May sweets grow here: and smoke from hence
Fat frankincense:

Let balm and cassia send their scent
From out thy maiden-monument.

May no wolf howl, or screech-owl stir
A wing about thy sepulchre !

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No boisterous winds, or storms, come hither
To starve or wither
Thy soft sweet earth! but, like a spring,
Love keep it ever flourishing.

May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with flow'rs'
May virgins, when they come to mourn,
Male-incense burn

Upon thine altar! then return,
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT
Is this a fast, to keep

The larder lean?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish

Of flesh, yet still

To fill

The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg'd to go,

Or show
A downcast look and sour?
No; 'tis a fast to dole

Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,

Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;

To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin;

And that's to keep thy Lent.

TO

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For, if such holy song

Enwrap our fancy long,

And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for from this happy day
The Old Dragon under ground,

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway, And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,

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Gold;

HENCE, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn,

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,

Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-raven sings;

There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks,

As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sager sing)

The frolic Wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,

And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,

Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;

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