Robert Herrick

Holy-Rood, come forth and shield Us i’ th’ city and the field; Safely guard us, now and aye, From the blast that burns by day; And those sounds that us affright In the dead

Scobble for whoredom whips his wife and cries He’ll slit her nose; but blubbering she replies, “Good sir, make no more cuts i’ th’ outward skin, One slit’s enough to let adultery in.

I have lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses: Stately Julia, prime of all; Sapho next, a principal: Smooth Anthea, for a skin White, and heaven-like crystalline: Sweet Electra, and the choice Myrha, for

That flow of gallants which approach To kiss thy hand from out the coach; That fleet of lackeys which do run Before thy swift postilion; Those strong-hoof’d mules, which we behold Rein’d in with

The Hag is astride, This night for to ride, The devil and she together; Through thick and through thin, Now out, and then in, Though ne’er so foul be the weather. A thorn or

Can I not sin, but thou wilt be My private protonotary? Can I not woo thee, to pass by A short and sweet iniquity? I’ll cast a mist and cloud upon My delicate transgression,

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff

First, for effusions due unto the dead, My solemn vows have here accomplished; Next, how I love thee, that my grief must tell, Wherein thou liv’st for ever. Dear, farewell!

I could but see thee yesterday Stung by a fretful bee; And I the javelin suck’d away, And heal’d the wound in thee. A thousand thorns, and briars, and stings I have in my

In all thy need, be thou possest Still with a well prepared breast; Nor let the shackles make thee sad; Thou canst but have what others had. And this for comfort thou must know,

More discontents I never had Since I was born, than here; Where I have been, and still am, sad, In this dull Devonshire. Yet justly too I must confess, I ne’er invented such Ennobled

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

Droop, droop no more, or hang the head, Ye roses almost withered; Now strength, and newer purple get, Each here declining violet. O primroses! let this day be A resurrection unto ye; And to

My Muse in meads has spent her many hours Sitting, and sorting several sorts of flowers, To make for others garlands; and to set On many a head here, many a coronet. But amongst

About the sweet bag of a bee Two cupids fell at odds, And whose the pretty prize should be They vowed to ask the gods. Which Venus hearing, thither came, And for their boldness

Since to the country first I came, I have lost my former flame; And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravish’d spirit. If I write a verse or two, ‘Tis with very

Play, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre, That sets all ears on fire. Hark, hark! the God does play! And as he leads the way

When I thy parts run o’er, I can’t espy In any one, the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused thence A fair and unfamiliar excellence; So that the more I look, the

Now is the time for mirth, Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; For with the flow’ry earth The golden pomp is come. The golden pomp is come; For now each tree does wear, Made

Charm me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers; That being ravish’d, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou Power that canst sever

O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be Loving and gentle for to cover me! Banish’d from thee I live; ne’er to return, Unless thou giv’st my small remains an urn.

Thou art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distrest And left of love, are crown’d. When once the lover’s rose is dead Or laid

Life is the body’s light; which, once declining, Those crimson clouds i’ th’ cheeks and lips leave shining:- Those counter-changed tabbies in the air, The sun once set, all of one colour are: So,

Charms, that call down the moon from out her sphere, On this sick youth work your enchantments here! Bind up his senses with your numbers, so As to entrance his pain, or cure his

I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Like, and dislike ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Stroke ye, to strike ye. I bring ye love. QUES.

You see this grntle stream that glides, Shoved on, by quick-succeeding tides: Try if this sober stream you can Follow to th’ wider ocean, And see, if there it keeps unspent In that congesting

You have beheld a smiling rose When virgins’ hands have drawn O’er it a cobweb-lawn: And here, you see, this lily shows, Tomb’d in a crystal stone, More fair in this transparent case Than

Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, 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;

When I thy singing next shall hear, I’ll wish I might turn all to ear, To drink-in notes and numbers, such As blessed souls can’t hear too much Then melted down, there let me

Since shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one; To whose glad threshold, and free door I may a Poet come, though poor; And eat with thee a

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

O years! and age! farewell: Behold I go, Where I do know Infinity to dwell. And these mine eyes shall see All times, how they Are lost i’ th’ sea Of vast eternity: Where

A funeral stone Or verse, I covet none; But only crave Of you that I may have A sacred laurel springing from my grave: Which being seen Blest with perpetual green, May grow to

As is your name, so is your comely face Touch’d every where with such diffused grace, As that in all that admirable round, There is not one least solecism found; And as that part,

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.

