180. UPON A CHILD. AN EPITAPH.

But born, and like a short delight, I glided by my parents' sight.

That done, the harder fates denied My longer stay, and so I died.

If, pitying my sad parents' tears, You'll spill a tear or two with theirs, And with some flowers my grave bestrew, Love and they'll thank you for't. Adieu.

181. A DIALOGUE BETWIXT HORACE AND LYDIA, TRANSLATED ANNO 1627, AND SET BY MR. RO. RAMSEY.

_Hor._ While, Lydia, I was loved of thee, Nor any was preferred 'fore me To hug thy whitest neck, than I The Persian king lived not more happily.

_Lyd._ While thou no other didst affect, Nor Chloe was of more respect Than Lydia, far-famed Lydia, I flourished more than Roman Ilia.

_Hor._ Now Thracian Chloe governs me, Skilful i' th' harp and melody; For whose affection, Lydia, I (So fate spares her) am well content to die.

_Lyd._ My heart now set on fire is By Ornithes' son, young Calais, For whose commutual flames here I, To save his life, twice am content to die.

_Hor._ Say our first loves we should revoke, And, severed, join in brazen yoke; Admit I Chloe put away, And love again love-cast-off Lydia?

_Lyd._ Though mine be brighter than the star, Thou lighter than the cork by far, Rough as the Adriatic sea, yet I Will live with thee, or else for thee will die.

182. THE CAPTIV'D BEE, OR THE LITTLE FILCHER.

As Julia once a-slumbering 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 sucked 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 syrup 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.

185. AN ODE TO MASTER ENDYMION PORTER, UPON HIS BROTHER'S DEATH.

Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere.

Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest As dead within the west; Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east.

Alas! for me, that I have lost E'en all almost; Sunk is my sight, set is my sun, And all the loom of life undone: The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt'ring wall Whereon my vine did crawl, Now, now blown down; needs must the old stock fall.

Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive, In death I thrive: And like a phnix re-aspire From out my nard and fun'ral fire: And as I prune my feathered youth, so I Do mar'l how I could die When I had thee, my chief preserver, by.

I'm up, I'm up, and bless that hand Which makes me stand Now as I do, and but for thee I must confess I could not be.

The debt is paid; for he who doth resign Thanks to the gen'rous vine Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.

_Mar'l_, marvel.

186. TO HIS DYING BROTHER, MASTER WILLIAM HERRICK.

Life of my life, 'take not so soon thy flight, But stay the time till we have bade good-night.

Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way As soon despatch'd is by the night as day.

Let us not then so rudely henceforth go Till we have wept, kissed, sigh'd, shook hands, or so.

There's pain in parting, and a kind of h.e.l.l, When once true lovers take their last farewell.

What! shall we two our endless leaves take here Without a sad look or a solemn tear?

He knows not love that hath not this truth proved, _Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved_.

Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part, Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none To warm my breast when thou, my pulse, art gone.

No, here I'll last, and walk (a harmless shade) About this urn wherein thy dust is laid, To guard it so as nothing here shall be Heavy to hurt those sacred seeds of thee.

187. 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.

189. TO CHERRY-BLOSSOMS.

Ye may simper, blush and smile, And perfume the air awhile; But, sweet things, ye must be gone, Fruit, ye know, is coming on; Then, ah! then, where is your grace, Whenas cherries come in place?

190. HOW LILIES CAME WHITE.

White though ye be, yet, lilies, know, From the first ye were not so; But I'll tell ye What befell ye: Cupid and his mother lay In a cloud, while both did play, He with his pretty finger press'd The ruby niplet of her breast; Out of which the cream of light, Like to a dew, Fell down on you And made ye white.

191. TO PANSIES.

Ah, cruel love! must I endure Thy many scorns and find no cure?

Say, are thy medicines made to be Helps to all others but to me?

I'll leave thee and to pansies come, Comforts you'll afford me some; You can ease my heart and do What love could ne'er be brought unto.

192. ON GILLY-FLOWERS BEGOTTEN.

What was't that fell but now From that warm kiss of ours?

Look, look! by love I vow They were two gilly-flowers.

Let's kiss and kiss again, For if so be our closes Make gilly-flowers, then I'm sure they'll fashion roses.

193. THE LILY IN A CRYSTAL.

You have beheld a smiling rose When virgins' hands have drawn O'er it a cobweb-lawn; And here you see this lily shows, Tomb'd in a crystal stone, More fair in this transparent case Than when it grew alone And had but single grace.

You see how cream but naked is Nor dances in the eye Without a strawberry, Or some fine tincture like to this, Which draws the sight thereto More by that wantoning with it Than when the paler hue No mixture did admit.

You see how amber through the streams More gently strokes the sight With some conceal'd delight Than when he darts his radiant beams Into the boundless air; Where either too much light his worth Doth all at once impair, Or set it little forth.

Put purple grapes or cherries in- To gla.s.s, and they will send More beauty to commend Them from that clean and subtle skin Than if they naked stood, And had no other pride at all But their own flesh and blood And tinctures natural.

Thus lily, rose, grape, cherry, cream, And strawberry do stir More love when they transfer A weak, a soft, a broken beam, Than if they should discover At full their proper excellence; Without some scene cast over To juggle with the sense.