The Hesperides & Noble Numbers Part 36

_Manchet_, fine white bread.

_Prest_, laden.

_Near_, penurious.

_Leave to wait_, cease waiting.

477. UPON A LADY FAIR BUT FRUITLESS.

Twice has Pudica been a bride, and led By holy Hymen to the nuptial bed.

Two youths she's known thrice two, and twice three years; Yet not a lily from the bed appears: Nor will; for why, Pudica this may know, _Trees never bear unless they first do blow_.

478. HOW SPRINGS CAME FIRST.

These springs were maidens once that lov'd, But lost to that they most approv'd: My story tells by Love they were Turn'd to these springs which we see here; The pretty whimpering that they make, When of the banks their leave they take, Tells ye but this, they are the same, In nothing chang'd but in their name.

479. TO ROSEMARY AND BAYS.

My wooing's ended: now my wedding's near When gloves are giving, gilded be you there.

481. UPON A SCAR IN A VIRGIN'S FACE.

'Tis heresy in others: in your face That scar's no schism, but the sign of grace.

482. UPON HIS EYESIGHT FAILING HIM.

I begin to wane in sight; Shortly I shall bid good-night: Then no gazing more about, When the tapers once are out.

483. TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, M. THOS. FALCONBIRGE.

Stand with thy graces forth, brave man, and rise High with thine own auspicious destinies: Nor leave the search, and proof, till thou canst find These, or those ends, to which thou wast design'd.

Thy lucky genius and thy guiding star Have made thee prosperous in thy ways thus far: Nor will they leave thee till they both have shown Thee to the world a prime and public one.

Then, when thou see'st thine age all turn'd to gold, Remember what thy Herrick thee foretold, When at the holy threshold of thine house _He boded good luck to thy self and spouse_.

Lastly, be mindful, when thou art grown great, _That towers high rear'd dread most the lightning's threat: Whenas the humble cottages not fear The cleaving bolt of Jove the thunderer_.

484. UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILL'D WITH DEW.

Dew sat on Julia's hair And spangled too, Like leaves that laden are With trembling dew: Or glitter'd to my sight, As when the beams Have their reflected light Danc'd by the streams.

485. ANOTHER ON HER.

How can I choose but love and follow her Whose shadow smells like milder pomander?

How can I choose but kiss her, whence does come The storax, spikenard, myrrh, and laudanum?

_Pomander_, ball of scent.

486. LOSS FROM THE LEAST.

Great men by small means oft are overthrown; _He's lord of thy life who contemns his own_.

487. REWARD AND PUNISHMENTS.

All things are open to these two events, Or to rewards, or else to punishments.

488. SHAME NO STATIST.

Shame is a bad attendant to a state: _He rents his crown that fears the people's hate_.

489. TO SIR CLIPSEBY CREW.

Since to the country first I came I have lost my former flame: And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravish'd spirit.

If I write a verse or two, 'Tis with very much ado; In regard I want that wine Which should conjure up a line.

Yet, though now of Muse bereft, I have still the manners left For to thank you, n.o.ble sir, For those gifts you do confer Upon him who only can Be in prose a grateful man.

490. UPON HIMSELF.

I could never love indeed; Never see mine own heart bleed: Never crucify my life, Or for widow, maid, or wife.

I could never seek to please One or many mistresses: Never like their lips to swear Oil of roses still smelt there.

I could never break my sleep, Fold mine arms, sob, sigh, or weep: Never beg, or humbly woo With oaths and lies, as others do.

I could never walk alone; Put a s.h.i.+rt of sackcloth on: Never keep a fast, or pray For good luck in love that day.

But have hitherto liv'd free As the air that circles me: And kept credit with my heart, Neither broke i' th' whole, or part.

491. FRESH CHEESE AND CREAM.

Would ye have fresh cheese and cream?

Julia's breast can give you them: And, if more, each nipple cries: To your cream here's strawberries.

492. AN ECLOGUE OR PASTORAL BETWEEN ENDYMION PORTER AND LYCIDAS HERRICK, SET AND SUNG.

_End._ Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why Thy whilom merry oat By thee doth so neglected lie, And never purls a note?

I prithee speak. _Lyc._ I will. _End._ Say on.

_Lyc._ 'Tis thou, and only thou, That art the cause, Endymion.