Love, like a gipsy, lately came, And did me much importune To see my hand, that by the same He might foretell my fortune. He saw my palm; and then, said he, I tell

Cupid as he lay among Roses, by a Bee was stung. Whereupon in anger flying To his Mother, said thus crying; Help! O help! your Boy’s a dying. And why, my pretty Lad, said

Come, sit we under yonder tree, Where merry as the maids we’ll be; And as on primroses we sit, We’ll venture, if we can, at wit; If not, at draw-gloves we will play, So

Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture her’s, I’m pleased with it; Or let her tongue be

This day, my Julia, thou must make For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake: Knead but the dough, and it will be To paste of almonds turn’d by thee; Or kiss it thou but once or

These springs were maidens once that loved, But lost to that they most approved: My story tells, by Love they were Turn’d to these springs which we see here: The pretty whimpering that they

If ye will with Mab find grace, Set each platter in his place; Rake the fire up, and get Water in, ere sun be set. Wash your pails and cleanse your dairies, Sluts are

HERE, Here I live with what my board Can with the smallest cost afford; Though ne’er so mean the viands be, They well content my Prue and me: Or pea or bean, or wort

MONTANO, SILVIO, AND MIRTILLO, SHEPHERDS MON. Bad are the times. SIL. And worse than they are we. MON. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree: The feast of shepherds fail. SIL.

BE those few hours, which I have yet to spend, Blest with the meditation of my end; Though they be few in number, I’m content; If otherwise, I stand indifferent, Nor makes it matter,

Down with the rosemary, and so Down with the bays and misletoe; Down with the holly, ivy, all Wherewith ye dress’d the Christmas hall; That so the superstitious find No one least branch there

Am I despised, because you say; And I dare swear, that I am gray? Know, Lady, you have but your day! And time will come when you shall wear Such frost and snow upon

Only a little more I have to write: Then I’ll give o’er, And bid the world good-night. ‘Tis but a flying minute, That I must stay, Or linger in it: And then I must

Live, live with me, and thou shalt see The pleasures I’ll prepare for thee: What sweets the country can afford Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board. The soft sweet moss shall be

AND, cruel maid, because I see You scornful of my love, and me, I’ll trouble you no more, but go My way, where you shall never know What is become of me; there I

Biancha, let Me pay the debt I owe thee for a kiss Thou lend’st to me; And I to thee Will render ten for this. If thou wilt say, Ten will not pay For

By those soft tods of wool With which the air is full; By all those tinctures there, That paint the hemisphere; By dews and drizzling rain That swell the golden grain; By all those

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,

One night i’th’ year, my dearest Beauties, come, And bring those dew-drink-offerings to my tomb; When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise, And there to lick th’ effused sacrifice, Though paleness be

When with the virgin morning thou dost rise, Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice; First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing. Next to the altar

Blessings in abundance come To the bride and to her groom ; May the bed and this short night Know the fulness of delight! Pleasure many here attend ye, And, ere long, a boy

Chorus. What sweeter music can we bring, Than a Carol, for to sing The Birth of this our heavenly King? Awake the Voice! Awake the String! Heart, Ear, and Eye, and every thing Awake!

Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appear Reclothed in fresh and verdant diaper; Thaw’d are the snows; and now the lusty Spring Gives to each mead a neat enamelling; The palms put

No fault in women, to refuse The offer which they most would chuse. No fault: in women, to confess How tedious they are in their dress; No fault in women, to lay on The

Here we securely live, and eat The cream of meat; And keep eternal fires, By which we sit, and do divine, As wine And rage inspires. If full, we charm; then call upon Anacreon

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;

Bid 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

Be not proud, but now incline Your soft ear to discipline; You have changes in your life, Sometimes peace, and sometimes strife; You have ebbs of face and flows, As your health or comes

1 Among thy fancies, tell me this, What is the thing we call a kiss? 2 I shall resolve ye what it is: It is a creature born and bred Between the lips, all

From noise of scare-fires rest ye free, From murders Benedicite. From all mischances that may fright Your pleasing slumbers in the night : Mercy secure ye all, and keep The goblin from ye while

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 in

I would to God, that mine old age might have Before my last, but here a living grave; Some one poor almshouse, there to lie, or stir, Ghost-like, as in my meaner sepulchre; A

Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it there

‘Tis not ev’ry day that I Fitted am to prophesy: No, but when the spirit fills The fantastic pannicles, Full of fire, then I write As the Godhead doth indite. Thus enraged, my lines

Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet ; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev’rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest As dead within the

Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood; Who as soon fell fast asleep, As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth, that lightly

From the dull confines of the drooping west, To see the day spring from the pregnant east, Ravish’d in spirit, I come, nay more, I fly To thee, blest place of my nativity! Thus,

Sadly I walk’d within the field, To see what comfort it would yield; And as I went my private way, An olive-branch before me lay; And seeing it, I made a stay, And took

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,

Virgins promised when I died, That they would each primrose-tide Duly, morn and evening, come, And with flowers dress my tomb. Having promised, pay your debts Maids, and here strew violets.

