TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH
OF TIME

GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old time is still a flying,
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow 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 is best which is the first,
age
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.

HIS POETRY HIS PILLAR ONLY a little more

I have to write,
Then I'll give o'er,
And bid the world good-night.

'Tis but a flying minute
That I must stay,
Or linger in it;
And then I must away.

O time that cut'st down all!
And scarce leav'st here
Memorial

Of any men that were,

How many lie forgot

In vaults beneath,
And piece-meal rot
Without a fame in death!

Behold this living stone
I rear for me,

Ne'er to be thrown
Down, envious Time, by thee.

Pillars let some set up,

If so they please:
Here is my hope,

And my Pyramides.

Lies drowned with us in endless night.

5

10

15

1648

HIS LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

IN the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart, and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When his potion and his pill,
His or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the passing-bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,

'Cause my speech is now decayed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I 'm tossed about, Either with despair or doubt,

Yet before the glass be out,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the Tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the flames and hellish cries Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the judgment is revealed, And that opened which was sealed, When to thee I have appealed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

1648

Is worn by the poor,

Who thither come, and freely get
Good words or meat.

Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen's small;

A little buttery, and therein

A little bin

Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipped, unflead.

Some little sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,

Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.

Lord, I confess too when I dine

The pulse is thine,

And all those other bits that be

There placed by thee;

The worts, the purslain, and the mess

Of water-cress,

Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;

And my content

Makes those, and my belovèd beet,

"T is thou that crown'st my glittering hearth

To be more sweet.

THIS CROSS-TREE HERE

THIS cross-tree here

1648

Doth Jesus bear,

Who sweetened first The death accurst.

Here all things ready are, make haste, make haste away; 5 For long this work will be, and very short this day. Why then, go on to act: here's wonders to be done Before the last least sand of thy ninth hour be run, Or e'er dark clouds do dull or dead the midday's sun.

Act when thou wilt, Blood will be spilt; Pure balm that shall Bring health to all. Why then, begin Το pour first in Some drops of wine, In stead of brine, To search the wound So long unsound. And when that's done, Let oil, next run, To cure the sore Sin made before. And O! dear Christ, E'en as thou di'st, Look down and see Us weep for thee. And tho', love knows, Thy dreadful woes We cannot ease, Yet do thou please, Who mercy art, T'accept each heart, That gladly would Help, if it could. Mean while let me, Beneath this tree, This honour have,

To make my grave.

ANOTHER GRACE FOR A CHILD

HERE a little child I stand,

Heaving up my either hand:

Cold as paddocks though they be,

WHY SO PALE AND WAN?

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do 't?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame; this will not move:
This cannot take her.

If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her!

But wot you what? the youth was going 25 To make an end of all his wooing;

The parson for him staid:

Yet by his leave (for all his haste)
He did not so much wish all past,
(Perchance) as did the maid.

The maid, (and thereby hangs a tale),
For such a maid no Whitsun-ale
Could ever yet produce:

No grape, that's kindly ripe, could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.

Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on, which they did bring,
It was too wide a peck:

And to say truth (for out it must)

It looked like the great collar (just)
About our young colt's neck.

30

35

40

1638

Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No daisy makes comparison;

50

A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING

I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen;
O, things without compare!
Such sights again cannot be found

(Who sees them is undone),

For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,

(The side that's next the sun).

Her lips were red, and one was thin, Compared to that was next her chin, (Some bee had stung it newly);

55