[From That age is best, which is the first, Then be not coy, but use your time, Hesperides, or the works both Humane and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esq. 1648." The idea is taken from Spenser Gather therefore the rose whilst yet in prime; For soon comes age that will her pride deflower; Whilst loving, thou may'st loved be with equal crime. Faery Queene, Book 2, Canto 12, v. 73. Mr. Campbell says this Song is "sweetly Anacreontic."] TO ELECTRA. ROBERT HERRICK. 'Tis Evening, my sweet, And dark;-let us meet; Long time w'ave here been a toying: And never, as yet That season could get Wherein t'ave had an enjoying. For pity or shame, Then let not love's flame, Since now to the port And yet our way has no ending. Time flys away fast, Our hours do waste: The while we never remember, How soon our life, here, Grow's old with the year, That dies with the next December. From the "Hesperides," &c. p. 227, Ed. 1648.] TO HIS MISTRESS. ROBERT HERRICK. Choose me your Valentine; If we long tarry. Promise, and keep your vows, Or vow ye never: You have broke promise twice If you prove faithless thrice, [From "Hesperides," p. 32, Ed. 1618.] TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING. ROBERT HERRICK. Bid me to live, and I will live Or bid me love, and I will give A heart as soft, a heart as kind, As in the whole world thou canst find 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, Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Thou art my life, my love, my heart, And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. From "Hesperides," p. 122, Ed. 1648, Herrick is highly lauded by Mr. Campbell in his Specimens of the Poets.] Where these well known lines are found, called : CHERRIE-RIPE. Cherrie-Ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I cry, TELL ME NO MORE. HENRY KING-BISHOP OF CHICHESTER. Born 1591-Died 1669. Tell me no more how fair she is, I have no mind to hear The story of that distant bliss By sad That her perfection is my wound. experience I have found And tell me not how fond I am From whence no triumph ever came, tempt my daring fate, To But to repent too late: There is some In silence doat myself away. I ask no pity, Love, from thee, The glory of my flame; Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, In that it falls her sacrifice. [The poems of King are terse and elegant, but, like those of most of his contemporaries, deficient in simplicity. GEO. ELLIS.] THE ANGLER'S WISH. ISAAK WALTON. Born 1593-Died 1683. I in these flow'ry meads would be: Sit here and see the turtle-dove Court his chaste mate to acts of love. Or on that bank feel the west wind Here, hear my Kenna sing a song Or a leverock build her nest; Here, give my weary spirits rest, And raise my low pitch'd thoughts above Thus free from law-suits and the noise |