Like to these garden glories, which here be
The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee:
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry,
Would thou hadst ne’er been born, or might’st not die!
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I call, I call: who do ye call?
But since these cowslips fading be,Troth, leave the flowers, and maids, take me!Yet, if that neither you will do,Speak but the word, and I’ll take you,
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
As yet the early-rising sunHas not attain’d his noon.Stay, stay,Until the hasting dayHas runBut to the even-song;And, having pray’d together, weWill go with you along.We have short time to stay, as you,We have as short a spring;As quick a growth to meet decay,As you, or anything.We dieAs your hours do, and dryAway,Like to the summer’s…
Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed;
Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly post haste;No sound calls back the year that once is past.Then, sweetest Silvia, let’s no longer stay;True love, we know, precipitates delay.Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove!No man, at one time, can be wise, and love.
Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!
Come thou, who art the wine and wit
The grace, the glory, and the bestPiece of the rest;Thou art of what I did intendThe All, and End;And what was made, was made to meet.Thee, thee my sheet.Come then, and be to my chaste sideBoth bed and bride.We two, as reliques left, will haveOne rest, one grave;And, hugging close, we need not fearLust entering…
Anthea laugh’d, and, fearing lest excess
She with a dainty blush rebuked her face,And call’d each line back to his rule and space.