Where, though thou see'st not, thou may'st think upon
Me, when thou yearly go'st procession;
Or, for mine honour, lay me in that tomb
In which thy sacred relics shall have room.
For my embalming, sweetest, there will be
No spices wanting when I'm laid by thee.

ROBERT HERRICK

A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESS

γου

are a tulip seen to-day,

But, dearest, of so short a stay

That where you grew scarce man can say.

You are a lovely July-flower,

Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower
Will force you hence, and in an hour.

You are a sparkling rose i' th' bud,
Yet lost ere that chaste flesh and blood
Can show where you or grew or stood.

You are a full-spread, fair-set vine,
And can with tendrils love entwine,
Yet dried ere you distil your wine.

You are like balm enclosed well
In amber, or some crystal shell,
Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell.

You are a dainty violet,

Yet wither'd ere you can be set
Within the virgin's coronet.

You are the queen all flowers among,
But die, you must, fair maid, ere long,
As he, the maker of this song.

ROBERT HERRICK

TO CARNATIONS-A SONG

TAY while ye will, or go

STAY

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.

ROBERT HERRICK

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 mix'd 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.

ROBERT HERRICK

THE MAD MAID'S SONG

'OOD-MORROW to the day so fair,
Good-morrow, sir, to you;

Good-morrow to mine own torn hair,

Bedabbled with the dew.

Good-morning to this primrose too,
Good-morrow to each maid

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my love is laid.

Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me,

Alack and well-a-day!

For pity, sir, find out that bee
Which bore my love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave,
I'll seek him in your eyes;

Nay, now I think th'ave made his grave
I' th' bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there; I know ere this

The cold, cold earth doth shake him;

But I will go or send a kiss

By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray, hurt him not, though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him,
And who with green turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender (pray take heed);
With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home; but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him.

ROBERT HERRICK

TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING

BID

ID me to live, and I will live
Thy Protestant to be ;

Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
A heart as sound and free

As in the whole world thou canst find,
That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay
To honour thy decree ;
Or bid it languish quite away,
And 't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep
While I have eyes to see;
And, having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair
Under that cypress tree;
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death to die for thee.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,1
The very eyes of me,

And hast command of every part

To live and die for thee.

ROBERT HERRICK

1 Cf. Spenser, "Colin Clouts Come Home Again," 1. 476, "My thought, my heart, my love, my life is shee". There are few more passionate poems than this, and the passion culminates, as it should, in the last stanza.

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may :

Old Time is still a-flying,

And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

sun,

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer ;
But, being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry :
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

ROBERT HERRICK

HUE AND CRY 1

N Love's Name you are charged, O fly,

IN

And make a speedy hue and cry

After a face, which t'other day

Stole my wandering heart away:

To direct you take, in brief,

These few marks to know the thief.

1 In Shirley's play "The Witty Fair One" there is another

version of this poem, as follows:

"In Love's name you are charged hereby

To make a speedy hue and cry