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ROBERT HERRICK.

BORN 1591-DIED ABOUT 1662.

HERRICK was the son of a goldsmith in London. He studied at Cambridge, took orders, and obtained the living of Dean Prior in Devonshire, which he lost on the commencement of the civil wars. At the Restoration he was reappointed to his vicarage, but died soon afterwards. There is a sparkling Anacreontic gaiety in some of Herrick's lighter effusions which places him at the head of

a class of English lyrists. Of this deposed churchman Philips says, with quaintness

not the less amusing for the slight infusion of party bitterness, He was not particularly influenced by any nymph or goddess, except his Maid Prue, though he has occasionally shewn a pretty flowery and pastoral gale of

fancy.”

SONG.
GATHER the 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 heav'n, the sun,

The higher he's a getting, The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which

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, whilst ye may, go marry ; For having lost but once your prime,

You may for ever tarry.

THE NIGHTLY CHARM.

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 mislight thee ;
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee;

But on, on thy way,

-Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber,

The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me:

And when I shall meet

Thy silvery feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

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,
That will with flow'rs 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 they've made his grave

l' 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 !

THE KISS, A DIALOGUE. 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 cherry red;
By love, and warm desires fed ;

Chor.--And makes more soft the bridal bed :

-2. It is an active flame, that flies

First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies ;
Chor.--And stills the bride too when she

cries :

2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,

It frisks, and flies ; now here, now there ;
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near;
Chor.--And here, and there, and every-

where.

1. Has it a speaking virtue ?-2. Yes.1. How speaks it, say ?-2. Do you but this. Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss ;

Chor.-And this love's sweetest language

is.

1. Has it a body ?-2. Ay, and wings,

With thousand rare encolourings ;
And, as it flies, it gently sings,

Chor.-Love honey yields, but never stings.

TO ANTHEA.

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 heart as sound and free,
As in the whole world thou can'st 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.

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