52. HIS DESIRE

Give me a man that is not dull, When all the world with rifts is full; But unamazed dares clearly sing, Whenas the roof's a-tottering; And though it falls, continues still Tickling the Cittern with his quill.

53. AN ODE FOR BEN JONSON

Ah Ben!

Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun; Where we such cl.u.s.ters had, As made us n.o.bly wild, not mad?

And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

My Ben!

Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend; And having once brought to an end That precious stock,--the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.

54. TO LIVE MERRILY, AND TO TRUST TO GOOD VERSES

Now is the time for mirth; Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; For with [the] flowery earth The golden pomp is come.

The golden pomp is come; For now each tree does wear, Made of her pap and gum, Rich beads of amber here.

Now reigns the Rose, and now Th' Arabian dew besmears My uncontrolled brow, And my retorted hairs.

Homer, this health to thee!

In sack of such a kind, That it would make thee see, Though thou wert ne'er so blind

Next, Virgil I'll call forth, To pledge this second health In wine, whose each cup's worth An Indian commonwealth.

A goblet next I'll drink To Ovid; and suppose Made he the pledge, he'd think The world had all one nose.

Then this immensive cup Of aromatic wine, Catullus! I quaff up To that terse muse of thine.

Wild I am now with heat: O Bacchus! cool thy rays; Or frantic I shall eat Thy Thyrse, and bite the Bays!

Round, round, the roof does run; And being ravish'd thus, Come, I will drink a tun To my Propertius.

Now, to Tibullus next, This flood I drink to thee; --But stay, I see a text, That this presents to me.

Behold! Tibullus lies Here burnt, whose small return Of ashes scarce suffice To fill a little urn.

Trust to good verses then; They only will aspire, When pyramids, as men, Are lost i' th' funeral fire.

And when all bodies meet In Lethe to be drown'd; Then only numbers sweet With endless life are crown'd.

55. THE APPARITION OF HIS, MISTRESS, CALLING HIM TO ELYSIUM

DESUNT NONNULLA--

Come then, and like two doves with silvery wings, Let our souls fly to th' shades, wherever springs Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil, Roses and ca.s.sia, crown the untill'd soil; Where no disease reigns, or infection comes To blast the air, but amber-gris and gums.

This, that, and ev'ry thicket doth transpire More sweet than storax from the hallow'd fire; Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue bears Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, or pears; And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew Like morning sun-shine, tinselling the dew.

Here in green meadows sits eternal May, Purfling the margents, while perpetual day So double-gilds the air, as that no night Can ever rust th' enamel of the light: Here naked younglings, handsome striplings, run Their goals for virgins' kisses; which when done, Then unto dancing forth the learned round Commix'd they meet, with endless roses crown'd.

And here we'll sit on primrose-banks, and see Love's chorus led by Cupid; and we'll he Two loving followers too unto the grove, Where poets sing the stories of our love.

There thou shalt hear divine Musaeus sing Of Hero and Leander; then I'll bring Thee to the stand, where honour'd Homer reads His Odyssees and his high Iliads; About whose throne the crowd of poets throng To hear the incantation of his tongue: To Linus, then to Pindar; and that done, I'll bring thee, Herrick, to Anacreon, Quaffing his full-crown'd bowls of burning wine, And in his raptures speaking lines of thine, Like to his subject; and as his frantic Looks shew him truly Baccha.n.a.lian like, Besmear'd with grapes,--welcome he shall thee thither, Where both may rage, both drink and dance together.

Then stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by Whom fair Corinna sits, and doth comply With ivory wrists his laureat head, and steeps His eye in dew of kisses while he sleeps.

Then soft Catullus, sharp-fang'd Martial, And towering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, And snaky Persius; these, and those whom rage, Dropt for the jars of heaven, fill'd, t' engage All times unto their frenzies; thou shalt there Behold them in a s.p.a.cious theatre: Among which glories, crown'd with sacred bays And flatt'ring ivy, two recite their plays, Beaumont and Fletcher, swans, to whom all ears Listen, while they, like sirens in their spheres, Sing their Evadne; and still more for thee There yet remains to know than thou canst see By glimm'ring of a fancy; Do but come, And there I'll shew thee that capacious room In which thy father, Jonson, now is placed As in a globe of radiant fire, and graced To be in that orb crown'd, that doth include Those prophets of the former magnitude, And he one chief. But hark! I hear the c.o.c.k, The bell-man of the night, proclaim the clock Of late struck One; and now I see the prime Of day break from the pregnant east:--'tis time I vanish:--more I had to say, But night determines here; Away!

56. THE INVITATION

To sup with thee thou didst me home invite, And mad'st a promise that mine appet.i.te Should meet and tire, on such laut.i.tious meat, The like not Heliogabalus did eat: And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest, Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast.

