Chapter 6

Then shall he read that flower of mine Enclosed within a crystal shrine; A primrose next; A piece then of a higher text; For to beget In me a more transcendant 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 Iulus' 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 spiced, 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 frolick'd 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 untamed 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.

68. THE BAD SEASON MAKES THE POET SAD

Dull to myself, and almost dead to these, My many fresh and fragrant mistresses; Lost to all music now, since every thing Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing. Sick is the land to th' heart; and doth endure More dangerous faintings by her desperate cure. But if that golden age would come again, And Charles here rule, as he before did reign; If smooth and unperplex'd the seasons were, As when the sweet Maria lived here; I should delight to have my curls half drown'd In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd: And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead, Knock at a star with my exalted head.

69. ON HIMSELF

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 But yet those years that I have lived, but few. Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell, Lives not those years, but he that lives them well: One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he Of all those three-score has not lived half three: He lives who lives to virtue; men who cast Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.

70. HIS WINDING-SHEET

Come thou, who art the wine and wit Of all I've writ; The grace, the glory, and the best Piece of the rest; Thou art of what I did intend The All, and End; And what was made, was made to meet. Thee, thee my sheet. Come then, and be to my chaste side Both bed and bride. We two, as reliques left, will have One rest, one grave; And, hugging close, we need not fear Lust entering here, Where all desires are dead or cold, As is the mould; And all affections are forgot, Or trouble not. Here, here the slaves and prisoners be From shackles free; And weeping widows, long opprest, Do here find rest. The wronged client ends his laws Here, and his cause; Here those long suits of Chancery lie Quiet, or die; And all Star-chamber bills do cease, Or hold their peace. Here needs no court for our Request Where all are best; All wise, all equal, and all just Alike i'th' dust. Nor need we here to fear the frown Of court or crown; Where fortune bears no sway o'er things, There all are kings. In this securer place we'll keep, As lull'd asleep; Or for a little time we'll lie, As robes laid by, To be another day re-worn, Turn'd, but not torn; Or like old testaments engrost, Lock'd up, not lost; And for a-while lie here conceal'd, To be reveal'd Next, at that great Platonic year, And then meet here.

71. ANACREONTIC

Born I was to be old, And for to die here; After that, in the mould Long for to lie here. But before that day comes, Still I be bousing; For I know, in the tombs There's no carousing.

72. TO LAURELS

A funeral stone Or verse, I covet none; But only crave Of you that I may have A sacred laurel springing from my grave: Which being seen Blest with perpetual green, May grow to be Not so much call'd a tree, As the eternal monument of me.

73. ON HIMSELF

Weep for the dead, for they have lost this light; And weep for me, lost in an endless night; Or mourn, or make a marble verse for me, Who writ for many. BENEDICTE.

74. ON HIMSELF

Lost to the world; lost to myself; alone Here now I rest under this marble stone, In depth of silence, heard and seen of none.

75. TO ROBIN RED-BREAST

Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be With leaves and moss-work for to cover me; And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter, Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister! For epitaph, in foliage, next write this: HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!

76. THE OLIVE BRANCH

Sadly I walk'd within the field, To see what comfort it would yield; And as I went my private way, An olive-branch before me lay; And seeing it, I made a stay, And took it up, and view'd it; then Kissing the omen, said Amen; Be, be it so, and let this be A divination unto me; That in short time my woes shall cease, And love shall crown my end with peace.

77. THE PLAUDITE, OR END OF LIFE

If after rude and boisterous seas My wearied pinnace here finds ease; If so it be I've gain'd the shore, With safety of a faithful oar; If having run my barque on ground, Ye see the aged vessel crown'd; What's to be done? but on the sands Ye dance and sing, and now clap hands. --The first act's doubtful, but (we say) It is the last commends the Play.

78. TO GROVES

Ye silent shades, whose each tree here Some relique of a saint doth wear; Who for some sweet-heart's sake, did prove The fire and martyrdom of Love:-- Here is the legend of those saints That died for love, and their complaints; Their wounded hearts, and names we find Encarved upon the leaves and rind. Give way, give way to me, who come Scorch'd with the self-same martyrdom! And have deserved as much, Love knows, As to be canonized 'mongst those Whose deeds and deaths here written are Within your Greeny-kalendar. --By all those virgins' fillets hung Upon your boughs, and requiems sung For saints and souls departed hence, Here honour'd still with frankincense; By all those tears that have been shed, As a drink-offering to the dead; By all those true-love knots, that be With mottoes carved on every tree; By sweet Saint Phillis! pity me; By dear Saint Iphis! and the rest Of all those other saints now blest, Me, me forsaken,--here admit Among your myrtles to be writ; That my poor name may have the glory To live remember'd in your story.

AMORES

79. MRS ELIZ: WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS

Among the myrtles as I walk'd Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd: Tell me, said I, in deep distress, Where I may find my Shepherdess? --Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? In every thing that's sweet she is. In yond' carnation go and seek, There thou shalt find her lip and cheek; In that enamell'd pansy by, There thou shalt have her curious eye; In bloom of peach and rose's bud, There waves the streamer of her blood. --'Tis true, said I; and thereupon I went to pluck them one by one, To make of parts an union; But on a sudden all were gone. At which I stopp'd; Said Love, these be The true resemblances of thee; For as these flowers, thy joys must die; And in the turning of an eye; And all thy hopes of her must wither, Like those short sweets here knit together.

