Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister !
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this :
Here, here the tomb of Robin Herrick is!
SADLY I walk'd within the field,
To see what comfort it would yield;
And as I went my private way,
An olive-branch before me lay ;
And seeing it, I made a stay,
And took it up, and view'd it; then
Kissing the omen, said Amen ;
Be, be it so, and let this be
A divination unto me;
That in short time my woes shall cease,
And love shall crown my end with peace.
THE PLAUDITE, OR END OF LIFE
IF after rude and boisterous seas
My wearied pinnace here finds ease;
If so it be I've gain'd the shore,
With safety of a faithful oar ;
If having run iny barque on ground,
Ye see the agéd vessel crown'd ;
What's to be done? but on the sands
Ye dance and sing, and now clap hands.
-The first act's doubtful, but (we say)
It is the last commends the Play.
YE silent shades, whose each tree here
Some relique of a saint doth wear;
Who for some sweet-heart's sake, did prove
The fire and martyrdom of Love :--
Here is the legend of those saints
That died for love, and their complaints;
Their wounded hearts, and names we find
Encarved upon the leaves and rind.
Give way, give way to me, who come
Scorch'd with the self-same martyrdom !
And have deserved as much, Love knows,
As to be canonized 'mongst those
Whose deeds and deaths here written are
Within your Greeny-kalendar.
-By all those virgins' fillets hung
Upon your boughs, and requiems sung
For saints and souls departed hence,
Here honour'd still with frankincense;
By all those tears that have been shed,
As a drink-offering to the dead;
By all those true-love knots, that be
With mottoes carved on every tree ;
By sweet Saint Phillis! pity me;
By dear Saint Iphis! and the rest
Of all those other saints now blest,
Me, me forsaken,-here admit
Among your myrtles to be writ ;
That my poor name may have the glory
To live remember'd in your story.
MRS ELIZ: WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS
AMONG the myrtles as I walk'd
Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd :
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my Shepherdess?
-Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this?
In every thing that's sweet she is.
In yond' carnation go and seek,
There thou shalt find her lip and cheek;
In that enamell'd pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye ;
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,.
There waves the streamer of her blood.
--'Tis true, said I ; and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts an unión;
But on a sudden all were gone.
At which I stopp'd; Said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;
For as these flowers, thy joys must die ;
And in the turning of an eye ;
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets here knit together.
HAPPILY I had a sight
Of my dearest dear last night ;
Make her this day smile on me,
And I'll roses give to thee !
A CRYSTAL vial Cupid brought,
Which had a juice in it :
Of which who drank, he said, no thought
Of Love he should admit,
I, greedy of the prize, did drink,
And emptied soon the glass ;
Which burnt me so, that I do think
The fire of hell it was.
Give me my earthen cups again,
The crystal I contemn,
Which, though enchased with pearls, contain
A deadly draught in them.
And thou, O Cupid! come not to
My threshold, since I see,
For all I have, or else can do,
Thou still wilt cozen me.
WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes !
Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
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