THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

Good morrow to the day so fair;
Good morning, sir, to you;

Good morrow to mine own torn hair,
Bedabbled with the dew.

Good morning to this primrose too;
Good morrow to each maid;

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my Love is laid.

Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me,

Alack and well-a-day !

For pity, sir, find out that bee,
Which bore my Love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave;
I'll seek him in your eyes;

Nay, now I think they've made his grave

I' th' bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there; I know, ere this, The cold, cold earth doth shake him; But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him;
And who with green turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed,
With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home;-but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him.

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!

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.

ART ABOVE NATURE.

When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head;
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which, like a pinnacle, doth shew
The top, and the top-gallant too;
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility;

And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so—

I must confess, mine eye and heart
Dotes less on nature than on art.

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.

THE BRIDE-CAKE.

This day, my Julia, thou must make
For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake :
Knead but the dough, and it will be
To paste of almonds turn'd by thee;
Or kiss it thou but once or twice,
And for the bride-cake there'll be spice.

HIS PRAYER TO BEN JONSON.

When I a verse shall make,
Know I have pray'd 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.

AN ODE FOR BEN JONSON.

Ah Ben!

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 winc.

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.

TO ANTHEA.

Bid 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.

143

ROBERT HERRICK.

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.

TO ANTHEA.

Now is the time when all the lights wax dim;
And thou, Anthea, must withdraw from him
Who was thy servant: Dearest, bury me
Under that holy-oak, or gospel-tree ;

Where, though thou see'st not, thou may'st think upon
Me, when thou yearly go'st procession;

Or, for mine honour, lay me in that tomb

In which thy sacred reliques shall have room;

For my embalming, Sweetest, there will be
No spices wanting, when I'm laid by thee.

TO PERILLA.

Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve to see
Me, day by day, to steal away from thee?

Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid come,
And haste away to mine eternal home;

'Twill not be long, Perilla, after this,

That I must give thee the supremest kiss :