80. A VOW TO VENUS

Happily I had a sight Of my dearest dear last night; Make her this day smile on me, And I'll roses give to thee!

81. UPON LOVE

A crystal vial Cupid brought, Which had a juice in it: Of which who drank, he said, no thought Of Love he should admit.

I, greedy of the prize, did drink, And emptied soon the glass; Which burnt me so, that I do think The fire of hell it was.

Give me my earthen cups again, The crystal I contemn, Which, though enchased with pearls, contain A deadly draught in them.

And thou, O Cupid! come not to My threshold,--since I see, For all I have, or else can do, Thou still wilt cozen me.

82. UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES

Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes! Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see That brave vibration each way free; O how that glittering taketh me!

83. THE BRACELET TO JULIA

Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this my silken twist? For what other reason is't, But to shew thee how in part Thou my pretty captive art? But thy bond-slave 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.

84. UPON JULIA'S RIBBON

As shews the air when with a rain-bow graced, So smiles that ribbon 'bout my Julia's waist; Or like----Nay, 'tis that Zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.

85. TO JULIA

How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art, In each thy dainty and peculiar part! First, for thy Queen-ship on thy head is set Of flowers a sweet commingled coronet; About thy neck a carkanet is bound, Made of the Ruby, Pearl, and Diamond; A golden ring, that shines upon thy thumb; About thy wrist the rich Dardanium; Between thy breasts, than down of swans more white, There plays the Sapphire with the Chrysolite. No part besides must of thyself be known, But by the Topaz, Opal, Calcedon.

86. ART ABOVE NATURE: TO JULIA

When I behold a forest spread With silken trees upon thy head; And when I see that other dress Of flowers set in comeliness; When I behold another grace In the ascent of curious lace, Which, like a pinnacle, doth shew The top, and the top-gallant too; Then, when I see thy tresses bound Into an oval, square, or round, And knit in knots far more than I Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie; Next, when those lawny films I see Play with a wild civility; And all those airy silks to flow, Alluring me, and tempting so-- I must confess, mine eye and heart Dotes less on nature than on art.

87. HER BED

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

88. THE ROCK OF RUBIES, AND THE QUARRY OF PEARLS

Some ask'd me where the Rubies grew: And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and where: Then spoke I to my girl, To part her lips, and shew me there The quarrelets of Pearl.

89. THE PARLIAMENT OF ROSES TO JULIA

I dreamt the Roses one time went To meet and sit in Parliament; The place for these, and for the rest Of flowers, was thy spotless breast. Over the which a state was drawn Of tiffany, or cob-web lawn; Then in that Parly all those powers Voted the Rose the Queen of flowers; But so, as that herself should be The Maid of Honour unto thee.

90. UPON JULIA'S RECOVERY

Droop, droop no more, or hang the head, Ye roses almost withered; Now strength, and newer purple get, Each here declining violet. O primroses! let this day be A resurrection unto ye; And to all flowers allied in blood, Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood. For health on Julia's cheek hath shed Claret and cream commingled; And those, her lips, do now appear As beams of coral, but more clear.

91. UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILLED WITH DEW

Dew sate on Julia's hair, And spangled too, Like leaves that laden are With trembling dew; Or glitter'd to my sight, As when the beams Have their reflected light Danced by the streams.

92. CHERRY RIPE

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come, and buy: If so be you ask me where They do grow? I answer, there Where my Julia's lips do smile;-- There's the land, or cherry-isle; Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.

93. THE CAPTIVE BEE; OR, THE LITTLE FILCHER

As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay, It chanced a bee did fly that way, After a dew, or dew-like shower, To tipple freely in a flower; For some rich flower, he took the lip Of Julia, and began to sip; But when he felt he suck'd from thence Honey, and in the quintessence, He drank so much he scarce could stir; So Julia took the pilferer. And thus surprised, as filchers use, He thus began himself t'excuse: 'Sweet lady-flower, I never brought Hither the least one thieving thought; But taking those rare lips of yours For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers, I thought I might there take a taste, Where so much sirup ran at waste. Besides, know this, I never sting The flower that gives me nourishing; But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay For honey that I bear away.' --This said, he laid his little scrip Of honey 'fore her ladyship, And told her, as some tears did fall, That, that he took, and that was all. At which she smiled, and bade him go And take his bag; but thus much know, When next he came a-pilfering so, He should from her full lips derive Honey enough to fill his hive.

94. UPON ROSES

Under a lawn, than skies more clear, Some ruffled Roses nestling were, And snugging there, they seem'd to lie As in a flowery nunnery; They blush'd, and look'd more fresh than flowers Quickened of late by pearly showers; And all, because they were possest But of the heat of Julia's breast, Which, as a warm and moisten'd spring, Gave them their ever-flourishing.

