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She that to age her charms resigns,

And then at last turns votary, Though virtue much the change inclines,

'Tis sullied by necessity.

ROBERT HERRICK

Was author of a poetical volume published under the title of “ Hesperides,” 1648, 8vo, which contains two little pieces, printed among Carew's poems, under the titles of “the Primrose,” and “the Inquiry.” Phillips, in his “ Theatrum Poetarum,” thinks him “ not particularly influenced by any nymph or goddess, except his maid Pru:” but allows him to have shown occasionally “ a pretty flowery and pastoral gale of fancy,” &c. Wood tells us (Ath. ii. 122) that he was a Londoner born, though of a Leicestershire family ; elected fellow of All Souls' College, Oxford, from St. John's, but took no degree ; that being patronized by the Earl of Exeter, he afterwards resided in Devonshire, much beloved, till, forced to withdraw, he retired to London, where he was still living, subsequent to the Restoration. For farther particulars, see the “ Gentleman's Magazine” for 1796, p. 461. 645.

To Virgins.
Hear, ye virgins, and I'll teach
What the times of old did preach.
Rosamond was in a bower
Kept, as Danae in a tower :
But yet love, who subtle is,
Crept to that, and came to this.
Be ye lock'd up like to these,
Or the rich Hesperides ;

Or those babies in your eyes,
In their crystal nunneries ;
Notwithstanding, Love will win,
Or else force a passage in ;
And as coy be as you can,
Gifts will get ye, or the man.

A Meditation for his Mistress.

You are a tulip, seen to-day,—
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 dainty violet, —
Yet wither’d, 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.

The Bag of the Bee. [To be found also in “ Wit a sporting in a pleasant Grove of new

fancies," collected by H. B. 1657.)

About the sweet bag of a bee

Two Cupids fell at odds ;
And whose the pretty prize should be

They vow'd to ask the gods.

Which Venus hearing, thither came,

And for their boldness stript them,
And, taking from them each his flame,

With rods of myrtle whipt them.

Which done, to still their wanton cries,

When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kiss'd, and wip'd their dove-like eyes,

And gave the bag between them.

1 " the wantons”,” in “ Wit a sporting.”

To a Gentlewoman, objecting to him his grey hairs.
Am I despis’d because you say,
And I dare swear that I am grey ?
Know, lady, you have but your day,
And time will come, when you shall wear
Such frost and snow upon your hair.
And when, (though long it comes to pass)
You question with your looking-glass,
And in that sincere crystal seek,
But find no rose-bud in your cheek ;
Nor any bed to give the shew
Where such a rare carnation grew ;

Ah! then too late, close in your chamber keeping,

It will be told

That you are old
By those true tears you're weeping.

The Mad Maid's Song.
Good-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,

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