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.

LXXX.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

G

OOD morrow to the day so fair;

Good morning, sir, to you :

Good morrow to mine own torn hair

Bedabbled with the dew.

Good morning to this primrose too;

Good morrow to each maid;

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew,
Wherein my love is laid.

Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me ;

Alack and well-a-day!

For pity, sir, find out that bee,
Which bore my love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave;
I'll seek him in your eyes;

Nay, now I think they have made his grave
I' the bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there; I know, ere this,
The cold, cold earth doth shake him ;

But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him,
And who with green-turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed,
With bands of cowslips bind him;
And bring him home; but 'tis decreed,
That I shall never find him.

LXXXI.

TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile;
And go at last.

What, were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight;

And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave :
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you awhile: They glide
Into the grave.

LXXXII.

HIS PRAYER TO BEN JONSON.

WHEN I a verse shall make,

WHE

Know I have prayed thee,

For old religion's sake,

Saint Ben to aid me.

Make the way smooth for me,

When I, thy Herrick,
Honouring thee, on my knee,

Offer my lyric.

Candles I'll give to thee,

And a new altar;

And thou Saint Ben, shalt be

Writ in my psalter.

LXXXIII.

THE NIGHT-PIECE, TO JULIA.

H1

ER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow,

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

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

Nor 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 though 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 silvery feet

My soul I'll pour into thee.

LXXXIV.

A TERNARY OF LITTLES, UPON A PIPKIN OF JELLY SENT TO A LADY.

A

LITTLE saint best fits a little shrine,

A little prop best fits a little vine,

As my small cruse best fits my little wine.