Part 11 (1/2)

Alas! the heat and death's the same, Whether by choice or common flame, To be in oil of roses drowned, Or water; where's the comfort found?

Both bring one death; and I die here Unless you cool me with a tear: Alas! I call; but ah! I see Ye cool and comfort all but me.

141. SOME COMFORT IN CALAMITY.

To conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall By the hand of him who is the general.

142. THE VISION.

Sitting alone, as one forsook, Close by a silver-shedding brook, With hands held up to love, I wept; And after sorrows spent I slept: Then in a vision I did see A glorious form appear to me: A virgin's face she had; her dress Was like a sprightly Spartaness.

A silver bow, with green silk strung, Down from her comely shoulders hung: And as she stood, the wanton air Dangled the ringlets of her hair.

Her legs were such Diana shows When, tucked up, she a-hunting goes; With buskins shortened to descry The happy dawning of her thigh: Which when I saw, I made access To kiss that tempting nakedness: But she forbade me with a wand Of myrtle she had in her hand: And, chiding me, said: Hence, remove, Herrick, thou art too coa.r.s.e to love.

143. LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.

You say, to me-wards your affection's strong; Pray love me little, so you love me long.

Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire, Grown violent, does either die or tire.

144. UPON A VIRGIN KISSING A ROSE.

'Twas but a single rose, Till you on it did breathe; But since, methinks, it shows Not so much rose as wreath.

145. UPON A WIFE THAT DIED MAD WITH JEALOUSY.

In this little vault she lies, Here, with all her jealousies: Quiet yet; but if ye make Any noise they both will wake, And such spirits raise 'twill then Trouble death to lay again.

146. UPON THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN'S IMPRISONMENT.

Never was day so over-sick with showers But that it had some intermitting hours; Never was night so tedious but it knew The last watch out, and saw the dawning too; Never was dungeon so obscurely deep Wherein or light or day did never peep; Never did moon so ebb, or seas so wane, But they left hope-seed to fill up again.

So you, my lord, though you have now your stay, Your night, your prison, and your ebb, you may Spring up afresh, when all these mists are spent, And star-like, once more gild our firmament.

Let but that mighty Caesar speak, and then All bolts, all bars, all gates shall cleave; as when That earthquake shook the house, and gave the stout Apostles way, unshackled, to go out.

This, as I wish for, so I hope to see; Though you, my lord, have been unkind to me, To wound my heart, and never to apply, When you had power, the meanest remedy.

Well, though my grief by you was gall'd the more, Yet I bring balm and oil to heal your sore.

147. DISSUASIONS FROM IDLENESS.

Cynthius, pluck ye by the ear, That ye may good doctrine hear; Play not with the maiden-hair, For each ringlet there's a snare.

Cheek, and eye, and lip, and chin-- These are traps to take fools in.

Arms, and hands, and all parts else, Are but toils, or manacles, Set on purpose to enthral Men, but slothfuls most of all.

Live employed, and so live free From these fetters; like to me, Who have found, and still can prove, _The lazy man the most doth love_.

149. AN EPITHALAMY TO SIR THOMAS SOUTHWELL AND HIS LADY.

I.

Now, now's the time, so oft by truth Promis'd should come to crown your youth.