AN ODE FOR BEN JONSON.

H Ben!

Ан

Say how or when

Shall we, thy guests,
Meet at those lyric feasts,
Made at the Sun,

The Dog, the Triple Tun;
Where we such clusters had,

As made us nobly wild, not mad?
And yet each verse of thine
Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

My Ben!

Or come again,

Or send to us
Thy wit's great overplus;

But teach us yet

Wisely to husband it,

Lest we that talent spend;

And having once brought to an end

That precious stock,—the store

Of such a wit the world should have no more.

HIS PRAYER TO BEN JONSON.

WHEN I a verse shall make,

Know I have prayed thee,

For old religion's sake,

Saint Ben, to aid me.

Make the way smooth for me,
When I, thy Herrick,

Honouring thee, on my knee
Offer my Lyric.

Candles I'll give to thee,
And a new altar;

And thou, Saint Ben, shalt be
Writ in my psalter.

BID

TO ANTHEA.

ID me to live, and I will live
Thy Protestant to be;

Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
A heart as sound and free
As in the whole world thou canst find
That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay

To honour thy decree

Or bid it languish quite away,

And 't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,
While I have eyes to see;
And having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair,
Under that cypress tree;
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death, to die for thee.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me;

And hast command of every part,

To live and die for thee.

THE NIGHT-PIECE.

HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee,

The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there's none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like tapers clear, without number.

Then Julia, let me woo thee,

Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet

Thy silvery feet,

My soul I'll pour into thee.

CHERRY-RIPE.

CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry,

Full and fair ones; come and buy:

If so be you ask me where

They do grow? I answer, There
Where my Julia's lips do smile;—
There's the land, or cherry-isle;
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.

TO ELECTRA.

DARE not ask a kiss,
I dare not beg a smile;
Lest having that or this,

I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share

Of my desire shall be

Only to kiss that air

That lately kissèd thee.

DELIGHT IN DISORDER.

A SWEET disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;

An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly;

A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility;-

Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.

UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES.

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!

TO THE ROSE.

GO, happy rose, and interwove

With other flowers, bind my love.
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fettered me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold, to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggle still,

I have myrtle rods at will,

For to tame, though not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus, and gɔ

And tell her this,—but do not so!
Lest a handsome anger fly

Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I.

TO DIANEME.

SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes,
Which star-like sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free;
Be you not proud of that rich hair,
Which wantons with the love-sick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone,

When all your world of beauty's gone.

THIS AGE BEST.

PRAISE they that will times past, I joy to see Myself now live; this age best pleaseth me.