes. THE SPEAKERS,

Let others look for pearl and gold, Tissues, or tabbies manifold: One only lock of that sweet hay

1. Prepare for songs; He's come, He's come; And be it sin here to be dumb, And not with lutes to fill the room.

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also,

God hates the dual number, being known The luckless number of division; And when He bless'd each sev'ral day whereon

Holy-Rood, come forth and shield Us i' th' city and the field; Safely guard us, now and aye,

Sadly I walk'd within the field, To see what comfort it would yield; And as I went my private way,

To a love-feast we both invited are: The figur'd damask, or pure diaper, Over the golden altar now is spread,

Three lovely sisters working were, As they were closely set, Of soft and dainty maiden-hair,

I dreamt the Roses one time went To meet and sit in Parliament; The place for these, and for the rest

Go hence, and with this parting kiss, Which joins two souls, remember this: Though thou be'st young, kind, soft, and fair

Loth to depart, but yet at last each one Back must now go to's habitation; Not knowing thus much when we once do sever,

To-morrow, Julia, I betimes must rise, For some small fault to offer sacrifice: The altar's ready: fire to consume

Fresh strewings allow To my sepulchre now, To make my lodging the sweeter;

Fame's pillar here, at last, we set, Outduring    marble,    brass,    or    jet. Charm'd    and    enchanted    so

If after rude and boisterous seas My wearied pinnace here finds ease; If so it be I've gain'd the shore,

I am of all bereft, Save but some few beans left, Whereof, at last, to make

I cannot pipe as I was wont to do, Broke is my reed, hoarse is my singing, too; My wearied oat I'll hang upon the tree,

I do not love to wed, Though I do like to woo; And for a maidenhead

May his pretty dukeship grow Like t'a rose of Jericho: Sweeter far than ever yet

To me my Julia lately sent A bracelet richly redolent: The beads I kissed, but most lov'd her

Tell me, rich man, for what intent Thou load'st with gold thy vestiment? Whenas the poor cry out: To us

The sup'rabundance of my store, That is the portion of the poor: Wheat, barley, rye, or oats; what is't

Let kings command and do the best they may, The saucy subjects still will bear the sway.

Praise, they that will, times past: I joy to see Myself now live; this age best pleaseth me!

Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee, And say thou bring'st this honey-bag from me; When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed,

Our household-gods our parents be; And manners good require that we The first fruits give to them, who gave

Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you

Up with the quintell, that the rout, May fart for joy, as well as shout: Either's welcome, stink or civit,

Mine eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain; And as they thus did entertain The gentle beams from Julia's sight

Look how the rainbow doth appear But in one only hemisphere; So likewise after our decease

All I have lost that could be rapt from me; And fare it well: yet, Herrick, if so be Thy dearest Saviour renders thee but one

For each one body that i' th' earth is sown, There's an uprising but of one for one; But for each grain that in the ground is thrown,

That Christ did die, the pagan saith; But that He rose, that's Christians' faith.

This day, my Julia, thou must make For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake: Knead but the dough, and it will be

God has a right hand, but is quite bereft Of that which we do nominate the left.

Some ask'd me where the Rubies grew: And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to

God's rod doth watch while men do sleep, and then The rod doth sleep, while vigilant are men.

One asked me where the roses grew: I bade him not go seek, But forwith bade my Julia show

Before man's fall the rose was born, St. Ambrose says, without the thorn; But for man's fault then was the thorn

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

Herr. Come and let's in solemn wise Both address to sacrifice: Old religion first commands

Lilies will languish; violets look ill; Sickly the primrose; pale the daffodil; That gallant tulip will hang down his head,

Water, water I desire, Here's a house of flesh on fire; Ope the fountains and the springs,

Whether I was myself, or else did see Out of myself that glorious hierarchy; Or whether those, in orders rare, or these

Anthea bade me tie her shoe; I did; and kissed the instep too: And would have kissed unto her knee,

Love in a shower of blossoms came Down, and half drown'd me with the same; The blooms that fell were white and red;

For sport my Julia threw a lace Of silk and silver at my face: Watchet the silk was, and did make

The gods require the thighs Of beeves for sacrifice; Which roasted, we the steam

The body's salt the soul is; which when gone, The flesh soon sucks in putrefaction.

