151

MONEY MAKES THE MIRTH

When all birds else do of their music fail,
Money's the still-sweet-singing nightingale!

152

TEARS AND LAUGHTER

Knew'st thou one month would take thy life away,
Thou'dst weep; but laugh, should it not last a day.

153

UPON TEARS

Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine,
Above, they are the Angels' spiced wine.

154

ON LOVE

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all
Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

155

PEACE NOT PERMANENT

Great cities seldom rest; if there be none
T' invade from far, they'll find worse foes at home.

156

PARDONS

Those ends in war the best contentment bring,
Whose peace is made up with a pardoning.

157

TRUTH AND ERROR

Twixt truth and error, there's this difference known
Error is fruitful, truth is only one.

158

WlT PUNISHED PROSPERS MOST

Dread not the shackles; on with thine intent,
Good wits get more fame by their punishment.

159

BURIAL

Man may want land to live in; but for all
Nature finds out some place for burial.

160

NO PAINS, NO GAINS

If little labour, little are our gains;
Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

161

TO YOUTH

Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may;
The morrow's life too late is; Live to-day.

162

TO ENJOY THE TIME

While fates permit us, let's be merry;
Pass all we must the fatal ferry;
And this our life, too, whirls away,
With the rotation of the day.

163

FELICITY QUICK OF FLIGHT

Every time seems short to be
That's measured by felicity;
But one half-hour that's made up here
With grief, seems longer than a year.

164

MIRTH

True mirth resides not in the smiling skin;
The sweetest solace is to act no sin.

165

THE HEART

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part
Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

166

LOVE, WHAT IT IS

Love is a circle, that doth restless move
In the same sweet eternity of Love.

167

DREAMS

Here we are all, by day; by night we're hurl'd
By dreams, each one into a several world.

168

AMBITION

In man, ambition is the common'st thing;
Each one by nature loves to be a king.

169

SAFETY ON THE SHORE

What though the sea be calm?  Trust to the shore;
Ships have been drown'd, where late they danced before.

170

UPON A PAINTED GENTLEWOMAN

Men say you're fair; and fair ye are, 'tis true;
But, hark!  we praise the painter now, not you.

171

UPON WRINKLES

Wrinkles no more are, or no less,
Than beauty turn'd to sourness.

172

CASUALTIES

Good things, that come of course, far less do please
Than those which come by sweet contingencies.

173

TO LIVE FREELY

Let's live in haste; use pleasures while we may;
Could life return, 'twould never lose a day.

174

NOTHING FREE-COST

Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let
His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.

175

MAN'S DYING-PLACE UNCERTAIN

Man knows where first he ships himself; but he
Never can tell where shall his landing be.

176

LOSS FROM THE LEAST

Great men by small means oft are overthrown;
He's lord of thy life, who contemns his own.

177

POVERTY AND RICHES

Who with a little cannot be content,
Endures an everlasting punishment.

178

UPON MAN

Man is composed here of a twofold part;
The first of nature, and the next of art;
Art presupposes nature; nature, she
Prepares the way for man's docility.

179

PURPOSES

No wrath of men, or rage of seas,
Can shake a just man's purposes;
No threats of tyrants, or the grim
Visage of them can alter him;
But what he doth at first intend,
That he holds firmly to the end.

180

FOUR THINGS MAKE US HAPPY HERE

Health is the first good lent to men;
A gentle disposition then:
Next, to be rich by no by-ways;
Lastly, with friends t' enjoy our days.

181

THE WATCH

Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never
Wound up again; Once down, he's down for ever.
The watch once down, all motions then do cease;
The man's pulse stopt, all passions sleep in peace.

182

UPON THE DETRACTER

I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read,
And lik'st the best?  Still thou repli'st, The dead.
--I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be;
Then sure thou'lt like, or thou wilt envy, me.

183

ON HlMSELF

Live by thy Muse thou shalt, when others die,
Leaving no fame to long posterity;
When monarchies trans-shifted are, and gone,
Here shall endure thy vast dominion.

184

I CALL AND I CALL

I call, I call:  who do ye call?
The maids to catch this cowslip ball!
But since these cowslips fading be,
Troth, leave the flowers, and maids, take me!
Yet, if that neither you will do,
Speak but the word, and I'll take you,

185

THE SUCCESSION OF THE FOUR SWEET MONTHS

First, April, she with mellow showers
Opens the way for early flowers;
Then after her comes smiling May,
In a more rich and sweet array;
Next enters June, and brings us more
Gems than those two that went before;
Then, lastly, July comes, and she
More wealth brings in than all those three.

