The Hesperides & Noble Numbers Part 11

Alas! the heat and death's the same, Whether by choice or common flame, To be in oil of roses drowned, Or water; where's the comfort found?

Both bring one death; and I die here Unless you cool me with a tear: Alas! I call; but ah! I see Ye cool and comfort all but me.

141. SOME COMFORT IN CALAMITY.

To conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall By the hand of him who is the general.

142. THE VISION.

Sitting alone, as one forsook, Close by a silver-shedding brook, With hands held up to love, I wept; And after sorrows spent I slept: Then in a vision I did see A glorious form appear to me: A virgin's face she had; her dress Was like a sprightly Spartaness.

A silver bow, with green silk strung, Down from her comely shoulders hung: And as she stood, the wanton air Dangled the ringlets of her hair.

Her legs were such Diana shows When, tucked up, she a-hunting goes; With buskins shortened to descry The happy dawning of her thigh: Which when I saw, I made access To kiss that tempting nakedness: But she forbade me with a wand Of myrtle she had in her hand: And, chiding me, said: Hence, remove, Herrick, thou art too coa.r.s.e to love.

143. LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.

You say, to me-wards your affection's strong; Pray love me little, so you love me long.

Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire, Grown violent, does either die or tire.

144. UPON A VIRGIN KISSING A ROSE.

'Twas but a single rose, Till you on it did breathe; But since, methinks, it shows Not so much rose as wreath.

145. UPON A WIFE THAT DIED MAD WITH JEALOUSY.

In this little vault she lies, Here, with all her jealousies: Quiet yet; but if ye make Any noise they both will wake, And such spirits raise 'twill then Trouble death to lay again.

146. UPON THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN'S IMPRISONMENT.

Never was day so over-sick with showers But that it had some intermitting hours; Never was night so tedious but it knew The last watch out, and saw the dawning too; Never was dungeon so obscurely deep Wherein or light or day did never peep; Never did moon so ebb, or seas so wane, But they left hope-seed to fill up again.

So you, my lord, though you have now your stay, Your night, your prison, and your ebb, you may Spring up afresh, when all these mists are spent, And star-like, once more gild our firmament.

Let but that mighty Caesar speak, and then All bolts, all bars, all gates shall cleave; as when That earthquake shook the house, and gave the stout Apostles way, unshackled, to go out.

This, as I wish for, so I hope to see; Though you, my lord, have been unkind to me, To wound my heart, and never to apply, When you had power, the meanest remedy.

Well, though my grief by you was gall'd the more, Yet I bring balm and oil to heal your sore.

147. DISSUASIONS FROM IDLENESS.

Cynthius, pluck ye by the ear, That ye may good doctrine hear; Play not with the maiden-hair, For each ringlet there's a snare.

Cheek, and eye, and lip, and chin-- These are traps to take fools in.

Arms, and hands, and all parts else, Are but toils, or manacles, Set on purpose to enthral Men, but slothfuls most of all.

Live employed, and so live free From these fetters; like to me, Who have found, and still can prove, _The lazy man the most doth love_.

149. AN EPITHALAMY TO SIR THOMAS SOUTHWELL AND HIS LADY.

I.

Now, now's the time, so oft by truth Promis'd should come to crown your youth.

Then, fair ones, do not wrong Your joys by staying long; Or let love's fire go out, By lingering thus in doubt; But learn that time once lost Is ne'er redeem'd by cost.

Then away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride.

II.

Is it, sweet maid, your fault these holy Bridal rites go on so slowly?

Dear, is it this you dread The loss of maidenhead?

Believe me, you will most Esteem it when 'tis lost; Then it no longer keep, Lest issue lie asleep.

Then, away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride.

III.

These precious, pearly, purling tears But spring from ceremonious fears.

And 'tis but native shame That hides the loving flame, And may a while control The soft and am'rous soul; But yet love's fire will waste Such bashfulness at last.

Then, away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride.

IV.

Night now hath watch'd herself half blind, Yet not a maidenhead resign'd!

'Tis strange, ye will not fly To love's sweet mystery.

Might yon full moon the sweets Have, promised to your sheets, She soon would leave her sphere, To be admitted there.

Then, away; come, Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride.

V.

On, on devoutly, make no stay; While Domiduca leads the way, And Genius, who attends The bed for lucky ends.

With Juno goes the Hours And Graces strewing flowers.

And the boys with sweet tunes sing: Hymen, O Hymen, bring Home the turtles; Hymen, guide To the bed the bashful bride.

VI.

Behold! how Hymen's taper-light Shows you how much is spent of night.

See, see the bridegroom's torch Half wasted in the porch.

And now those tapers five, That show the womb shall thrive, Their silv'ry flames advance, To tell all prosp'rous chance Still shall crown the happy life Of the goodman and the wife.

VII.

Move forward then your rosy feet, And make whate'er they touch turn sweet.

May all, like flowery meads, Smell where your soft foot treads; And everything a.s.sume To it the like perfume, As Zephyrus when he 'spires Through woodbine and sweetbriars.