When once the soul has lost her way, O then how restless does she stray! And having not her God for light,

Holy water come and bring; Cast in salt, for seasoning: Set the brush for sprinkling:

From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smell,

Two instruments belong unto our God: The one a staff is and the next a rod; That if the twig should chance too much to smart,

The Flourish of Music; then followed the Song. 1. Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue, Where is the Babe but lately sprung?

First, April, she with mellow showers Opens the way for early flowers; Then after her comes smiling May,

Last night I drew up mine account, And found my debits to amount To such a height, as for to tell

And must we part, because some say Loud is our love, and loose our play, And more than well becomes the day?

Glide, gentle streams, and bear Along with you my tear To that coy girl

Along, come along, Let's meet in a throng Here of tinkers;

If nine times you your bridegroom kiss, The tenth you know the parson's is. Pay then your tithe, and doing thus,

Immortal clothing I put on So soon as, Julia, I am gone To mine eternal mansion.

One silent night of late, When every creature rested, Came one unto my gate,

I dreamed this mortal part of mine Was metamorphosed to a vine, Which, crawling one and every way,

I dreamt this mortal part of mine Was metamorphos'd to a vine; Which crawling one and every way

The Virgin Mary was, as I have read, The House of God, by Christ inhabited; Into the which He entered, but, the door

To work a wonder, God would have her shown At once a bud and yet a rose full-blown.

I dreamed we both were in a bed Of roses, almost smothered: The warmth and sweetness had me there

Sitting alone, as one forsook, Close by a silver-shedding brook, With hands held up to love, I wept;

Methought I saw, as I did dream in bed, A crawling vine about Anacreon's head. Flushed was his face; his hairs with oil did shine;

Rare is the voice itself: but when we sing To th' lute or viol, then 'tis ravishing.

Come, Anthea, let us two Go to feast, as others do: Tarts and custards, creams and cakes,

Give way, give way, ye gates, and win An easy blessing to your bin And basket, by our entering in.

Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never Wound up again; Once down, he's down for ever. The watch once down, all motions then do cease;

When I a ship see on the seas, Cuff'd with those wat'ry savages, And therewithal behold it hath

I saw a cherry weep, and why? Why wept it? but for shame Because my Julia's lip was by,

So soft streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles Meet after long divorcement by the isles; When love, the child of likeness, urgeth on

In this world, the Isle of Dreams, While we sit by sorrow's streams, Tears and terrors are our themes,

Come pity us, all ye who see Our harps hung on the willow-tree; Come pity us, ye passers-by,

No grief is grown so desperate, but the ill Is half way cured if the party will.

When man is punish'd, he is plagued still, Not for the fault of nature, but of will.

A willow garland thou did'st send Perfum'd, last day, to me, Which did but only this portend -

Cupid as he lay among Roses, by a Bee was stung. Whereupon in anger flying

Come, bring your sampler, and with art Draw in't a wounded heart, And dropping here and there;

Things are uncertain; and the more we get, The more on icy pavements we are set.

We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace; Desire deferr'd is that it may increase.

This   crosstree   here Doth    Jesus      bear, Who   sweet'ned   first

God hath this world for many made, 'tis true: But He hath made the World to Come for few.

Three fatal sisters wait upon each sin; First, fear and shame without, then guilt within.

These fresh beauties, we can prove, Once were virgins, sick of love, Turn'd to flowers: still in some,

Bright tulips, we do know You had your coming hither, And fading-time does show

Look in my book, and herein see Life endless signed to thee and me. We o'er the tombs and fates shall fly;

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

Am I despised, because you say; And I dare swear, that I am gray? Know, Lady, you have but your day!

You say, you love me! that I thus must prove: It that you lie, then I will swear you love.

I could wish you all who love, That ye could your thoughts remove From your mistresses, and be

Anthea, I am going hence With some small stock of innocence; But yet those blessed gates I see

So looks Anthea, when in bed she lies O'ercome or half betray'd by tiffanies, Like to a twilight, or that simpering dawn

Bid me to live, and I will live Thy protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give

Ah, my Anthea! Must my heart still break? (Love makes me write, what shame forbids to speak.) Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score;

Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre, Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspire My fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,

Ph[oe]bus! when that I a verse Or some numbers more rehearse, Tune my words that they may fall