186

TO BLOSSOMS

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here a-while,
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?
'Twas 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, a-while;--they glide
Into the grave.

THE SHOWER OF BLOSSOMS

187

Love in a shower of blossoms came
Down, and half drown'd me with the same;
The blooms that fell were white and red;
But with such sweets commingled,
As whether (this) I cannot tell,
My sight was pleased more, or my smell;
But true it was, as I roll'd there,
Without a thought of hurt or fear,
Love turn'd himself into a bee,
And with his javelin wounded me;---
From which mishap this use I make;
Where most sweets are, there lies a snake;
Kisses and favours are sweet things;
But those have thorns, and these have stings.

188

TO THE ROSE:  SONG

Go, happy Rose, and interwove
With other flowers, bind my Love.
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fetter'd me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold, to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have myrtle rods at will,
For to tame, though not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus, and go
And tell her this,--but do not so!--
Lest a handsome anger fly
Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I!

189

THE FUNERAL RITES OF THE ROSE

The Rose was sick, and smiling died;
And, being to be sanctified,
About the bed, there sighing stood
The sweet and flowery sisterhood.
Some hung the head, while some did bring,
To wash her, water from the spring;
Some laid her forth, while others wept,
But all a solemn fast there kept.
The holy sisters some among,
The sacred dirge and trental sung;
But ah!  what sweets smelt everywhere,
As heaven had spent all perfumes there!
At last, when prayers for the dead,
And rites, were all accomplished,
They, weeping, spread a lawny loom,
And closed her up as in a tomb.

190

THE BLEEDING HAND;
OR THE SPRIG OF EGLANTINE GIVEN TO A MAID

From this bleeding hand of mine,
Take this sprig of Eglantine:
Which, though sweet unto your smell,
Yet the fretful briar will tell,
He who plucks the sweets, shall prove
Many thorns to be in love.

191

TO CARNATIONS:  A SONG

Stay while ye will, or go,
And leave no scent behind ye:
Yet trust me, I shall know
The place where I may find ye.

Within my Lucia's cheek,
(Whose livery ye wear)
Play ye at hide or seek,
I'm sure to find ye there.

192

TO PANSIES

Ah, Cruel Love!  must I endure
Thy many scorns, and find no cure?
Say, are thy medicines made to be
Helps to all others but to me?
I'll leave thee, and to Pansies come:
Comforts you'll afford me some:
You can ease my heart, and do
What Love could ne'er be brought unto.

193

HOW PANSIES OR HEARTS-EASE CAME FIRST

Frolic virgins once these were,
Overloving, living here;
Being here their ends denied
Ran for sweet-hearts mad, and died.
Love, in pity of their tears,
And their loss in blooming years,
For their restless here-spent hours,
Gave them hearts-ease turn'd to flowers.

194

WHY FLOWERS CHANGE COLOUR

These fresh beauties, we can prove,
Once were virgins, sick of love,
Turn'd to flowers: still in some,
Colours go and colours come.

195

THE PRIMROSE

Ask me why I send you here
This sweet Infanta of the year?
Ask me why I send to you
This Primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew?
I will whisper to your ears,--
The sweets of love are mixt with tears.

Ask me why this flower does show
So yellow-green, and sickly too?
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break?
I will answer,--these discover
What fainting hopes are in a lover.

196

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 Sweet-heart, to this?
--No, no, this sorrow shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read,
That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.

197

TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON

Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Has not as yet begun
To make a seizure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.

No marigolds yet closed are,
No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherds' star
Shine like a spangle here.

Stay but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye;
And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die.

198

TO DAFFADILS

Fair Daffadils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd 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's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

199

TO VIOLETS

Welcome, maids of honour,
You do bring
In the Spring;
And wait upon her.

She has virgins many,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.

You're the maiden posies;
And so graced,
To be placed
'Fore damask roses.

--Yet, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.

200

THE APRON OF FLOWERS

To gather flowers, Sappha went,
And homeward she did bring
Within her lawny continent,
The treasure of the Spring.

She smiling blush'd, and blushing smiled,
And sweetly blushing thus,
She look'd as she'd been got with child
By young Favonius.

Her apron gave, as she did pass,
An odour more divine,
More pleasing too, than ever was
The lap of Proserpine.