95. HOW HIS SOUL CAME ENSNARED

My soul would one day go and seek For roses, and in Julia's cheek A richess of those sweets she found, As in another Rosamond; But gathering roses as she was, Not knowing what would come to pass, It chanced a ringlet of her hair Caught my poor soul, as in a snare; Which ever since has been in thrall; --Yet freedom she enjoys withal.

96. UPON JULIA'S VOICE

When I thy singing next shall hear, I'll wish I might turn all to ear, To drink-in notes and numbers, such As blessed souls can't hear too much Then melted down, there let me lie Entranced, and lost confusedly; And by thy music strucken mute, Die, and be turn'd into a Lute.

97. THE NIGHT PIECE: TO JULIA

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o'th'-Wisp mis-light thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee; But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear, without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet, My soul I'll pour into thee.

98. HIS COVENANT OR PROTESTATION TO JULIA

Why dost thou wound and break my heart, As if we should for ever part? Hast thou not heard an oath from me, After a day, or two, or three, I would come back and live with thee? Take, if thou dost distrust that vow, This second protestation now:-- Upon thy cheek that spangled tear, Which sits as dew of roses there, That tear shall scarce be dried before I'll kiss the threshold of thy door; Then weep not, Sweet, but thus much know,-- I'm half returned before I go.

99. HIS SAILING FROM JULIA

When that day comes, whose evening says I'm gone Unto that watery desolation; Devoutly to thy Closet-gods then pray, That my wing'd ship may meet no Remora. Those deities which circum-walk the seas, And look upon our dreadful passages, Will from all dangers re-deliver me, For one drink-offering poured out by thee, Mercy and Truth live with thee! and forbear, In my short absence, to unsluice a tear; But yet for love's-sake, let thy lips do this,-- Give my dead picture one engendering kiss; Work that to life, and let me ever dwell In thy remembrance, Julia. So farewell.

100. HIS LAST REQUEST TO JULIA

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 Grace with the gods who's sorry for his sin. That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come, And go with me to chuse my burial room: My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies, Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes.

101. THE TRANSFIGURATION

Immortal clothing I put on So soon as, Julia, I am gone To mine eternal mansion.

Thou, thou art here, to human sight Clothed all with incorrupted light; --But yet how more admir'dly bright

Wilt thou appear, when thou art set In thy refulgent thronelet, That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit!

102. LOVE DISLIKES NOTHING

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

Be my girl or fair or brown, Does she smile, or does she frown; Still I write a sweet-heart down.

Be she rough, or smooth of skin; When I touch, I then begin For to let affection in.

Be she bald, or does she wear Locks incurl'd of other hair; I shall find enchantment there.

Be she whole, or be she rent, So my fancy be content, She's to me most excellent.

Be she fat, or be she lean; Be she sluttish, be she clean; I'm a man for every scene.

103. UPON LOVE

I held Love's head while it did ache; But so it chanced to be, The cruel pain did his forsake, And forthwith came to me.

Ai me! how shall my grief be still'd? Or where else shall we find One like to me, who must be kill'd For being too-too-kind?

104. TO DIANEME

I could but see thee yesterday Stung by a fretful bee; And I the javelin suck'd away, And heal'd the wound in thee.

A thousand thorns, and briars, and stings I have in my poor breast; Yet ne'er can see that salve which brings My passions any rest.

As Love shall help me, I admire How thou canst sit and smile To see me bleed, and not desire To staunch the blood the while.

If thou, composed of gentle mould, Art so unkind to me; What dismal stories will be told Of those that cruel be!

105. TO PERENNA

When I thy parts run o'er, I can't espy In any one, the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused thence A fair and unfamiliar excellence; So that the more I look, the more I prove There's still more cause why I the more should love.

106. TO OENONE.

What conscience, say, is it in thee, When I a heart had one, [won] To take away that heart from me, And to retain thy own?

For shame or pity, now incline To play a loving part; Either to send me kindly thine, Or give me back my heart.

Covet not both; but if thou dost Resolve to part with neither; Why! yet to shew that thou art just, Take me and mine together.

107. TO ELECTRA

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

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

108. TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING

Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay To honour thy decree; Or bid it languish quite away, And't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep, While I have eyes to see; And having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Under that cypress tree; Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en death, to die for thee.

--Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me; And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee.

109. ANTHEA'S RETRACTATION

Anthea laugh'd, and, fearing lest excess Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness She with a dainty blush rebuked her face, And call'd each line back to his rule and space.

110. LOVE LIGHTLY PLEASED

Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture her's, I'm pleased with it; Or let her tongue be still, or stir Graceful is every thing from her; Or let her grant, or else deny, My love will fit each history.

111. TO DIANEME

Give me one kiss, And no more: If so be, this Makes you poor To enrich you, I'll restore For that one, two- Thousand score.

112. UPON HER EYES

Clear are her eyes, Like purest skies; Discovering from thence A baby there That turns each sphere, Like an Intelligence.

113. UPON HER FEET

Her pretty feet Like snails did creep A little out, and then, As if they played at Bo-peep, Did soon draw in again.

114. UPON A DELAYING LADY

Come, come away Or let me go; Must I here stay Because you're 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.

115. THE CRUEL MAID