VII.

NO LOATHSOMENESS IN LOVE.

WHAT I fancy I approve,
No dislike there is in love:
Be my mistress short, or tall,
And distorted therewithal;
Be she likewise one of those,
That an acre hath of nose;
Be her forehead, and her eyes
Full of incongruities;

Be her cheeks so shallow too,
As to shew her tongue wag through
Be her lips ill hung, or set;
And her grinders black as jet;
Has she thin hair, hath she none;

She's to me a paragon,

VIII.

THE WEEPING CHERRY.

I saw a cherry weep, and why?
Why wept it; but for shame,
Because my Julia's lip was by,
And did out-red the same?

But, pretty fondling, let not fall

A tear at all for that,

Which rubies, corals, scarlets, all,

For tincture, wonder at.

POEM VII.] Might not the ingenious author of The Duenna have had his eye upon this composition of Her rick's, when he wrote that sprightly song:

Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast,

But health and good humour, to make her his toast, &c.?

IX.

THE CARCANET.

INSTEAD of orient pearls, of jet
I sent my love a carcanet

About her spotless neck she knit
The lace, to honour me, or it:
Then think how rapt was I, to see
My jet t'inthrall such ivory!

X.

HOW THE WALLFLOWER CAME FIRST, AND
WHY SO CALLED.

WHY this flow'r is now call'd so,

List, sweet maids, and you shall know.
Understand, this firstling was

Once a brisk and bonny lass,
Kept as close as Danäe was,
Who a sprightly springal lov'd;
And, to have it fully prov'd,
Up she got upon a wall,
Tempting down to slide withal:
But the silken twist untied,
So she fell, and bruis'd, she died.
Love, in pity of the deed,
And her loving, luckless speed,
Turn'd her to this plant, we call
Now the flower of the wall.

*The carcanet was a gold, or other ornamental chain, worn round the neck, Carcan originally signified an iron collar to confine malefactors to a post. Nicot, in his Grand Dic tionaire, defines it, ornement d'or qu'on mist au col des demoiselles.

XI.

TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING, OR TALKING.

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play
Still with your curls, and kiss the time away;
You blame me too, because I can't devise
Some sport, to please those babies în your eyes* :
By love's religion, I must here confess it,

The most I love, when I the least express it!
Small griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found
To give, if any, yet but little sound;

Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know,
That chiding streams betray small depth below:
So when love speechless is, it doth express
A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.
Now since my love is tongueless, know me such,
Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much.

XII.

UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES.

I have lost, and lately, these

Many dainty mistresses;

Stately Julia, prime of all;

Sappho next, a principal;

Smooth Anthea, for a skin

White, and heaven-like crystalline;

* This sportive conceit was imagined perhaps before, and

certainly since Herrick wrote.

See where little Cupid lies,
Looking babies in her eyes.

DRAYTON..

Thus in our looks some propagation lies,

For we make babies in each others eyes.

LITTLE, alias MOORE.

Sweet Electra; and the choice
Myrrha, for the lute, and voice;
Next, Corinna, for her wit,
And the graceful use of it;
With Perilla: all are gone;
Only Herrick's left alone,
For to number sorrow by

Their departures hence, and die.

XIII.

THE DREAM.

METHOUGHT, last night Love in an anger came,

And brought a rod, so whipp'd me with the same ;
Myrtle the twigs were, merely to imply
Love strikes, but 'tis with gentle cruelty.
Patient I was; Love pitiful grew then,

And strok'd the stripes, and I was whole again.
Thus, like a bee, Love gentle still doth bring
Honey to salve, where he before did sting.

XIV.

ON HIMSELF.

YOUNG I was, but now am old,

But I am not yet grown cold;
I can play, and I can twine
'Bout a virgin like a vine;
In her lap too I can lie
Melting, and in fancy die;
And return to life, if she
Claps my cheek, or kisseth me:
Thus, and thus it now appears
That our love outlasts our years.

XV.

LOVE'S PLAY AT PUSHPIN.

LOVE and myself, believe me, on a day At childish pushpin, for our sport, did play: I put, he push'd, and, heedless of my skin, Love prick'd my finger with a golden pin; Since which it festers so, that I can prove 'Twas but a trick to poison me with love: Little the wound was, greater was the smart; The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart.

XVI.

THE ROSARY.

ONE ask'd me where the roses grew?

1 bade him not go seek;
But forthwith bade my Julia shew

A bud in either cheek.

UPON CUPID.

OLD wives have often told, how they
Saw Cupid bitten by a flea;

And thereupon, in tears half drown'd,
He cry'd aloud: "Help, help the wound!
He wept; he sobb'd; he call'd to some
To bring him lint, and balsamum;
To make a tent, and put it in
Where the stiletto pierc'd the skin :
Which being done, the fretful pain
Assuag'd, and he was well again.