The Hesperides & Noble Numbers Part 21

And know, besides, ye must revoke The patient ox unto the yoke, And all go back unto the plough And harrow, though they're hanged up now.

And, you must know, your lord's word's true, Feed him ye must, whose food fills you; And that this pleasure is like rain, Not sent ye for to drown your pain, But for to make it spring again.

_Maukin_, a cloth.

_Fill-horse_, shaft-horse.

_Frumenty_, wheat boiled in milk.

_Fats_, vats.

251. THE PERFUME.

To-morrow, Julia, I betimes must rise, For some small fault to offer sacrifice: The altar's ready: fire to consume The fat; breathe thou, and there's the rich perfume.

252. UPON HER VOICE.

Let but thy voice engender with the string, And angels will be born while thou dost sing.

253. NOT TO LOVE.

He that will not love must be My scholar, and learn this of me: There be in love as many fears As the summer's corn has ears: Sighs, and sobs, and sorrows more Than the sand that makes the sh.o.r.e: Freezing cold and fiery heats, Fainting swoons and deadly sweats; Now an ague, then a fever, Both tormenting lovers ever.

Would'st thou know, besides all these, How hard a woman 'tis to please, How cross, how sullen, and how soon She shifts and changes like the moon.

How false, how hollow she's in heart: And how she is her own least part: How high she's priz'd, and worth but small; Little thou'lt love, or not at all.

254. TO MUSIC. A SONG.

Music, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spell, That strik'st a stillness into h.e.l.l: Thou that tam'st tigers, and fierce storms that rise, With thy soul-melting lullabies, Fall down, down, down from those thy chiming spheres, To charm our souls, as thou enchant'st our ears.

255. TO THE WESTERN WIND.

Sweet western wind, whose luck it is, Made rival with the air, To give Perenna's lip a kiss, And fan her wanton hair.

Bring me but one, I'll promise thee, Instead of common showers, Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me, And all beset with flowers.

256. UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SPARROW. AN ELEGY.

Why do not all fresh maids appear To work love's sampler only here, Where spring-time smiles throughout the year?

Are not here rosebuds, pinks, all flowers Nature begets by th' sun and showers, Met in one hea.r.s.e-cloth to o'erspread The body of the under-dead?

Phil, the late dead, the late dead dear, O! may no eye distil a tear For you once lost, who weep not here!

Had Lesbia, too-too kind, but known This sparrow, she had scorn'd her own: And for this dead which under lies Wept out her heart, as well as eyes.

But, endless peace, sit here and keep My Phil the time he has to sleep; And thousand virgins come and weep To make these flowery carpets show Fresh as their blood, and ever grow, Till pa.s.sengers shall spend their doom: Not Virgil's gnat had such a tomb.

_Phil_, otherwise Philip or Phip, was a pet name for a sparrow.

_Virgil's gnat_, the _Culex_ attributed to Virgil.

257. TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teem'd her refreshing dew?

Alas! you have not known that shower That mars a flower, Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind, Nor are ye worn with years, Or warp'd as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, To speak by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep; Is it for want of sleep?

Or childish lullaby?

Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet?

Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this?

No, no, this sorrow shown By your tears shed Would have this lecture read: That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought forth.

258. HOW ROSES CAME RED.

Roses at first were white, Till they could not agree, Whether my Sappho's breast Or they more white should be.

But, being vanquish'd quite, A blush their cheeks bespread; Since which, believe the rest, The roses first came red.

259. COMFORT TO A LADY UPON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND.

Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's rain, Since, clouds dispers'd, suns gild the air again.

Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and overboil, But turn soon after calm as balm or oil.

Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease The leafy trees nod in a still-born peace.

Your storm is over; lady, now appear Like to the peeping springtime of the year.

Off then with grave clothes; put fresh colours on, And flow and flame in your vermilion.

Upon your cheek sat icicles awhile; Now let the rose reign like a queen, and smile.

260. HOW VIOLETS CAME BLUE.

Love on a day, wise poets tell, Some time in wrangling spent, Whether the violets should excel, Or she, in sweetest scent.

But Venus having lost the day, Poor girls, she fell on you: And beat ye so, as some dare say, Her blows did make ye blue.

262. TO THE WILLOW-TREE.

Thou art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distres't, And left of love, are crown'd.

When once the lover's rose is dead, Or laid aside forlorn: Then willow-garlands 'bout the head Bedew'd with tears are worn.

When with neglect, the lovers' bane, Poor maids rewarded be, For their love lost, their only gain Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade, When weary of the light, The love-spent youth and love-sick maid Come to weep out the night.

263. MRS. ELIZ. WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS.

Among the myrtles as I walk'd, Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd: Tell me, said I, in deep distress, Where I may find my shepherdess.