280. TO THE YEW AND CYPRESS TO GRACE HIS FUNERAL.

Both you two have Relation to the grave: And where The funeral-trump sounds, you are there,

I shall be made, Ere long, a fleeting shade: Pray, come And do some honour to my tomb.

Do not deny My last request; for I Will be Thankful to you, or friends, for me.

281. I CALL AND I CALL.

I call, I call: who do ye call?

The maids to catch this cowslip ball: But since these cowslips fading be, Troth, leave the flowers, and, maids, take me.

Yet, if that neither you will do, Speak but the word and I'll take you.

282. ON A PERFUMED LADY.

You say you're sweet; how should we know Whether that you be sweet or no?

From powders and perfumes keep free, Then we shall smell how sweet you be.

283. A NUPTIAL SONG OR EPITHALAMY ON SIR CLIPSEBY CREW AND HIS LADY.

What's that we see from far? the spring of day Bloom'd from the east, or fair enjewell'd May Blown out of April, or some new Star filled with glory to our view, Reaching at heaven, To add a n.o.bler planet to the seven?

Say, or do we not descry Some G.o.ddess in a cloud of tiffany To move, or rather the Emergent Venus from the sea?

'Tis she! 'tis she! or else some more divine Enlightened substance; mark how from the shrine Of holy saints she paces on, Treading upon vermilion And amber: spic- ing the chaft air with fumes of Paradise.

Then come on, come on and yield A savour like unto a blessed field When the bedabbled morn Washes the golden ears of corn.

See where she comes; and smell how all the street Breathes vineyards and pomegranates: O how sweet!

As a fir'd altar is each stone, Perspiring pounded cinnamon.

The phnix' nest, Built up of odours, burneth in her breast.

Who, therein, would not consume His soul to ash-heaps in that rich perfume?

Bestroking fate the while He burns to embers on the pile.

Hymen, O Hymen! tread the sacred ground; Show thy white feet and head with marjoram crown'd: Mount up thy flames and let thy torch Display the bridegroom in the porch, In his desires More towering, more disparkling than thy fires: Show her how his eyes do turn And roll about, and in their motions burn Their b.a.l.l.s to cinders: haste Or else to ashes he will waste.

Glide by the banks of virgins, then, and pa.s.s The showers of roses, lucky four-leav'd gra.s.s: The while the cloud of younglings sing And drown ye with a flowery spring; While some repeat Your praise and bless you, sprinkling you with wheat; While that others do divine, _Bless'd is the bride on whom the sun doth shine_; And thousands gladly wish You multiply as doth a fish.

And, beauteous bride, we do confess y'are wise In dealing forth these bashful jealousies: In love's name do so; and a price Set on yourself by being nice: But yet take heed; What now you seem be not the same indeed, And turn apostate: love will, Part of the way be met or sit stone-still.

On, then, and though you slow- ly go, yet, howsoever, go.

And now y'are entered; see the coddled cook Runs from his torrid zone to pry and look And bless his dainty mistress: see The aged point out, "This is she Who now must sway The house (love shield her) with her yea and nay": And the smirk butler thinks it Sin in's napery not to express his wit; Each striving to devise Some gin wherewith to catch your eyes.

To bed, to bed, kind turtles, now, and write This the short'st day, and this the longest night; But yet too short for you: 'tis we Who count this night as long as three, Lying alone, Telling the clock strike ten, eleven, twelve, one.

Quickly, quickly then prepare, And let the young men and the bride-maids share Your garters; and their joints Encircle with the bridegroom's points.

By the bride's eyes, and by the teeming life Of her green hopes, we charge ye that no strife (Farther than gentleness tends) gets place Among ye, striving for her lace: O do not fall Foul in these n.o.ble pastimes, lest ye call Discord in, and so divide The youthful bridegroom and the fragrant bride: Which love forfend; but spoken Be't to your praise, no peace was broken.

Strip her of springtime, tender-whimpering maids, Now autumn's come, when all these flowery aids Of her delays must end; dispose That lady-smock, that pansy, and that rose Neatly apart, But for p.r.i.c.k-madam and for gentle-heart, And soft maidens'-blush, the bride Makes holy these, all others lay aside: Then strip her, or unto her Let him come who dares undo her.

And to enchant ye more, see everywhere About the roof a siren in a sphere, As we think, singing to the din Of many a warbling cherubin.

O mark ye how The soul of nature melts in numbers: now See, a thousand Cupids fly To light their tapers at the bride's bright eye.

To bed, or her they'll tire, Were she an element of fire.

And to your more bewitching, see, the proud Plump bed bear up, and swelling like a cloud, Tempting the two too modest; can Ye see it brusle like a swan, And you be cold To meet it when it woos and seems to fold The arms to hug it? Throw, throw Yourselves into the mighty overflow Of that white pride, and drown The night with you in floods of down.

The bed is ready, and the maze of love Looks for the treaders; everywhere is wove Wit and new mystery; read, and Put in practice, to understand And know each wile, Each hieroglyphic of a kiss or smile; And do it to the full; reach High in your own conceit, and some way teach Nature and art one more Play than they ever knew before.

If needs we must for ceremony's sake, Bless a sack-posset, luck go with it, take The night-charm quickly, you have spells And magics for to end, and h.e.l.ls To pa.s.s; but such And of such torture as no one would grutch To live therein for ever: fry And consume, and grow again to die And live, and, in that case, Love the confusion of the place.

But since it must be done, despatch, and sew Up in a sheet your bride, and what if so It be with rock or walls of bra.s.s Ye tower her up, as Danae was; Think you that this Or h.e.l.l itself a powerful bulwark is?

I tell ye no; but like a Bold bolt of thunder he will make his way, And rend the cloud, and throw The sheet about like flakes of snow.

All now is hushed in silence: midwife-moon With all her owl-eyed issue begs a boon, Which you must grant; that's entrance; with Which extract, all we can call pith And quintessence Of planetary bodies, so commence, All fair constellations Looking upon ye, that two nations, Springing from two such fires May blaze the virtue of their sires.

_Tiffany_, gauze.

_More disparkling_, more widespreading.

_Nice_, fastidious.

_Coddled_, lit. boiled.

_Lace_, girdle.

_Brusle_, raise its feathers.

_Grutch_, grumble.

284. THE SILKEN SNAKE.

For sport my Julia threw a lace Of silk and silver at my face: Watchet the silk was, and did make A show as if't had been a snake: The suddenness did me afright, But though it scar'd, it did not bite.

_Lace_, a girdle.

_Watchet_, pale blue.

285. UPON HIMSELF.

I am sieve-like, and can hold Nothing hot or nothing cold.

Put in love, and put in too Jealousy, and both will through: Put in fear, and hope, and doubt; What comes in runs quickly out: Put in secrecies withal, Whate'er enters, out it shall: But if you can stop the sieve, For mine own part, I'd as lief Maids should say or virgins sing, Herrick keeps, as holds nothing.

286. UPON LOVE.

Love's a thing, as I do hear, Ever full of pensive fear; Rather than to which I'll fall, Trust me, I'll not like at all.

If to love I should intend, Let my hair then stand an end: And that terror likewise prove Fatal to me in my love.

But if horror cannot slake Flames which would an entrance make Then the next thing I desire Is, to love and live i' th' fire.

_An end_, on end.

287. REVERENCE TO RICHES.