Why should we covet much, when as we know, II. 134.

Why so slowly do you move, II. 93.

Why this flower is now call'd so, I. 16.

Why wore th' Egyptians jewels in the ear? II. 178.

Will ye hear what I can say, I. 173.

Wilt thou my true friend be? II. 2.

With blameless carriage, I lived here, I. 48.

With golden censors and with incense here, II. 208.

Woe, woe to them, who by a ball of strife, I. 29.

Women, although they ne'er so goodly make it, II. 41.

Words beget anger; anger brings forth blows, II. 107.

Would I see lawn, clear as the heaven and thin? I. 197.

Would I woo, and would I win, II. 106.

Would ye have fresh cheese and cream? I. 229.

Would ye oil of blossoms get? II. 54.

Wrinkles no more are or no less, I. 179.

Wrongs, if neglected, vanish in short time, II. 75.

Ye have been fresh and green, I. 136.

Ye may simper, blush, and smile, I. 89.

Ye pretty housewives, would ye know, I. 204.

Ye silent shades, whose each tree here, I. 211.

You are a lord, an earl; nay more, a man, I. 215.

You are a tulip seen to-day, I. 108.

You ask me what I do, and how I live, II. 138.

You have beheld a smiling rose, I. 90.

You may vow I'll not forget, II. 268.

You say I love not 'cause I do not play, I. 16.

You say to me-wards your affection's strong, I. 61.

You say you're sweet; how should we know, I. 139.

You see this gentle stream that glides, II. 54.

Young I was, but now am old, I. 18.

APPENDIX OF EPIGRAMS, etc.

_NOTE._

_Herrick's coa.r.s.er epigrams and poems are included in this_ Appendix.

_A few decent, but somewhat pointless, epigrams have been added._

APPENDIX OF EPIGRAMS.

5. [TO HIS BOOK.] ANOTHER.

Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need, The place where swelling piles do breed; May every ill that bites or smarts Perplex him in his hinder parts.

6. TO THE SOUR READER.

If thou dislik'st the piece thou light'st on first, Think that of all, that I have writ, the worst: But if thou read'st my book unto the end, And still do'st this and that verse, reprehend; O perverse man! if all disgustful be, The extreme scab take thee, and thine, for me.

41. THE VINE.

I dreamt this mortal part of mine Was metamorphos'd to a vine; Which crawling one and every way Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia.

Methought, her long small legs and thighs I with my tendrils did surprise; Her belly, b.u.t.tocks, and her waist By my soft nerv'lets were embrac'd; About her head I writhing hung, } And with rich cl.u.s.ters, hid among } The leaves, her temples I behung: } So that my Lucia seem'd to me Young Bacchus ravish'd by his tree.

My curls about her neck did crawl, And arms and hands they did enthrall: So that she could not freely stir, All parts there made one prisoner.

But when I crept with leaves to hide Those parts, which maids keep unespy'd, Such fleeting pleasures there I took, That with the fancy I awoke; And found, ah me! this flesh of mine More like a stock than like a vine.