LADY MARY WROTH
The Argument of His Book
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers;
I sing of may-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes;
I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness;
I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece
Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris;
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red, and lilies white;
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the Fairy King;
I write of hell; I sing, and ever shall,
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.
ROBERT HERRICK
Corinna’s Going a-Maying
Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air:
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept and bow’d toward the east
Above an hour since: yet you not dressed;
Nay! not so much as out of bed?
When all the birds have matins said
And sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in,
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care
For jewels for your gown or hair:
Fear not; the leaves will strew
Gems in abundance upon you:
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept;
Come and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
And Titan on the eastern hill
Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying:
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark
How each field turns a street, each street a park
Made green and trimmed with trees: see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch: each porch, each door ere this
An ark, a tabernacle is,
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street
And open fields and we not see’t?
Come, we’ll abroad; and let’s obey
The proclamation made for May:
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
But, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.
There’s not a budding boy or girl this day
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Some have despatch’d their cakes and cream
Before that we have left to dream:
And some have wept, and woo’d, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
Many a green-gown has been given;
Many a kiss, both odd and even:
Many a glance too has been sent
From out the eye, love’s firmament;
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick’d, yet we’re not a-Maying.
Come, let us go while we are in our prime;
And take the harmless folly of the time.
We shall grow old apace, and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short, and our days run
As fast away as does the sun;
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,
Once lost, can ne’er be found again,
So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drowned with us in endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.
ROBERT HERRICK
Delight in Disorder
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
Enthralls the crimson stomacher:
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly:
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
ROBERT HERRICK
Julia in Silks
Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
ROBERT HERRICK
To the Virgins to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times sail succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while you may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
ROBERT HERRICK
Love
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked anything.
‘A guest’, I answered, ‘worthy to be here.’
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee.’
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’
‘Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not’, says Love, ‘who bore the blame?’
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down’, says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit and eat.
GEORGE HERBERT
Avarice
Money, thou bane of bliss, and source of woe,
Whence com’st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?
I know thy parentage is base and low:
Man found thee poor and dirty in a mine.
Surely thou didst so little contribute
To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,
That he was fain, when thou wert destitute,
To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot:
Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright:
Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we
Have with our stam
p and seal transferred our right:
Thou art the man, and man but dross to thee.
Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich;
And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.
GEORGE HERBERT
Prayer
Prayer the Church’s banquet, Angels’ age,
God’s breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav’n and earth;
Engine against th’ Almighty, sinners’ tower,
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
The six-days world-transposing in an hour,
A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear;
Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss,
Exalted Manna, gladness of the best,
Heaven in ordinary, man well dressed,
The milky way, the bird of Paradise,
Church-bells beyond the stars heard, the soul’s blood,
The land of spices; something understood.
GEORGE HERBERT
The Glance
When first thy sweet and gracious eye
Vouchsafed ev’n in the midst of youth and night
To look upon me, who before did lie
Welt’ring in sin;
I felt a sug’red strange delight,
Passing all cordials made by any art,
Bedew, embalm, and overrun my heart,
And take it in.
Since that time many a bitter storm
My soul hath felt, ev’n able to destroy,
Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm
His swing and sway:
But still thy sweet original joy
Sprung from thine eye, did work within my soul,
And surging griefs, when they grew bold, control,
And got the day.
If thy first glance so powerful be,
A mirth but opened and sealed up again;
What wonders shall we feel, when we shall see
Thy full-eyed love!
When thou shalt look us out of pain,
And one aspect of thine spend in delight
More than a thousand suns disburse in light,
In heav’n above.
GEORGE HERBERT
The Battle of Inverlochy
O, I have been wounded
Na hì ri ri ri hó hò;
O, I have been wounded
Na hì ri ri ri hó hò;
by the day of Inverlochy,
Na hì ri ri ri hó hò;
Bho latha Blàr Inbhir Lòchaidh,
Na hì ri ri ’s ri o ho ró.
from the charge of the grim Irish
who came to Scotland without anything
but what they had on their cloaks;
they added strength to Clan Donald.
They killed my father and my husband,
they struck down my four brothers,
they killed my four young sons
and my nine handsome foster-children;
they slaughtered my great cattle,
and my white sheep they roasted,
they burnt my oats and my barley.
O, I have been anguished by the death
of Duncan of Glen Faochan,
whom all in the land are lamenting
round about Inverary,
women beating their hands, dishevelled.
