CCLXXVI.

A DIALOGUE,

BETWIXT HIMSELF, AND MRS. ELIZABETH

WHEELER

UNDER THE NAME OF AMARYLLIS.

Herrick.

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.

Amaryllis.

In country meadows, pearl'd with dew,
And set about with lilies;

There, filling maunds* with cowslips, you

May find your Amaryllis.

Herrick.

What have the meads to do with thee,
Or with thy youthful hours?
Live thou at court, where thou may'st be
The queen of men, not flow'rs.

Let country wenches make 'em fine
With posies; since 'tis fitter
For thee with richest gems to shine,
And like the stars to glitter.

Amaryllis.

You set too high a rate upon

A shepherdess so homely.

Her. Believe it, dearest, there's not one

I'th' court that's half so comely.

* Maund is a hand-basket: the word is Shakspearean, and still familiar in Somersetshire, Malone observes. Many glossographers define it a wicker basket with two lids.

I pray thee stay.-Am. I must away.
Her. Let's kiss first, then we'll sever.
Both. And, though we bid adieu to-day,
We shall not part for ever.

CCLXXVII.

ON HIMSELF.

A weari'd pilgrim, I have wander❜d here Twice five and twenty, bate me but one year: Long have I lasted in this world, 'tis true; But yet those years, that I have liv'd, but few. Who, by his grey hairs, doth his lustres tell, Lives not those years, but he that lives them well. One man has reach'd his sixty years; but he, Of all those threescore, has not liv'd half three. He lives, who lives to virtue; men, who cast Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.

CCLXXVIII.

HIS COVENANT, OR PROTESTATION,
TO JULIA.

WHY dost thou wound and break my heart,

As if we should for ever part?

Hast thou not heard an oath from me;

After a day, or two, or three,

I would come back and live with thee?
Take, if thou dost distrust that vow,
This second protestation now:
Upon thy cheek that spangled tear,
Which sits as dew of roses there,

That tear shall scarce be dri'd, before

I'll kiss the threshold of thy door.

Then weep not, sweet; but thus much know, I'm half return'd before I go.

CCLXXIX.

HIS LAST REQUEST TO JULIA.

I have been wanton, aud too bold, I fear, To chafe o'ermuch the virgin's cheek, or ear: Beg for my pardon, Julia; he doth win Grace with the gods, who's sorry for his sin: That done, my Julia, dearest Julia! come, And go with me to chuse my burial room. My fates are ended! When thy Herrick dies, Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes.

CCLXXX.

THE PILLAR OF FAME.

FAME'S pilllar here at last we set,
Out-during marble, brass, or jet;
Charm'd, and enchanted so,
As to withstand the blow

Of overthrow :

Nor shall the seas,

Of storms, o'erbear

What we uprear:

Tho' kingdoms fall;

This pillar never shall
Decline, or waste at all;

But stand for ever by his own

Firm, and well-fix'd foundation.

POLM CCLXXIX.] There is exquisite pathos, and simplicity in the last sentence of this little poem; perfectly corresponding with poem 158.

POEM CCLXXX.] Horatian to the last is the bard Robert Herrick, concluding what he terms his Works Human with an imitation of

Exegi monumentum ære perennius, &c.

HORAT. Ode ult. Lib. 3.

I have selected the four following pieces,

as the most poetical specimens of our author's NOBLE NUMBERS, or PIOUS PIECES; the inferiority of which is generally allowed even by his warmest admirers, notwithstanding the encomiums that are passed upon them in Wood's ATHENÆ.

I.

TO GOD,

ON HIS SICKNESS.

WHAT though my harp, and viol be
Both hung upon the willow tree;

What though my bed be now my grave,
And for my house I darkness have;
What though my healthful days are fled,
And I lie number'd with the dead:
Yet I have hope, by thy great power,
To spring, though now a wither'd flow'r.

A CAROL TO THE KING, SUNG AT WHITEHALL. Flourish of Musick, then followed the Song.

TELL us, thou clear and heav'nly tongue, Where is the babe but lately sprung;

Lies he the lily banks among?

Or say, if this new birth of our's

Sleeps, laid within some ark of flow'rs

Spangled with dew-light? Thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.
Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning's blushing cheek;
Or search the beds of spices through,

To find him out?

Star.

No; this ye need not do ;

But only come, and see him rest

A princely babe in's mother's breast.