The Hesperides & Noble Numbers Part 54

600. LITTLE AND LOUD.

Little you are, for woman's sake be proud; For my sake next, though little, be not loud.

601. s.h.i.+PWRECK.

He who has suffered s.h.i.+pwreck fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.

602. PAINS WITHOUT PROFIT.

A long life's-day I've taken pains For very little, or no gains; The evening's come, here now I'll stop, And work no more, but shut up shop.

603. TO HIS BOOK.

Be bold, my book, nor be abash'd, or fear The cutting thumb-nail or the brow severe; But by the Muses swear all here is good If but well read, or, ill read, understood.

604. HIS PRAYER TO BEN JONSON.

When I a verse shall make, Know I have pray'd thee, For old religion's sake, Saint Ben, to aid me.

Make the way smooth for me, When I, thy Herrick, Honouring thee, on my knee Offer my lyric.

Candles I'll give to thee, And a new altar, And thou, Saint Ben, shall be Writ in my Psalter.

605. POVERTY AND RICHES.

Give Want her welcome if she comes; we find Riches to be but burdens to the mind.

606. AGAIN.

Who with a little cannot be content, Endures an everlasting punishment.

607. THE COVETOUS STILL CAPTIVES.

Let's live with that small pittance that we have; _Who covets more, is evermore a slave_.

608. LAWS.

When laws full power have to sway, we see Little or no part there of tyranny.

609. OF LOVE.

I'll get me hence, Because no fence Or fort that I can make here, But love by charms, Or else by arms Will storm, or starving take here.

611. TO HIS MUSE.

Go woo young Charles no more to look Than but to read this in my book: How Herrick begs, if that he can- Not like the muse, to love the man, Who by the shepherds sung, long since, The star-led birth of Charles the Prince.

_Long since_, _i.e._, in the "Pastoral upon the Birth of Prince Charles" (213), where see Note.

612. THE BAD SEASON MAKES THE POET SAD.

Dull to myself, and almost dead to these My many fresh and fragrant mistresses; Lost to all music now, since everything Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing.

Sick is the land to the heart, and doth endure More dangerous faintings by her desp'rate cure.

But if that golden age would come again, And Charles here rule, as he before did reign; If smooth and unperplexed the seasons were, As when the sweet Maria lived here: I should delight to have my curls half drown'd In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd; And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead, _Knock at a star with my exalted head_.

_Knock at a star_ (sublimi feriam sidera vertice). Horace Ode, i. 1.

613. TO VULCAN.

Thy sooty G.o.dhead I desire Still to be ready with thy fire; That should my book despised be, Acceptance it might find of thee.

614. LIKE PATTERN, LIKE PEOPLE.

_This is the height of justice: that to do Thyself which thou put'st other men unto.

As great men lead, the meaner follow on, Or to the good, or evil action._

615. PURPOSES.

No wrath of men or rage of seas Can shake a just man's purposes: No threats of tyrants or the grim Visage of them can alter him; But what he doth at first intend, That he holds firmly to the end.

616. TO THE MAIDS TO WALK ABROAD.

Come, sit we under yonder tree, Where merry as the maids we'll be; And as on primroses we sit, We'll venture, if we can, at wit: If not, at draw-gloves we will play; So spend some minutes of the day: Or else spin out the thread of sands, Playing at Questions and Commands: Or tell what strange tricks love can do, By quickly making one of two.

Thus we will sit and talk, but tell No cruel truths of Philomel, Or Phyllis, whom hard fate forc'd on To kill herself for Demophon.

But fables we'll relate: how Jove Put on all shapes to get a love; As now a satyr, then a swan; A bull but then, and now a man.

Next we will act how young men woo, And sigh, and kiss as lovers do; And talk of brides, and who shall make That wedding-smock, this bridal cake, That dress, this sprig, that leaf, this vine, That smooth and silken columbine.

This done, we'll draw lots who shall buy And gild the bays and rosemary; What posies for our wedding rings; What gloves we'll give and ribandings: And smiling at ourselves, decree, Who then the joining priest shall be.

What short, sweet prayers shall be said; And how the posset shall be made With cream of lilies, not of kine, And maiden's-blush, for spiced wine.

Thus, having talked, we'll next commend A kiss to each, and so we'll end.

_Draw-gloves_, talking on the fingers.

_Philomela_, daughter of Pandion, changed into a nightingale.