75. THE ROCK OF RUBIES, AND THE QUARRY OF PEARLS.

Some ask'd me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say: But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.

Some ask'd how pearls did grow, and where; Then spoke I to my girl, To part her lips, and show'd them there The quarrelets of Pearl.

_Quarrelets_, little squares.

76. CONFORMITY.

Conformity was ever known A foe to dissolution: Nor can we that a ruin call, Whose crack gives crushing unto all.

77. TO THE KING, UPON HIS COMING WITH HIS ARMY INTO THE WEST.

Welcome, most welcome to our vows and us, Most great and universal genius!

The drooping West, which hitherto has stood As one in long-lamented widowhood, Looks like a bride now, or a bed of flowers Newly refresh'd both by the sun and showers.

War, which before was horrid, now appears Lovely in you, brave prince of cavaliers!

A deal of courage in each bosom springs By your access, O you the best of kings!

Ride on with all white omens; so that where Your standard's up, we fix a conquest there.

78. UPON ROSES.

Under a lawn, than skies more clear, Some ruffled roses nestling were: And, snugging there, they seem'd to lie As in a flowery nunnery: They blush'd, and look'd more fresh than flowers Quicken'd of late by pearly showers, And all because they were possess'd But of the heat of Julia's breast: Which, as a warm and moisten'd spring, Gave them their ever-flourishing.

79. TO THE KING AND QUEEN UPON THEIR UNHAPPY DISTANCES.

Woe, woe to them, who, by a ball of strife, Do, and have parted here a man and wife: CHARLES the best husband, while MARIA strives To be, and is, the very best of wives, Like streams, you are divorc'd; but 'twill come when These eyes of mine shall see you mix again.

Thus speaks the oak here; C. and M. shall meet, Treading on amber, with their silver-feet, Nor will't be long ere this accomplish'd be: The words found true, C. M., remember me.

_Oak_, the prophetic tree.

80. DANGERS WAIT ON KINGS.

As oft as night is banish'd by the morn, So oft we'll think we see a king new born.

81. THE CHEAT OF CUPID; OR, THE UNGENTLE GUEST.

One silent night of late, When every creature rested, Came one unto my gate And, knocking, me molested.

Who's that, said I, beats there, And troubles thus the sleepy?

Cast off, said he, all fear, And let not locks thus keep ye.

For I a boy am, who By moonless nights have swerved; And all with show'rs wet through, And e'en with cold half starved.

I pitiful arose, And soon a taper lighted; And did myself disclose Unto the lad benighted.

I saw he had a bow And wings, too, which did shiver; And, looking down below, I spied he had a quiver.

I to my chimney's shine Brought him, as Love professes, And chafed his hands with mine, And dried his drooping tresses.

But when he felt him warm'd: Let's try this bow of ours, And string, if they be harm'd, Said he, with these late showers.

Forthwith his bow he bent, And wedded string and arrow, And struck me, that it went Quite through my heart and marrow.

Then, laughing loud, he flew Away, and thus said, flying: Adieu, mine host, adieu, I'll leave thy heart a-dying.

82. TO THE REVEREND SHADE OF HIS RELIGIOUS FATHER.

That for seven l.u.s.ters I did never come To do the rites to thy religious tomb; That neither hair was cut, or true tears shed By me, o'er thee, as justments to the dead, Forgive, forgive me; since I did not know Whether thy bones had here their rest or no, But now 'tis known, behold! behold, I bring Unto thy ghost th' effused offering: And look what smallage, night-shade, cypress, yew, Unto the shades have been, or now are due, Here I devote; and something more than so; I come to pay a debt of birth I owe.

Thou gav'st me life, but mortal; for that one Favour I'll make full satisfaction; For my life mortal rise from out thy hea.r.s.e.

And take a life immortal from my verse.

_Seven l.u.s.ters_, five and thirty years.

_Hair was cut_, according to the Greek custom.

_Justments_, dues.

_Smallage_, water parsley.

83. DELIGHT IN DISORDER.

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring lace which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher: A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly: A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat: A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.

84. TO HIS MUSE.

Were I to give thee baptism, I would choose To christen thee, the bride, the bashful Muse, Or Muse of roses: since that name does fit Best with those virgin-verses thou hast writ: Which are so clean, so chaste, as none may fear Cato the censor, should he scan each here.

85. UPON LOVE.

Love scorch'd my finger, but did spare The burning of my heart; To signify in love my share Should be a little part.

Little I love; but if that he Would but that heat recall; That joint to ashes burnt should be,[E]

Ere I would love at all.

[E] Orig. ed., _should be burnt_.

86. TO DEAN BOURN, A RUDE RIVER IN DEVON, BY WHICH SOMETIMES HE LIVED.

Dean Bourn, farewell; I never look to see Dean, or thy watery[F] incivility.

Thy rocky bottom, that doth tear thy streams And makes them frantic even to all extremes, To my content I never should behold, Were thy streams silver, or thy rocks all gold.

Rocky thou art, and rocky we discover Thy men, and rocky are thy ways all over.

O men, O manners, now and ever known To be a rocky generation!