And there to lick th' effused sacrifice, Though paleness be the livery that I wear, Look ye not wan or colorless for fear. Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show The least grim look, or cast a frown on

you;

Nor shall the tapers when I'm there burn blue.

This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by:

Cast on my girls a glance and loving eye, Or fold mine arms and sigh, because I've lost

The world so soon, and in it you the most. Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall,

Though then I smile and speak no words

at all.

174

UPON LOVE

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 the glass;

Which burnt me so that I do think
The fire of Hell it was.

Give me my earthen cups again;
The crystal I contemn,

Which, though enchas'd with pearls, contain

A deadly draught in them.

And thou, O Cupid! come not to
My threshold, since I see,
For all I have, or else can do,
Thou still wilt cozen me.

175

UPON A CHILD

HERE a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies;
Pray be silent, and not stir
earth that covers her.

Th' easy.

176

FAREWELL, FROST, OR WELCOME THE

SPRING

FLED are the frosts, and now the fields

appear

Recloth'd in fresh and verdant diaper.

Thaw'd are the snows, and now the lusty

spring

Gives to each mead a neat enameling.

The palms put forth their gems, and every tree

Now swaggers in her leafy gallantry, The while the Daulian minstrel sweetly sings,

With warbling notes, her Terean sufferings.

What gentle winds perspire! As if here Never had been the Northern plunderer To strip the trees and fields, to their distress,

Leaving them to a pitied nakedness. And look how when a frantic storm doth tear

A stubborn oak, or holm, long growing

there,

But lull'd to calmness, then succeeds a

breeze

That scarcely stirs the nodding leaves of

trees:

So when this war, which tempest-like doth

spoil

Our salt, our corn, our honey, wine, and

oil,

Falls to a temper, and doth mildly cast
His inconsiderate frenzy off, at last,
The gentle dove may, when these turmoils

cease,

Bring in her bill, once more, the branch of

peace.

177

THE HAG

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 a bur

She takes for a spur,

With a lash of a bramble she rides now; Through brakes and through briers, O'er ditches and mires,

She follows the spirit that guides now.

No beast for his food

Dare now range the wood,
But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking;
While mischiefs, by these,

On land and on seas,

At noon of night are a-working.

The storm will arise

And trouble the skies,

This night, and more for the wonder,
The ghost from the tomb

Affrighted shall come,

Call'd out by the clap of the thunder.

178

THE COUNTRY LIFE: TO THE HONORED M.
END. PORTER, GROOM OF THE BEDCHAMBER
TO HIS MAJESTY

SWEET Country life, to such unknown
Whose lives are others', not their own!
But, serving courts and cities, be
Less happy, less enjoying thee.
Thou never plow'st the ocean's foam
To seek and bring rough pepper home;
Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove

To bring from thence the scorched clove;
Nor, with the loss of thy lov'd rest,
Bring'st home the ingot from the West.
No, thy ambition's masterpiece
Flies no thought higher than a fleece;
Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear
All scores, and so to end the year;
But walk'st about thine own dear bounds,
Not envying others larger grounds:
For well thou know'st 't is not th' extent
Of land makes life, but sweet content.
When now the cock (the plowman's horn)
Calls forth the lily-wristed morn,
Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go,
Which though'well soil'd, yet thou dost know
That the best compost for the lands
Is the wise master's feet and hands.