O, I have been devastated,
for the horsemen of reins and bridles
who fell with his men in the battle;
the Earl of Argyll took to the water
and let that blow fall on his kin!
ANON
‘Like as the damask rose you see’
Like as the damask rose you see,
Or like the blossom on the tree,
Or like the dainty flower of May,
Or like the morning to the day,
Or like the sun, or like the shade,
Or like the gourd which Jonas had –
Even such is man, whose thread is spun,
Drawn out, and cut, and so is done.
The rose withers, the blossom blasteth,
The flower fades, the morning hasteth,
The sun sets, the shadow flies,
The gourd consumes; and man he dies.
Like to the grass that’s newly sprung,
Or like a tale that’s new begun,
Or like the bird that’s here to-day,
Or like the pearléd dew of May,
Or like an hour, or like a span,
Or like the singing of a swan –
Even such is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there: so life, and death.
The grass withers, the tale is ended,
The bird is flown, the dew’s ascended,
The hour is short, the span not long,
The swan’s near death; man’s life is done.
Like to the bubble in the brook,
Or, in a glass, much like a look,
Or like a shuttle in weaver’s hand,
Or like a writing on the sand,
Or like a thought, or like a dream,
Or like the gliding of the stream –
Even such is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there: so life, and death.
The bubble’s cut, the look’s forgot,
The shuttle’s flung, the writing’s blot,
The thought is past, the dream is gone,
The water glides; man’s life is done.
Like to an arrow from the bow,
Or like swift course of watery flow,
Or like the time ’twixt flood and ebb,
Or like the spider’s tender web,
Or like a race, or like a goal,
Or like the dealing of a dole –
Even such is man, whose brittle state
Is always subject unto fate.
The arrow’s shot, the flood soon spent,
The time no time, the web soon rent,
The race soon run, the goal soon won,
The dole soon dealt; man’s life first done.
Like to the lightning from the sky,
Or like a post that quick doth hie,
Or like a quaver in short song,
Or like a journey three days long,
Or like the snow when summer’s come,
Or like the pear, or like the plum –
Even such is man, who heaps up sorrow,
Lives but this day and dies to-morrow.
The lightning’s past, the post must go,
The song is short, the journey’s so,
The pear doth rot, the plum doth fall,
The snow dissolves, and so must all.
ANON
from Life and Death
Thus fared I through a frith . where flowers were many,
Bright boughs in the bank . breathéd full sweet.
The red railing roses . the richest of flowers,
Laid broad on their banks . with their bright leaves;
And a river that was rich . ran over the green,
With still stirring streams . that streamed full bright
Over the glittering ground . As I there glode,
Methought, it lengthened my life . to look on the banks!
Then, among the fair flowers . I settled me to sit
Under a huge hawthorn . that hoar was of blossoms.
I bent my back to the bole . and blenched to the streams.
Thus pressed I on apace . under the green hawthorn,
For breme of the birds . and breath of the flowers,
And what for watching and waking . and wandering about,
In my seat, where I sat. I sayéd asleep.
Lying edgelong on the ground . left all myself,
Deep dreams and dright . drove me to heart.
Methought, walking that I was . in a wood strong,
Upon a great mountain . where moors were large,
That I might s
ee on every side . seventeen miles,
Both of woods and wastes . and walléd towns,
Comely castles and clear . with carven towers,
Parks and palaces . and pastures full many,
All the world full of wealth . viewly to behold.
I sat me down softly . and said these words,
‘I will not kyre out of kith . before I know more!’
And I waited me about . wonders to know.
And it fairly befell . so fair me bethought,
I saw on the south side . a seemly sight
Of comely knights full keen . and knights full noble,
Princes in the press . proudly attired,
Dukes that were doughry . and many dear earls,
Squires and swains . that swarmed full thick,
There was neither hill nor holt . nor haunt there beside,
But it was planted full of people . the plain and the rough
There, over that host . eastward I looked
Into a boolish bank . the brightest of others,
That shimmered and shone . as the sheer heaven,
Through the light of a Lady . that longéd therein.
She came cheering full comely . with company noble,
Upon clear clothes . were all of clear gold,
Laid broad upon the bent . with broiders full rich,
Before that Fair on the field . where she forth passed.
She was brighter of her blee . than was the bright sun!
Her rudd redder than the rose . that on the rise hangeth!
Meekly smiling with her mouth . and merry in her looks,
Ever laughing for love . as she like would;
And, as she came by the banks . the boughs, each one,
They louted to that Lady . and laid forth their branches.
Blossoms and burgeons . breathéd full sweet,
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