– No fault: in women, to confess
How tedious they are in their dress;
– No fault in women, to lay on
The tincture of vermilion;
And there to give the cheek a dye
Of white, where Nature doth deny.
– No fault in women, to make show
Of largeness, when they’re nothing so;
When, true it is, the outside swells
With inward buckram, little else.
– No fault in women, though they be
But seldom from suspicion free;
– No fault in womankind at all,
If they but slip, and never fall.
For old religion’s sake,Saint Ben to aid me.Make the way smooth for me,When I, thy Herrick,Honouring thee, on my kneeOffer my lyric.Candles I’ll give to thee,And a new altar,And thou, Saint Ben, shalt beWrit in my psalter.
Safely guard us, now and aye,From the blast that burns by day;And those sounds that us affrightIn the dead of dampish night;Drive all hurtful fiends us fro,By the time the cocks first crow.
The blooms that fell were white and red;But with such sweets commingled,As whether (this) I cannot tell,My sight was pleased more, or my smell;But true it was, as I roll’d there,Without a thought of hurt or fear,Love turn’d himself into a bee,And with his javelin wounded me;—From which mishap this use I make;Where most sweets…
Art presupposes nature; nature, shePrepares the way for man’s docility.
And tell him, by that bud now blown,He is the Rose of Sharon known.When thou hast said so, stick it thereUpon his bib or stomacher;And tell him, for good handsel too,That thou hast brought a whistle new,Made of a clean straight oaten reed,To charm his cries at time of need;Tell him, for coral, thou hast…
‘Tis Julia’s bed, and she sleeps there.
