That Satan with less toil, and now with ease,
Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light,
And, like a weather-beaten vessel, holds
Gladly the port, though shrouds and tackle
torn;

Or in the emptier waste, resembling air, 1045
Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold
Far off the empyreal Heaven, extended wide
In circuit, undetermined square or round,
With opal towers and battlements adorned
Of living sapphire, once his native seat, 1050
And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain,
This pendent World, in bigness as a star
Of smallest magnitude close by the moon.
Thither, full fraught with mischievous re-

With his train-bands and mates agree To meet together where I lay,

And all in sport to jeer at me.

First Beauty crept into a rose,

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Which when I pluckt not, 'Sir,' said she, 'Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those?' But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then Money came, and chinking still,

'What tune is this, poor man?' said he; 10 'I heard in Music you had skill': But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came brave Glory puffing by
In silks that whistled, who but he!
He scarce allowed me half an eye:
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

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VIRTUE

SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

DISDAIN RETURNED

HE that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,

Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolved heart to return;

I have searched thy soul within,
And find naught but pride and scorn:
I have learned thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou.

Some power in my revenge convey
That love to her I cast away.

But keep them with repining restlessness;

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1640

ASK ME NO MORE WHERE

JOVE BESTOWS

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars' light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

1640

Francis Quarles (1592-1644)

A GOOD-NIGHT

CLOSE now thine eyes, and rest secure; Thy soul is safe enough; thy body sure; He that loves thee, he that keeps

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And guards thee, never slumbers, never sleeps.

The smiling Conscience in a sleeping breast 5
Has only peace, has only rest;
The music and the mirth of kings,
Are all but very discords, when she sings:
Then close thine eyes and rest secure;
No sleep so sweet as thine, no rest so sure. 10

Let those have night that love the night! Sweet Phosphor, bring the day; How sad delay

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Afflicts dull hopes! sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

Alas! my light-in-vain-expecting eyes

Can find no objects but what rise From this poor mortal blaze, a dying spark 30 Of Vulcan's forge, whose flames are dark And dangerous, a dull blue-burning light, As melancholy as the night:

Here's all the suns that glisten in the sphere Of earth: Ah me! what comfort's here? 35 Sweet Phosphor, bring the day; Haste, haste away

Heaven's loitering lamp; sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

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Blow, Ignorance: O thou, whose idle knee
Rocks earth into a lethargy,
And with thy sooty fingers hast bedight
The world's fair cheeks, blow, blow thy
spite;

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Since thou hast puffed our greater taper, do
Puff on, and out the lesser too;
If e'er that breath-exilèd flame return,
Thou hast not blown, as it will burn.
Sweet Phosphor, bring the day;
Light will repay

The wrongs of night; sweet Phosphor, bring

the day.

1635

Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK

I SING of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers;

Of April, May, of June, and July flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes;

Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridalcakes.

I write of youth, of love, and have access 5
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness.
I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece,
Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.
I sing of times trans-shifting; and I write
How roses first came red, and lilies white. 10
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the Fairy-king.
I write of hell; I sing, and ever shall,
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

1648

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