To the Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland Come, sons of summer, by whose toil We are the lords of wine and oil; By whose tough labours, and rough hands, We rip up first,

Though clock, To tell how night draws hence, I’ve none, A cock I have to sing how day draws on: I have A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent, To save That little,

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

In numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, oh JESU! Thou pretty Baby, born here, With sup’rabundant scorn here; Who for thy princely port here, Hadst for thy place Of birth, a

To my revenge, and to her desperate fears, Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs and tears! In the wild air, when thou hast roll’d about, And, like a blasting planet, found her out;

Come, come away Or let me go; Must I here stay Because you’re slow, And will continue so; Troth, lady, no. I scorn to be A slave to state; And since I’m free, I

A crystal vial Cupid brought, Which had a juice in it: Of which who drank, he said, no thought Of Love he should admit. I, greedy of the prize, did drink, And emptied soon

Music, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spell, That strik’st a stillness into hell; Thou that tam’st tigers, and fierce storms, that rise, With thy soul-melting lullabies; Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming

Whither dost thou hurry me, Bacchus, being full of thee? This way, that way, that way, this, Here and there a fresh Love is; That doth like me, this doth please; Thus a thousand

Thou shalt not all die; for while Love’s fire shines Upon his altar, men shall read thy lines; And learn’d musicians shall, to honour Herrick’s Fame, and his name, both set and sing his

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:

Pardon my trespass, Silvia! I confess My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefacedness: None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove Himself, at one time, can be wise and love.

When I behold a forest spread With silken trees upon thy head; And when I see that other dress Of flowers set in comeliness; When I behold another grace In the ascent of curious

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

Give me a man that is not dull, When all the world with rifts is full; But unamazed dares clearly sing, Whenas the roof’s a-tottering; And though it falls, continues still Tickling the Cittern

O thou, the wonder of all days! O paragon, and pearl of praise! O Virgin-martyr, ever blest Above the rest Of all the maiden-train! We come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb. Thus,

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

Honour to you who sit Near to the well of wit, And drink your fill of it! Glory and worship be To you, sweet Maids, thrice three, Who still inspire me; And teach me

All things decay with time: The forest sees The growth and down-fall of her aged trees; That timber tall, which three-score lustres stood The proud dictator of the state-like wood, I mean the sovereign

I have been wanton, and too bold, I fear, To chafe o’er-much the virgin’s cheek or ear; Beg for my pardon, Julia! he doth win Grace with the gods who’s sorry for his sin.

A Gyges ring they bear about them still, To be, and not seen when and where they will; They tread on clouds, and though they sometimes fall, They fall like dew, and make no

Come, Anthea, let us two Go to feast, as others do: Tarts and custards, creams and cakes, Are the junkets still at wakes; Unto which the tribes resort, Where the business is the sport:

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee, And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like sparks of fire befriend thee. No will-o’th’-wisp mislight thee; No snake or slow-worm bite

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o’-th’-Wisp mis-light thee, Nor snake or slow-worm

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

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,

Reach with your whiter hands to me Some crystal of the spring; And I about the cup shall see Fresh lilies flourishing. Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this To th’ glass your

We two are last in hell; what may we fear To be tormented or kept pris’ners here I Alas! if kissing be of plagues the worst, We’ll wish in hell we had been last

My dearest Love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee; For love or pity, let me know The place where I may find thee. AMARIL. In country meadows, pearl’d with dew,

Gather ye rose-buds 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 Sun, The higher he’s a-getting, The

Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam A strawberry shows half

So Good-Luck came, and on my roof did light, Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night; Not all at once, but gently, as the trees Are by the sun-beams, tickled by degrees.

No news of navies burnt at seas; No noise of late spawn’d tittyries; No closet plot or open vent, That frights men with a Parliament: No new device or late-found trick, To read by

Sea-born goddess, let me be By thy son thus graced, 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

Come pity us, all ye who see Our harps hung on the willow-tree; Come pity us, ye passers-by, Who see or hear poor widows’ cry; Come pity us, and bring your ears And eyes

HERE a little child I stand Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, For a benison to fall On our meat and on