To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying;

And the 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 still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And, while ye may, go marry;

For, having lost but once your prime,

You may forever tarry.

Robert Herrick

Delight in Disorder

A SWEET disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness.

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fair 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 shoestring, in whose tie

I see a wild civility;

Do more bewitch me than when art

Is too precise in every part.

Robert Herrick

Upon Julia's Clothes

WHENAS in silks my Julia goes

Then, then, (methinks) how sweetly flows

That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see

That brave vibration each way free;

Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

Robert Herrick

Be My Mistress Short or Tall

BE my mistress short or tall

And distorted therewithall

Be she likewise one of those

That an acre hath of nose

Be her teeth ill hung or set

And her grinders black as jet

Be her cheeks so shallow too

As to show her tongue wag through

Hath she thin hair, hath she none

She's to me a paragon.

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 colors through the air.

Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see

The dew bespangling herb and tree!

Each flower has wept and bowed toward the east

Above an hour since, yet you not drest;

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,

Whenas 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 springtime, 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 whitethorn 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 dispatched their cakes and cream,

Before that we have left to dream;

And some have wept and wooed, 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 of the eye, love's firmament;

Many a jest told of the keys betraying

This night, and locks picked; 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 vapor or a drop of rain,

Once lost, can ne'er be found again,

So when 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

Night Piece, to Julia

HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee,

The shooting stars attend thee,

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow

Like sparks of fire befriend thee.

No will-o'th'-wisp mislight thee;

No snake or slow-worm bite thee;

But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there's none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber;

What through the moon does slumber;

The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like tapers clear without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,

Thus, thus to come unto me:

And when I shall meet

Thy silv'ry feet,

My soul I'll pour into thee.

Robert Herrick

Upon Prew His Maid

IN this little Urne is laid

Prewdence Baldwin (once my maid)

From whose happy spark here let

Spring the purple violet.

Robert Herrick

A Meditation for his Mistress

YOU are a tulip seen today,

But (Dearest) of so short a stay;

That where you grew, scarce man can say.

You are a lovely July-flower,

Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower,

Will force you hence, (and in an hour.)

You are a sparkling Rose i'th'bud,

Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and blood

Can show where you or grew, or stood.

You are a full-spread fair-set Vine,

And can with Tendrils love entwine,

Yet dried, ere you distill your Wine.

You are like Balm enclosed (well)

In Amber, or some Crystal shell,

Yet lost, ere you transfuse your smell.

You are a dainty Violet,

Yet withered, ere you can be set

Within the Virgin's Coronet.

You are the Queen all flowers among,

But die you must (fair Maid) ere long,

As He, the maker of this song.

Robert Herrick

To Daffodills

FAIR Daffodills, we weep to see

     You haste away so soon:

As yet the early-rising Sun

     Has not attained his Noon.

               Stay, stay,

          Until the hasting day

               Has run

          But to the Even-song;

And, having prayed together, we

          Will 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 any thing.

               We die,

          As your hours do, and dry

               Away,

          Like to the Summer's rain;

Or as the pearls of Morning's dew

          Ne'er to be found again.

Robert Herrick

On Julia's Voice

So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice,

As, could they hear, the Damned would make no noise,

But listen to thee (walking in thy chamber)

melting melodious words to Lutes of Amber.

Robert Herrick

Another Grace for a Child

HERE a little child I stand

Heaving up my either hand;

Cold as paddocks though they be,

Here I lift them up to Thee,

For a benison to fall

On our meat and on us all.

                    Amen.

Robert Herrick

Proof to No Purpose

YOU see this grntle stream that glides,

Shoved on, by quick-succeeding tides:

Try if this sober stream you can

Follow to th' wider ocean,

And see, if there it keeps unspent

In that congesting element.

Next, from that world of waters, then

By pores and caverns back again

Induct that inadultrate same

Stream to the spring from whence it came.

This with a wonder when ye do,

As easy, and else easier too:

Then ye may recollect the grains

Of my particular remains,

After a thousand lusters hurled,

By roughing winds, around the world.

Robert Herrick

An Ode of the Birth of our Saviour

Voice 1:

IN numbers, and but these few,

I sing Thy Birth, Oh JESU!

Thou pretty Baby, borne here,

With sup'rabundant scorn here:

Who for Thy Princely Port here,

               Hadst for Thy place

               Of Birth, a base

Out-stable for thy Court here.

Voice 2:

Instead of neat Enclosures

Of inter-woven Osiers;

Instead of fragrant Posies

Of Daffadills and Roses;

Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,

     As Gospel tells,

     Was nothing else,

But, here, a homely manger.

Voice 3:

But we with Silks, (not Crewels)

With sundry precious Jewels,

And Lily-work will dress Thee;

And as we dispossess Thee

Of clouts, we'll make a chamber

               Sweet Babe, for Thee,

               Of Ivory,

And plaster'd round with Amber.

Voice 4:

The Jews they did disdain Thee,

But we will entertain Thee

With Glories to await here

Upon Thy Princely State here,

And more for love, than pity.

               From year to year

               We'll make Thee here

A Free-born of our City.

Robert Herrick

A Christmas Carol, Sung to the King in the Presence at White-Hall

Chorus.

WHAT sweeter music can we bring, Than a Carol, for to sing The Birth of this our heavenly King? Awake the Voice! Awake the String! Heart, Ear, and Eye, and every thing Awake! the while the active Finger Runs division with the Singer.

From the Flourish they came to the Song.

Voice 1:	Dark and dull night, fly hence away, And give the honor to this Day, That sees December turn'd to May.
Voice 2:	If we may ask the reason, say: The why, and wherefore all things here Seem like the Spring-time fo the year?
Voice 3:	Why does the chilling Winter's morn Smile, like a field beset with corn? Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn, Thus, on the sudden?
Voice 4:	Come and see The cause, why things thus fragrant be: 'Tis He is born, whose quick'ning Birth Gives life and luster, public mirth, To Heaven and the under-Earth.
Chorus:	We see Him come, and know Him ours, Who, with His Sun-shine, and His Showers, Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
Voice 1:	The Darling of the World is come, And fit it is, we find a room To welcome Him.
Voice 2:	The nobler part Of all the house here, is the Heart,
Chorus:	Which we will give Him; and bequeath This Holly and this Ivy Wreath, To do Him honor; who's our King, And Lord of all this Revelling.

[The Musical Part was composed by Master Henry Lawes].

Robert Herrick

To Music. A Song.

MUSIC, thou Queen of Heaven, Care-charming-spell,

That strik'st a stillness into hell:

Thou that tam'st Tygers, and fierce storms (that rise)

With thy soul-melting Lullabies:

Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming spheres,

To charm our souls, as thou enchant'st our ears.

Robert Herrick