336. HIS AGE, DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, M. JOHN WICKES, UNDER THE NAME OF POSTHUMUS.

Ah Posthumus! our years hence fly, And leave no sound; nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle from the brow; But we must on, As fate does lead or draw us; none, None, Posthumus, could ere decline The doom of cruel Proserpine.

The pleasing wife, the house, the ground, Must all be left, no one plant found To follow thee, Save only the curs'd cypress tree; A merry mind Looks forward, scorns what's left behind; Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may, And here enjoy our holiday.

W'ave seen the past best times, and these Will ne'er return; we see the seas And moons to wane But they fill up their ebbs again; But vanish'd man, Like to a lily lost, ne'er can, Ne'er can repullulate, or bring His days to see a second spring.

But on we must, and thither tend, Where Anchus and rich Tullus blend Their sacred seed: Thus has infernal Jove decreed; We must be made, Ere long a song, ere long a shade.

Why then, since life to us is short, Let's make it full up by our sport.

Crown we our heads with roses then, And 'noint with Tyrian balm; for when We two are dead, The world with us is buried.

Then live we free As is the air, and let us be Our own fair wind, and mark each one Day with the white and lucky stone.

We are not poor, although we have No roofs of cedar, nor our brave Baiae, nor keep Account of such a flock of sheep; Nor bullocks fed To lard the shambles: barbels bred To kiss our hands; nor do we wish For Pollio's lampreys in our dish.

If we can meet and so confer Both by a shining salt-cellar, And have our roof, Although not arch'd, yet weather-proof, And ceiling free From that cheap candle bawdery; We'll eat our bean with that full mirth As we were lords of all the earth.

Well then, on what seas we are toss'd, Our comfort is, we can't be lost.

Let the winds drive Our barque, yet she will keep alive Amidst the deeps.

'Tis constancy, my Wickes, which keeps The pinnace up; which, though she errs I' th' seas, she saves her pa.s.sengers.

Say, we must part (sweet mercy bless Us both i' th' sea, camp, wilderness), Can we so far Stray to become less circular Than we are now?

No, no, that self-same heart, that vow Which made us one, shall ne'er undo, Or ravel so to make us two.

Live in thy peace; as for myself, When I am bruised on the shelf Of time, and show My locks behung with frost and snow; When with the rheum, The cough, the ptisick, I consume Unto an almost nothing; then The ages fled I'll call again,

And with a tear compare these last Lame and bad times with those are past; While Baucis by, My old lean wife, shall kiss it dry.

And so we'll sit By th' fire, foretelling snow and sleet, And weather by our aches, grown Now old enough to be our own

True calendars, as puss's ear Washed o'er's, to tell what change is near: Then to a.s.suage The gripings of the chine by age, I'll call my young Iulus to sing such a song I made upon my Julia's breast; And of her blush at such a feast.

Then shall he read that flower of mine, Enclos'd within a crystal shrine; A primrose next; A piece, then, of a higher text, For to beget In me a more transcendent heat Than that insinuating fire, Which crept into each aged sire,

When the fair Helen, from her eyes, Shot forth her loving sorceries; At which I'll rear Mine aged limbs above my chair, And, hearing it, Flutter and crow as in a fit Of fresh concupiscence, and cry: _No l.u.s.t there's like to poetry_.

Thus, frantic-crazy man, G.o.d wot, I'll call to mind things half-forgot, And oft between Repeat the times that I have seen!

Thus ripe with tears, And twisting my Iulus' hairs, Doting, I'll weep and say, in truth, Baucis, these were my sins of youth.

Then next I'll cause my hopeful lad, If a wild apple can be had, To crown the hearth, Lar thus conspiring with our mirth; Then to infuse Our browner ale into the cruse, Which sweetly spic'd, we'll first carouse Unto the Genius of the house.

Then the next health to friends of mine, Loving the brave Burgundian wine, High sons of pith, Whose fortunes I have frolicked with; Such as could well Bear up the magic bough and spell; And dancing 'bout the mystic thyrse, Give up the just applause to verse:

To those, and then again to thee, We'll drink, my Wickes, until we be Plump as the cherry, Though not so fresh, yet full as merry As the cricket, The untam'd heifer, or the p.r.i.c.ket, Until our tongues shall tell our ears We're younger by a score of years.

Thus, till we see the fire less shine From th' embers than the kitling's eyne, We'll still sit up, Sphering about the wa.s.sail-cup To all those times Which gave me honour for my rhymes.

The coal once spent, we'll then to bed, Far more than night-bewearied.

_Posthumus_, the name is taken from Horace, Ode ii. 14, from which the beginning of this lyric is translated.

_Repullulate_, be born again.

_Anchus and rich Tullus._ Herrick is again translating from Horace (Ode iv. 7, 14).

_Baiae_, the favourite sea-side resort of the Romans in the time of Horace.

_Pollio_, Vedius Pollio, who fed his lampreys with human flesh. _Ob_., B.C. 15.

_Bawdery_, dirt (with no moral meaning).

_Circular_, self-sufficing, the "in se ipso totus teres atque rotundus"

of Horace. Sat. ii. 7, 86.

_Iulus_, the son of aeneas.

_Pith_, marrow.

_Thyrse_, bacchic staff.

_p.r.i.c.ket_, a buck in his second year.

337. A SHORT HYMN TO VENUS.

G.o.ddess, I do love a girl, Ruby-lipp'd and tooth'd with pearl; If so be I may but prove Lucky in this maid I love, I will promise there shall be Myrtles offer'd up to thee.

338. TO A GENTLEWOMAN ON JUST DEALING.

True to yourself and sheets, you'll have me swear; You shall, if righteous dealing I find there.

Do not you fall through frailty; I'll be sure To keep my bond still free from forfeiture.

339. THE HAND AND TONGUE.

Two parts of us successively command: The tongue in peace; but then in war the hand.

340. UPON A DELAYING LADY.

Come, come away, Or let me go; Must I here stay Because y'are slow, And will continue so?

Troth, lady, no.

I scorn to be A slave to state: And, since I'm free, I will not wait Henceforth at such a rate For needy fate.

If you desire My spark should glow, The peeping fire You must blow, Or I shall quickly grow To frost or snow.

341. TO THE LADY MARY VILLARS, GOVERNESS TO THE PRINCESS HENRIETTA.

When I of Villars do but hear the name, It calls to mind that mighty Buckingham, Who was your brave exalted uncle here, Binding the wheel of fortune to his sphere, Who spurned at envy, and could bring with ease An end to all his stately purposes.

For his love then, whose sacred relics show Their resurrection and their growth in you; And for my sake, who ever did prefer You above all those sweets of Westminster; Permit my book to have a free access To kiss your hand, most dainty governess.

342. UPON HIS JULIA.

Will ye hear what I can say Briefly of my Julia?

Black and rolling is her eye, Double-chinn'd and forehead high; Lips she has all ruby red, Cheeks like cream enclareted; And a nose that is the grace And proscenium of her face.