CXLVII.

TO JEALOUSY.

O Jealousy, that art

The canker of the heart,

And mak'st all hell

Where thou dost dwell;
For pity be

No fury, or no firebrand to me!

Far from me I'll remove

All thoughts of irksome love,

And turn to snow,

Or crystal grow,

To keep still free,

O soul-tormenting Jealousy, from thee!

CXLVIII.

UPON LOVE.

LOVE, I have broke

Thy yoke,

The neck is free;

But, when I'm next

Love-vext,

Then shackle me.

'Tis better yet

To fret

The feet or hands,

Than to enthrall,

Or gall

The neck with bands.

CXLIX.

THE PARTING VERSE,

OR CHARGE TO HIS SUPPOSED* WIFE,

WHEN HE TRAVELLED.

Go hence, and, with this parting kiss Which joins two souls, remember this : Though thou beest young, kind, soft, and fair, And may'st draw thousands with a hair; Yet let these glib temptations be

Furies to others, friends to me.

Look upon all; and, though on fire

Thou set'st their hearts, let chaste desire
Steer thee to me; and think, me gone,

In having all, that thou hast none.
Nor so immured would I have
Thee live, as dead and in thy grave,
But walk abroad; yet wisely well
Stand, for my coming, sentinel;
And think, as thou dost walk the street,
Me or my shadow thou dost meet.
I know a thousand greedy eyes
Will on thy features tyrannise,

In my short absence; yet behold
Them like some picture, or some mould
Fashion'd like thee; which though t'have ears

And eyes, it neither sees or hears.

Gifts will be sent, and letters, which

Are the expressions of that itch

And salt, which frets thy suitors; fly

Both, lest thou lose thy liberty;

*There is no reason to believe that Herrick was ever married; strongly as he seems to enter into the feelings of conjugal tenderness, and fidelity.

For that once lost, thou❜lt fall to one,
Then prostrate to a million :

But if they woo thee, do thou say,
As that chaste queen of Ithaca

Did to her suitors: this web done,
Undone as oft as done, I'm won.

I will not urge thee, for I know,
Though thou art young, thou canst say no,
And no again; and so deny

Those thy lust-burning incubi.
Let them enstyle thee, fairest fair,*
The pearl of princes; yet despair
That so thou art, because thou must
Believe, love speaks it not, but lust.
And this their flatt'ry does commend
Thee chiefly for their pleasure's end.
I am not jealous of thy faith,
Or will be; for the axiom saith,
He that doth suspect, does haste
A gentle mind to be unchaste:
No, live thee to thyself, and keep
Thy thoughts as cold as is thy sleep;
And let thy dreams be only fed
With this, that I am in thy bed;
And thou, then turning in that sphere,
Waking shalt find me sleeping there.
But yet if boundless lust must scale
Thy fortress, and will needs prevail,

* The parallelism of this passage with the following of his cotemporary Carew, is very striking:

Think not, cause men flatt'ring say,
Y'are fresh as April, sweet as May,
Bright as is the morning star,
That you are so...

And wildly force a passage in ;
Banish consent, and 'tis no sin

Of thine: so Lucrece fell, and the
Chaste Syracusian Cyane ;

So Medullina fell; yet none
Of these had imputation

For the least trespass, 'cause the mind
Here was not with the act combin'd:
The body sins not; 'tis the will
That makes the action good, or ill:
And if thy fall should this way come,
Triumph in such a martyrdom.
I will not overlong enlarge

To thee this my religious charge:
Take this compression; so by this
Means I shall know what other kiss
Is mix'd with mine; and truly know,
Returning, if't be mine or no ;
Keep it 'till then and now, my spouse,
For my wish'd safety pay thy vows,
And pray'rs to Venus; if it please
The great blue Ruler of the seas,
Not many full-fac'd moons shall wain
Lean-horn'd, before I come again
As one triumphant; when I find
In thee all faith of womankind.
Nor would I have thee think, that thou
Had'st pow'r thyself to keep this vow;
But, having scap'd temptation's shelf,
Know virtue taught thee, not thyself.

CL.

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 awhile
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 shew 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, awhile; they glide
Into the grave.

POEM CL.] The same critique will apply to this, as to poem 107. Neither Carew, nor Waller, observes Dr. Drake, have any thing that can equal the tender melancholy of this, and of some other such effusions. The concluding lines of each stanza are peculiarly impressive, and pleasing.