Such fears, quakes, palsies, and such heats as shall
Dead thee to th' most, if not destroy thee all.
And thou a thousand thousand times shalt be
More shak'd thyself than she is scorch'd by thee.

205. TO VIOLETS.

WELCOME, maids-of-honour,

You do bring

In the spring,

And wait upon her.

She has virgins many,

Fresh and fair;

Yet you are

More sweet than any.

You're the maiden posies,

And so grac'd

To be plac'd

'Fore damask roses.

Yet, though thus respected,
By-and-by

Ye do lie,

Poor girls, neglected.

STAY While ye will, or go

And leave no scent behind ye:
Yet, trust me, I shall know

The place where I may find ye.

Within my Lucia's cheek,

Whose livery ye wear,

Play ye at hide or seek,

I'm sure to find ye there.

208. TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME.

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:

And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer ;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.

209. SAFETY TO LOOK TO ONESelf.

FOR my neighbour I'll not know,
Whether high he builds or no :
Only this I'll look upon,
Firm be my foundation.
Sound or unsound, let it be!
'Tis the lot ordain'd for me.
He who to the ground does fall
Has not whence to sink at all.

210. TO HIS FRIEND, ON THE UNTUNABLE TIMES.

PLAY I could once; but, gentle friend, you see
My harp hung up here on the willow tree.
Sing I could once: and bravely too inspire
With luscious numbers my melodious lyre.

Draw I could once, although not stocks or stones,
Amphion-like, men made of flesh and bones,
Whither I would; but ah! I know not how,

I feel in me this transmutation now.

Grief, my dear friend, has first my harp unstrung, Wither'd my hand, and palsy-struck my tongue.

2II. HIS POETRY HIS PILLAR.

ONLY a little more

I have to write,

Then I'll give o'er,

And bid the world good-night..

'Tis but a flying minute
That I must stay,

Or linger in it ;
And then I must away.

O time that cut'st down all !
And scarce leav'st here
Memorial

Of any men that were.

How many lie forgot

In vaults beneath?
And piecemeal rot
Without a fame in death?

Behold this living stone

I rear for me,

Ne'er to be thrown

Down, envious Time, by thee.

Pillars let some set up,

If so they please :
Here is my hope

And my Pyramides.

212. SAFETY ON THE SHORE.

WHAT though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore; Ships have been drown'd where late they danc'd

before.

And all fair signs lead on our shepherdess.

Amar. With all white luck to you. Mirt. But say,

what news

Stirs in our sheep-walk? Amin. None, save that my ewes,

My wethers, lambs, and wanton kids are well,
Smooth, fair and fat! none better I can tell :

Or that this day Menalchas keeps a feast

For his sheep-shearers. Mirt. True, these are the

least;

But, dear Amintas and sweet Amarillis,

Rest but a while here, by this bank of lilies,

Amar.

And lend a gentle ear to one report
The country has. Amin. From whence?
From whence? Mirt. The Court.
Three days before the shutting in of May
(With whitest wool be ever crown'd that day!)
To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,

More tender than the childhood of the morn.

Chor. Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheep,

Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!

White, favourable.