English Songs and Ballads Part 20

ASK ME NO MORE

THOMAS CAREW

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauties orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more, whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste The nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more, where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west, The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies.

NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA

ROBERT HERRICK

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'-the-wisp mislight thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee!

But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee c.u.mber; 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.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG

Good-morrow to the day so fair, Good-morrow, sir, to you; Good-morrow to my own torn hair, Bedabbled all with dew.

Good-morrow 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 In the 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 so 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.

TO BLOSSOMS

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do you fall so fast?

Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last.

What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night?

'Tis pity nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you awhile, they glide Into the grave.

TO DAFFODILS

Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon: Stay, stay, Until the hast'ning day Has run But to the even-song; And having prayed together, we Will go with you along!

We have short time to stay as you; We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you or any thing: We die, As your hours do; and dry Away Like to the summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning-dew, Ne'er to be found again.

JULIA

Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing did I say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where, Then spake I to my girl, To part her lips, and show me there The quarelets of pearl.

One asked me where the roses grew, I bade him not go seek; But forthwith bade my Julia shew A bud in either cheek.

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF THEIR TIME

Gather the rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.