*222*

A HYMN TO BACCHUS

BACCHUS, let me drink no more :
Wild are seas that want a shore ;
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup, Hercules.
Urge no more; and there shall be
Daffadils giv'n up to thee.

* 223*

A CANTICLE TO APOLLO

PLAY, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre, That sets all ears on fire.

Hark, hark! the God does play !
And as he leads the way
Through heaven, the very spheres,
As men, turn all to ears !

* 224 *

TO MUSIC, TO BECALM A SWEET SICK YOUTH

CHARMS, that call down the moon from out her sphere,
On this sick youth work your enchantments here !
Bind up his senses with your numbers, so
As to entrance his pain, or cure his woe.
Fall gently, gently, and a-while him keep
Lost in the civil wilderness of sleep :
That done, then let him, dispossess'd of pain,
Like to a slumbering bride, awake again.

* 225 *

TO MUSIC:

A SONG

MUSIC, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spell,
That strik'st a stillness into hell;

Thou that tam'st tigers, and fierce storms, that rise,
With thy soul-melting lullabies ;

Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming spheres
To charm our souls, as thou enchant'st our ears.

* 226 *

SOFT MUSIC

THE mellow touch of music most doth wound
The soul, when it doth rather sigh, than sound.

227 *

TO MUSIC

BEGIN to charm, and as thou strok'st mine ears
With thine 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.

• 228

THE VOICE AND VIOL

RARE is the voice itself: but when we sing To th' lute or viol, then 'tis ravishing.

* 229 *

TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER

CHARM me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers;
That being ravish'd, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
Ease my sick head,
And make my bed,

Thou Power that canst sever

M

From me this ill ;-
And quickly still,
Though thou not kill
My fever.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire,
Into a gentle-licking flame,
And make it thus expire
Then make me weep

My pains asleep,

And give me such reposes,

That I, poor I,
May think, thereby,

I live and die

'Mongst roses.

Fall on me like a silent dew,

Or like those maiden showers,
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
A baptism o'er the flowers.
Melt, melt my pains

With thy soft strains ;
That having ease me given,
With full delight,
I leave this light,
And take my flight

For Heaven.

DECAL

* 230 *

A THANKSGIVING TO GOD, FOR HIS HOUSE

LORD, thou hast given me a cell,
Wherein to dwell;

A little house, whose humble roof

Is weather proof;

Under the spars of which I lie

Both soft and dry ;

Where thou, my chamber for to ward,

Hast set a guard

Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep

Me, while I sleep.

Low is my porch, as is my fate;

Both void of state;

And yet the threshold of my door

Is worn by th' poor,

Who thither come, and freely get

Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen's small;

A little buttery, and therein

A little bin,

Which keeps my little loaf of bread

Unchipt, unflead;

Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar

Make me a fire,

Close by whose living coal I sit,

And glow like it.

Lord, I confess too, when I dine,

The pulse is thine.