Prue, my dearest maid, is sick,
Almost to be lunatic:
AEsculapius!
Almost to be lunatic:
AEsculapius!
Robert Herrick
From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,
From murders _Benedicite_.
From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night,
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye while ye sleep.
Past one o'clock, and almost two!
My masters all, good-day to you.
_Scare-fires_, alarms of fire.
300. BASHFULNESS.
Of all our parts, the eyes express
The sweetest kind of bashfulness.
301. TO THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED GENTLEMAN, MASTER EDWARD NORGATE, CLERK OF
THE SIGNET TO HIS MAJESTY. EPIG.
For one so rarely tun'd to fit all parts,
For one to whom espous'd are all the arts,
Long have I sought for, but could never see
Them all concentr'd in one man, but thee.
Thus, thou that man art whom the fates conspir'd
To make but one, and that's thyself, admir'd.
302. UPON PRUDENCE BALDWIN: HER SICKNESS.
Prue, my dearest maid, is sick,
Almost to be lunatic:
AEsculapius! come and bring
Means for her recovering;
And a gallant cock shall be
Offer'd up by her to thee.
_Cock_, the traditional offering to AEsculapius; cp. the last words of
Socrates; cp. Ben Jonson, Epig. xiii.
303. TO APOLLO. A SHORT HYMN.
Phoebus! when that I a verse
Or some numbers more rehearse,
Tune my words that they may fall
Each way smoothly musical:
For which favour there shall be
Swans devoted unto thee.
304. A HYMN TO BACCHUS.
Bacchus, let me drink no more;
Wild are seas that want a shore.
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up, for to please
Thee, that great cup Hercules:
Urge no more, and there shall be
Daffodils given up to thee.