Part 59 (1/2)

Thousands each day pa.s.s by, which we, Once past and gone, no more shall see.

672. LOVE.

This axiom I have often heard, _Kings ought to be more lov'd than fear'd_.

673. TO M. DENHAM ON HIS PROSPECTIVE POEM.

Or look'd I back unto the times hence flown To praise those Muses and dislike our own-- Or did I walk those Paean-gardens through, To kick the flowers and scorn their odours too-- I might, and justly, be reputed here One nicely mad or peevishly severe.

But by Apollo! as I wors.h.i.+p wit, Where I have cause to burn perfumes to it; So, I confess, 'tis somewhat to do well In our high art, although we can't excel Like thee, or dare the buskins to unloose Of thy brave, bold, and sweet Maronian muse.

But since I'm call'd, rare Denham, to be gone, Take from thy Herrick this conclusion: 'Tis dignity in others, if they be Crown'd poets, yet live princes under thee; The while their wreaths and purple robes do s.h.i.+ne Less by their own gems than those beams of thine.

_Paean-gardens_, gardens sacred to Apollo.

_Nicely_, fastidiously.

674. A HYMN TO THE LARES.

It was, and still my care is, To wors.h.i.+p ye, the Lares, With crowns of greenest parsley And garlic chives, not scarcely; For favours here to warm me, And not by fire to harm me; For gladding so my hearth here With inoffensive mirth here; That while the wa.s.sail bowl here With North-down ale doth troul here, No syllable doth fall here To mar the mirth at all here.

For which, O chimney-keepers!

(I dare not call ye sweepers) So long as I am able To keep a country table, Great be my fare, or small cheer, I'll eat and drink up all here.

_Troul_, pa.s.s round.

675. DENIAL IN WOMEN NO DISHEARTENING TO MEN.

Women, although they ne'er so goodly make it, Their fas.h.i.+on is, but to say no, to take it.

676. ADVERSITY.

_Love is maintain'd by wealth_; when all is spent, _Adversity then breeds the discontent_.

677. TO FORTUNE.

Tumble me down, and I will sit Upon my ruins, smiling yet; Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be Patient in my necessity.

Laugh at my sc.r.a.ps of clothes, and shun Me, as a fear'd infection; Yet, scare-crow-like, I'll walk as one Neglecting thy derision.

678. TO ANTHEA.

Come, Anthea, know thou this, _Love at no time idle is_; Let's be doing, though we play But at push-pin half the day; Chains of sweet bents let us make Captive one, or both, to take: In which bondage we will lie, Souls transfusing thus, and die.

_Push-pin_, a childish game in which one player placed a pin and the other pushed it.

_Bents_, gra.s.ses.