Here in green meadows sits eternal May, Purfling the margents, while perpetual day So double-gilds the air, as that no night Can ever rust th' enamel of the light:
Here naked younglings, handsome striplings, run Their goals for virgins' kisses; which when done, Then unto dancing forth the learned round Commix'd they meet, with endless roses crown'd.
And here we'll sit on primrose-banks, and see Love's chorus led by Cupid; and we'll he Two loving followers too unto the grove, Where poets sing the stories of our love.
There thou shalt hear divine Musaeus sing Of Hero and Leander; then I'll bring Thee to the stand, where honour'd Homer reads His Odyssees and his high Iliads;
About whose throne the crowd of poets throng To hear the incantation of his tongue:
To Linus, then to Pindar; and that done, I'll bring thee, Herrick, to Anacreon, Quaffing his full-crown'd bowls of burning wine, And in his raptures speaking lines of thine, Like to his subject; and as his frantic Looks shew him truly Bacchanalian like, Besmear'd with grapes,--welcome he shall thee thither, Where both may rage, both drink and dance together.
Then stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by Whom fair Corinna sits, and doth comply With ivory wrists his laureat head, and steeps His eye in dew of kisses while he sleeps.
Then soft Catullus, sharp-fang'd Martial, And towering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, And snaky Persius; these, and those whom rage, Dropt for the jars of heaven, fill'd, t' engage All times unto their frenzies; thou shalt there Behold them in a spacious theatre:
Among which glories, crown'd with sacred bays And flatt'ring ivy, two recite their plays, Beaumont and Fletcher, swans, to whom all ears Listen, while they, like sirens in their spheres, Sing their Evadne; and still more for thee There yet remains to know than thou canst see By glimm'ring of a fancy; Do but come, And there I'll shew thee that capacious room In which thy father, Jonson, now is placed As in a globe of radiant fire, and graced To be in that orb crown'd, that doth include Those prophets of the former magnitude, And he one chief. But hark! I hear the cock, The bell-man of the night, proclaim the clock Of late struck One; and now I see the prime Of day break from the pregnant east:--'tis time I vanish:--more I had to say, But night determines here; Away!
*56*
THE INVITATION
To sup with thee thou didst me home invite, And mad'st a promise that mine appetite Should meet and tire, on such lautitious meat, The like not Heliogabalus did eat:
And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest, Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast.
I came, 'tis true, and look'd for fowl of price, The bastard Phoenix; bird of Paradise;
And for no less than aromatic wine Of maidens-blush, commix'd with jessamine.
Clean was the hearth, the mantle larded jet, Which, wanting Lar and smoke, hung weeping wet;
At last i' th' noon of winter, did appear A ragg'd soused neats-foot, with sick vinegar;
And in a burnish'd flagonet, stood by Beer small as comfort, dead as charity.
At which amazed, and pond'ring on the food, How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood, I curst the master, and I damn'd the souce, And swore I'd got the ague of the house.
--Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire, I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire.
*57*
TO SIR CLIPSBY CREW
Since to the country first I came, I have lost my former flame;
And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravish'd spirit.
If I write a verse or two, 'Tis with very much ado;
In regard I want that wine Which should conjure up a line.
Yet, though now of Muse bereft, I have still the manners left For to thank you, noble sir, For those gifts you do confer Upon him, who only can Be in prose a grateful man.
*58*
A COUNTRY LIFE:
TO HIS BROTHER, MR THOMAS HERRICK
Thrice, and above, blest, my soul's half, art thou, In thy both last and better vow;
Could'st leave the city, for exchange, to see The country's sweet simplicity;
And it to know and practise, with intent To grow the sooner innocent;
By studying to know virtue, and to aim More at her nature than her name;
The last is but the least; the first doth tell Ways less to live, than to live well:--
And both are known to thee, who now canst live Led by thy conscience, to give Justice to soon-pleased nature, and to show Wisdom and she together go, And keep one centre; This with that conspires To teach man to confine desires, And know that riches have their proper stint In the contented mind, not mint;
And canst instruct that those who have the itch Of craving more, are never rich.
These things thou knows't to th' height, and dost prevent That plague, because thou art content With that Heaven gave thee with a wary hand, (More blessed in thy brass than land)
To keep cheap Nature even and upright;
To cool, not cocker appetite.
Thus thou canst tersely live to satisfy The belly chiefly, not the eye;
Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet, Less with a neat than needful diet.
But that which most makes sweet thy country life, Is the fruition of a wife, Whom, stars consenting with thy fate, thou hast Got not so beautiful as chaste;
By whose warm side thou dost securely sleep, While Love the sentinel doth keep, With those deeds done by day, which ne'er affright Thy silken slumbers in the night:
Nor has the darkness power to usher in Fear to those sheets that know no sin.
The damask'd meadows and the pebbly streams Sweeten and make soft your dreams:
The purling springs, groves, birds, and well weaved bowers, With fields enamelled with flowers, Present their shapes, while fantasy discloses Millions of Lilies mix'd with Roses.
Then dream, ye hear the lamb by many a bleat Woo'd to come suck the milky teat;
While Faunus in the vision comes, to keep From rav'ning wolves the fleecy sheep:
With thousand such enchanting dreams, that meet To make sleep not so sound as sweet;
Nor call these figures so thy rest endear, As not to rise when Chanticlere Warns the last watch;--but with the dawn dost rise To work, but first to sacrifice;
