The Hesperides & Noble Numbers Part 14

169. UPON A BLACK TWIST ROUNDING THE ARM OF THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE.

I saw about her spotless wrist, Of blackest silk, a curious twist; Which, circ.u.mvolving gently, there Enthrall'd her arm as prisoner.

Dark was the jail, but as if light Had met t'engender with the night; Or so as darkness made a stay To show at once both night and day.

One fancy more! but if there be Such freedom in captivity, I beg of Love that ever I May in like chains of darkness lie.

170. ON HIMSELF.

I fear no earthly powers, But care for crowns of flowers; And love to have my beard With wine and oil besmear'd.

This day I'll drown all sorrow: Who knows to live to-morrow?

172. A RING PRESENTED TO JULIA.

Julia, I bring To thee this ring, Made for thy finger fit; To show by this That our love is (Or should be) like to it.

Close though it be The joint is free; So, when love's yoke is on, It must not gall, Or fret at all With hard oppression.

But it must play Still either way, And be, too, such a yoke As not too wide To overslide, Or be so strait to choke.

So we who bear This beam must rear Ourselves to such a height As that the stay Of either may Create the burden light.

And as this round Is nowhere found To flaw, or else to sever: So let our love As endless prove, And pure as gold for ever.

173. TO THE DETRACTOR.

Where others love and praise my verses, still Thy long black thumb-nail marks them out for ill: A fellon take it, or some whitflaw come For to unslate or to untile that thumb!

But cry thee mercy: exercise thy nails To scratch or claw, so that thy tongue not rails: Some numbers prurient are, and some of these Are wanton with their itch; scratch, and 'twill please.

_Fellon_, a sore, especially in the finger.

_Whitflaw_, or whitlow.

174. UPON THE SAME.

I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read, And lik'st the best. Still thou reply'st: The dead.

I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be; Then sure thou'lt like or thou wilt envy me.

175. JULIA'S PETTICOAT.

Thy azure robe I did behold As airy as the leaves of gold, Which, erring here, and wandering there, Pleas'd with transgression ev'rywhere: Sometimes 'twould pant, and sigh, and heave, As if to stir it scarce had leave: But, having got it, thereupon 'Twould make a brave expansion.

And pounc'd with stars it showed to me Like a celestial canopy.

Sometimes 'twould blaze, and then abate, Like to a flame grown moderate: Sometimes away 'twould wildly fling, Then to thy thighs so closely cling That some conceit did melt me down As lovers fall into a swoon: And, all confus'd, I there did lie Drown'd in delights, but could not die.

That leading cloud I follow'd still, Hoping t' have seen of it my fill; But ah! I could not: should it move To life eternal, I could love.

_Pounc'd_, sprinkled.

176. TO MUSIC.

Begin to charm, and, as thou strok'st mine ears With thy enchantment, melt me into tears.

Then let thy active hand scud o'er thy lyre, And make my spirits frantic with the fire.

That done, sink down into a silvery strain, And make me smooth as balm and oil again.

177. DISTRUST.

To safeguard man from wrongs, there nothing must Be truer to him than a wise distrust.

And to thyself be best this sentence known: _Hear all men speak, but credit few or none_.

178. CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING.

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the G.o.d unshorn.

See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herb and tree.

Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east Above an hour since: yet you not dress'd; Nay! not so much as out of bed?

When all the birds have matins said And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, Nay, profanation to keep in, Whereas a thousand virgins on this day Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair: Fear not; the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you: Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept; Come and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: And t.i.tan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying: Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green and trimm'd with trees: see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch: each porch, each door ere this An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; As if here were those cooler shades of love.

Can such delights be in the street And open fields and we not see't?

Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey The proclamation made for May: And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

There's not a budding boy or girl this day But is got up, and gone to bring in May.

A deal of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home.

Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream Before that we have left to dream: And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: Many a green-gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even: Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye, love's firmament; Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not a-Maying.

Come, let us go while we are in our prime; And take the harmless folly of the time.

We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty.

Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun; And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, Once lost, can ne'er be found again, So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade, All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night.

Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

_Beads_, prayers.

_Left to dream_, ceased dreaming.

_Green-gown_, tumble on the gra.s.s.

179. ON JULIA'S BREATH.

Breathe, Julia, breathe, and I'll protest, Nay more, I'll deeply swear, That all the spices of the east Are circ.u.mfused there.

_Circ.u.mfused_, spread around.