Made up of white-thorn, neatly interwove; And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; There's not a budding boy or girl this day Back, and with white-thorn laden, home. And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: Many a green-gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even: Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not a-Maying. Come, let us go while we are in our prime; Our life is short, and our days run Lies drown'd with us in endless night. UPON PREW HIS MAID In this little urn is laid Prewdence Baldwin, once my maid, FRANCIS QUARLES [1592-1644] AN ECSTASY E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks, That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, Where in a greater current they conjoin: So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine. E'en so we met; and after long pursuit, No need for either to renew a suit, For I was flax, and He was flames of fire: Our firm-united souls did more than twine; So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine. If all those glittering monarchs, that command GEORGE HERBERT [1593-1633] VIRTUE SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. THE COLLAR I STRUCK the board, and cry'd "No more! I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store.1 Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore, What I have lost, with cordial fruit? 1 abundance. Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn Not so, my heart! but there is fruit, Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures. Leave thy cold dispute Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. I will abroad. Call in thy death's-head there. Tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load." But as I raved, and grew more fierce and wild Methought I heard one calling, "Child." THE QUIP THE merry World did on a day First, Beauty crept into a rose; Which when I pluckt not, "Sir,” said she, "Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those?" But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then came brave Glory puffing by Then came quick Wit and Conversation, Yet when the hour of Thy design THE PULLEY WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of Blessings standing by; Contract into a span.” So Strength first made a way; Then Beauty flow'd; then Wisdom, Honour, Pleasure. When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. "For if I should," said he, "Bestow this jewel also on my creature, |