I came, 'tis true, and look'd for fowl of price, The b.a.s.t.a.r.d Phoenix; bird of Paradise; And for no less than aromatic wine Of maidens-blush, commix'd with jessamine.

Clean was the hearth, the mantle larded jet, Which, wanting Lar and smoke, hung weeping wet; At last i' th' noon of winter, did appear A ragg'd soused neats-foot, with sick vinegar; And in a burnish'd flagonet, stood by Beer small as comfort, dead as charity.

At which amazed, and pond'ring on the food, How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood, I curst the master, and I d.a.m.n'd the souce, And swore I'd got the ague of the house.

--Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire, I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire.

57. TO SIR CLIPSBY CREW

Since to the country first I came, I have lost my former flame; And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravish'd spirit.

If I write a verse or two, 'Tis with very much ado; In regard I want that wine Which should conjure up a line.

Yet, though now of Muse bereft, I have still the manners left For to thank you, n.o.ble sir, For those gifts you do confer Upon him, who only can Be in prose a grateful man.

58. A COUNTRY LIFE: TO HIS BROTHER, MR THOMAS HERRICK

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 The country's sweet simplicity; And it to know and practise, with intent To grow the sooner innocent; By studying to know virtue, and to aim More at her nature than her name; The last is but the least; the first doth tell Ways less to live, than to live well:-- And both are known to thee, who now canst live Led by thy conscience, to give Justice to soon-pleased nature, and to show Wisdom and she together go, And keep one centre; This with that conspires To teach man to confine desires, And know that riches have their proper stint In the contented mind, not mint; And canst instruct that those who have the itch Of craving more, are never rich.

These things thou knows't to th' height, and dost prevent That plague, because thou art content With that Heaven gave thee with a wary hand, (More blessed in thy bra.s.s than land) To keep cheap Nature even and upright; To cool, not c.o.c.ker appet.i.te.

Thus thou canst tersely live to satisfy The belly chiefly, not the eye; Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet, Less with a neat than needful diet.

But that which most makes sweet thy country life, Is the fruition of a wife, Whom, stars consenting with thy fate, thou hast Got not so beautiful as chaste; By whose warm side thou dost securely sleep, While Love the sentinel doth keep, With those deeds done by day, which ne'er affright Thy silken slumbers in the night: Nor has the darkness power to usher in Fear to those sheets that know no sin.

The damask'd meadows and the pebbly streams Sweeten and make soft your dreams: The purling springs, groves, birds, and well weaved bowers, With fields enamelled with flowers, Present their shapes, while fantasy discloses Millions of Lilies mix'd with Roses.

Then dream, ye hear the lamb by many a bleat Woo'd to come suck the milky teat; While Faunus in the vision comes, to keep From rav'ning wolves the fleecy sheep: With thousand such enchanting dreams, that meet To make sleep not so sound as sweet; Nor call these figures so thy rest endear, As not to rise when Chanticlere Warns the last watch;--but with the dawn dost rise To work, but first to sacrifice; Making thy peace with Heaven for some late fault, With holy-meal and spirting salt; Which done, thy painful thumb this sentence tells us, 'Jove for our labour all things sells us.'

Nor are thy daily and devout affairs Attended with those desp'rate cares Th' industrious merchant has, who for to find Gold, runneth to the Western Ind, And back again, tortured with fears, doth fly, Untaught to suffer Poverty;-- But thou at home, blest with securest ease, Sitt'st, and believ'st that there be seas, And watery dangers; while thy whiter hap But sees these things within thy map; And viewing them with a more safe survey, Mak'st easy fear unto thee say, 'A heart thrice walled with oak and bra.s.s, that man Had, first durst plough the ocean.'

But thou at home, without or tide or gale, Canst in thy map securely sail; Seeing those painted countries, and so guess By those fine shades, their substances; And from thy compa.s.s taking small advice, Buy'st travel at the lowest price.

Nor are thine ears so deaf but thou canst hear, Far more with wonder than with fear, Fame tell of states, of countries, courts, and kings, And believe there be such things; When of these truths thy happier knowledge lies More in thine ears than in thine eyes.

And when thou hear'st by that too true report, Vice rules the most, or all, at court, Thy pious wishes are, though thou not there, Virtue had, and moved her sphere.

But thou liv'st fearless; and thy face ne'er shows Fortune when she comes, or goes; But with thy equal thoughts, prepared dost stand To take her by the either hand; Nor car'st which comes the first, the foul or fair:-- A wise man ev'ry way lies square; And like a surly oak with storms perplex'd Grows still the stronger, strongly vex'd.