TO MASTER ANTHONY STAFFORD TO HASTEN HIM INTO THE COUNTRY

Come, spur away!

I have no patience for a longer stay,

But must go down,

And leave the charge'ble noise of this great town.

I will the country see,

Where old simplicity,

Though hid in gray,

Doth look more gay

Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad.

Farewell, you city wits, that are

Almost at civil war;

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ΙΟ

'Tis time that I grow wise, when all the world grows mad.

More of my days

I will not spend to gain an idiot's praise,

Or to make sport

For some slight puisne of the inns-of-court.
Then, worthy Stafford, say,

How shall we spend the day,
With what delights

Shorten the nights,

When from this tumult we are got secure

Where Mirth with all her freedom goes

Yet shall no finger lose,

Where every word is thought, and every thought is pure?

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20

There from the tree

We'll cherries pluck, and pick the strawberry;
And every day

Go see the wholesome country girls make hay;
Whose brown hath lovelier grace

Than any painted face

That I do know

Hyde Park can show;

Where I had rather gain a kiss than meet

(Though some of them in greater state

Might court my love with plate)

The beauties of the Cheap and wives of Lombard Street.

Some other pleasures: these to me are none.

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309

35

But think upon

Why do I prate

Of women, that are things against my fate?

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I never mean to wed

That torture to my bed:

My Muse is she

My love shall be.

Let clowns get wealth and heirs: when I am gone,

And the great bugbear, grisly death,

Shall take this idle breath,

If I a poem leave, that poem is my son.

45

Of this no more!

We'll rather taste the bright Pomona's store;

50

No fruit shall 'scape

Our palates, from the damson to the grape.

Then, full, we'll seek a shade,

And hear what music's made;
How Philomel

Her tale doth tell,

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And how the other birds do fill the quire;

The thrush and blackbird lend their throats,

Warbling melodious notes.

We will all sports enjoy which others but desire.

бо

Ours is the sky,

Where at what fowl we please our hawk shall fly.

Nor will we spare

To hunt the crafty fox or timorous hare,
But let our hounds run loose

In any ground they'll choose;
The buck shall fall,

The stag, and all.

Our pleasures must from their own warrants be;

For to my Muse, if not to me,

I'm sure all game is free:

Heaven, earth, are all but parts of her great royalty.

And when we mean

To taste of Bacchus' blessings now and then,

And drink by stealth

A cup or two to noble Barkley's health,
I'll take my pipe and try
The Phrygian melody;
Which he that hears,

Lets through his ears

A madness to distemper all the brain.

Then I another pipe will take
And Doric music make,

To civilize with graver notes our wits again.

Before 1635.

1638.

ROBERT HERRICK

THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,
Of April, May, of June and July flowers.

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I sing of Maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness.
I sing of dews, of rains. and, piece by piece.

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Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red and lilies white.

ΙΟ

I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab and of the fairy king.
I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall)
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

TO PERILLA

1648.

Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve to see

Me, day by day, to steal away from thee?

Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid come
And haste away to mine eternal home:

'T will not be long, Perilla, after this,
That I must give thee the supremest kiss.
Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring

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Part of the cream from that religious spring,
With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet:
That done, then wind me in that very sheet

Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore
The gods' protection but the night before:
Follow me, weeping, to my turf, and there

ΙΟ

Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear:
Then, lastly, let some weekly strewings be
Devoted to the memory of me.

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Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep
Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep.

1648.

UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES

I have lost, and lately, these

Many dainty mistresses:

Stately Julia, prime of all;

With Perilla. All are gone,
Only Herrick's left alone,
For to number sorrow by

Their departures hence, and die.

1648.

UPON JULIA'S VOICE

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,

Melting melodious words to lutes of amber.

THE BAG OF THE BEE

About the sweet bag of a bee,

Two Cupids fell at odds;

And whose the pretty prize should be,
They vowed to ask the gods.

Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stript them,
And, taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipt them.

Which done, to still their wanton cries,

When quiet grown sh'ad seen them, She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes, And gave the bag between them.

DIVINATION BY A DAFFADIL

When a daffadil I see

Hanging down his head t'wards me,
Guess I may what I must be:

First, I shall decline my head;

Secondly, I shall be dead;

Lastly, safely buried.

1648.

1640.

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ΙΟ

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