Live in thy peace; as for myself,
When I am bruised on the shelf

Of time, and show

My locks behung with frost and snow;
When with the rheum,

The cough, the phthisick, I consume

Unto an almost nothing; then

The ages fled I'll call again,

And with a tear compare these last

Lame, and bad times with those are past;
While Baucis by,

My old lean wife, shall kiss it dry:

And so we'll sit

By th' fire, foretelling snow, and slit,*
And weather, by our aches,† grown
Now old enough to be our own

True calendars; as puss's ear

Wash'd o'er's, to tell what change is near.

Then, to assuage

The gripings of the chine by age,

I'll call my young

Iülus to sing such a song

I made upon my Julia's breast,

And of her blush at such a feast:

* For sleet.

Had a certain actor of the present day recollected this line of Herrick's; being, I understand, deep-read in old English lore; he might have cited it for authority in pro nouncing aches as a dissyllable.

Then shall he read that flow'r of mine

Inclos'd within a crystal shrine;

A primrose next;

A piece then of a higher text,

For to beget

In me a more transcendant heat,

Than that insinuating fire

Which crept into each aged sire,

When the fair Helen from her eyes

Shot forth her loving sorceries ;*

At which I'll rear

Mine aged limbs above my chair;

And, hearing it,

Flutter and crow, as in a fit

Of fresh concupiscence, and cry,
"No lust there's like to poetry!"

Thus frantick, crazy man, God wot!
I'll call to mind things half forgot;
And oft between

Repeat the times that I have seen.

Thus ripe with tears,

And twisting my Iülus' hairs,

Doting, I'll weep and say, “ in truth,
"Baucis, these were my sins of youth."

* Alluding to the admiration expressed by the Grecian sages on the appearance of the beauteous Helen; when they had assembled before the Scæan gate, to witness the single combat between Menelaus and Paris, which was to have decided the fate of Troy :

These, when the Spartan queen approach'd the tow'r, In secret own'd resistless beauty's pow'r;

They cried: " no wonder, such celestial charms

"For nine long years have set the world in arms!"

POPE'S HOMER. Iliad 3.

Then next I'll cause my hopeful lad,

If a wild apple can be had,

To crown the hearth;

Lar thus conspiring with our mirth ;

Then to infuse

Our browner ale into the cruse,

Which sweetly spic'd, we'll first carouse

Unto the genius of the house;

Then the next health to friends of mine, Loving the brave Burgundian wine,

High sons of pith,

Whose fortunes I have frolick'd with,
Such as could well

Bear up the magic bough and spell,
And, dancing 'bout the mystick thyrse,
Give up the just applause to verse.

To those, and then again to thee
We'll drink, my Wickes; until we be
Plump as the cherry,
Though not so fresh, yet full as merry
As the cricket,

The untam'd heifer, or the pricket;
Until our tongues shall tell our ears,
We're younger by a score of years:

Thus, 'till we see the fire less shine From th' embers than the kitling's eyne, We'll still sit up,

Sphering about the wassail cup

To all those times

Which gave me honour for my rhymes : The coal once spent, we'll then to bed, Far more than night bewearied.

CXVII.

A SHORT HYMN TO VENUS.

GODDESS, I do love a girl
Ruby-lip'd, and tooth'd with pearl;
If so be I may but prove

Lucky in this maid I love,
I will promise there shall be
Myrtles offer'd up to thee.

CXVIII.

UPON A DELAYING LADY.

COME, come away;

Or let me go:

Must I here stay

Because y'are slow,

And will continue so ?—

Troth, lady, no:

I scorn to be

A slave to state;

And, since I'm free,

I will not wait

Henceforth, at such a rate,

For needy fate :

If you desire

My spark should glow,

The peeping fire

You must blow;

Or I shall quickly grow

To frost, or snow.

CXIX.

UPON HIS JULIA.

WILL ye hear what I can say

Briefly of my Julia?

Black and rolling is her eye,

Double chinn'd, and forehead high,
Lips she has all ruby red,
Cheeks like cream enclareted,
And a nose that is the grace
And proscenium of her face;
So that we may guess by these
The other parts will richly please.

CXX.

HYMN TO VENUS, AND CUPID.

SEABORN goddess, let me be
By thy son thus grac'd, and thee;
That, whene'er I woo, I find
Virgins coy, but not unkind;
Let me, when I kiss a maid,
Taste her lips so overlaid
With love's syrup, that I may
In your temple, when I pray,
Kiss the altar, and confess

There's in love no bitterness.

CXXI.

THE MEADOW VERSE, OR ANNIVERSARY OF

MRS. BRIDGET LOWMAN.

COME with the spring-time forth, fair maid; and be This year again the meadow's deity: