"_If so, glide through the ranks of Virgins_, pass
The Showers of Roses, lucky four-leaved grass:
The while the cloud of younglings sing,
And drown _you_ with a flowery spring:
While some repeat
Your praise, and bless you, sprinkling you with Wheat,
While that others do divine,
'Blest is the Bride on whom the Sun doth shine';
And thousands gladly wish
You multiply as _do the_ fish.
The Showers of Roses, lucky four-leaved grass:
The while the cloud of younglings sing,
And drown _you_ with a flowery spring:
While some repeat
Your praise, and bless you, sprinkling you with Wheat,
While that others do divine,
'Blest is the Bride on whom the Sun doth shine';
And thousands gladly wish
You multiply as _do the_ fish.
Robert Herrick
Then come on, come on, and yield
A savour like unto a blessed field,
When the bedabbled morn
Washes the golden ears of corn.
3.
"_Lead on fair paranymphs, the while her eyes,
Guilty of somewhat, ripe the strawberries
And cherries in her cheeks, there's cream
Already spilt, her rays must gleam
Gently thereon,
And so beget lust and temptation
To surfeit and to hunger.
Help on her pace; and, though she lag, yet stir
Her homewards; well she knows
Her heart's at home, howe'er she goes. _
4 [3].
"See where she comes; and smell how all the street
Breathes Vine-yards and Pomegranates: O how sweet,
As a fir'd Altar, is each stone
_Spirting forth_ pounded Cinnamon.
The Phoenix nest,
Built up of odours, burneth in her breast.
Who _would not then_ consume
His soul to _ashes_ in that rich perfume? [ash-heaps
Bestroking Fate the while
He burns to embers on the Pile.
5 [4].
"Hymen, O Hymen! tread the sacred _round_ [ground
Shew thy white feet, and head with Marjoram crowned:
Mount up thy flames, and let thy Torch
Display _thy_ Bridegroom in the porch
In his desires
More towering, more _besparkling_ than thy fires: [disparkling
Shew her how his eyes do turn
And roll about, and in their motions burn
Their balls to cinders: haste
Or, _like a firebrand_, he will waste.
6.
"_See how he waves his hand, and through his eyes
Shoots forth his jealous soul, for to surprise
And ravish you his Bride, do you
Not now perceive the soul of C[lipseby] C[rew],
Your mayden knight,
With kisses to inspire
You with his just and holy ire. _
7 [5].
"_If so, glide through the ranks of Virgins_, pass
The Showers of Roses, lucky four-leaved grass:
The while the cloud of younglings sing,
And drown _you_ with a flowery spring:
While some repeat
Your praise, and bless you, sprinkling you with Wheat,
While that others do divine,
'Blest is the Bride on whom the Sun doth shine';
And thousands gladly wish
You multiply as _do the_ fish.
8.
"_Why then go forward, sweet Auspicious Bride,
And come upon your Bridegroom like a Tide
Bearing down Time before you; hye
Swell, mix, and loose your souls; imply
Like streams which flow
Encurled together, and no difference show
In their [most] silver waters; run
Into your selves like wool together spun.
Or blend so as the sight
Of two makes one Hermaphrodite. _
9 [6].
"And, beauteous Bride, we do confess _you_ are wise
_On drawing_ forth _those_ bashful jealousies [doling
In love's name, do so; and a price
Set on yourself by being nice.
But yet take heed
What now you seem be not the same indeed,
And turn Apostat_a_: Love will
Part of the way be met, or sit stone still;
On them, and though _y'are slow
In going_ yet, howsoever go.
10.
"_How long, soft Bride, shall your dear C[lipseby] make
Love to your welcome with the mystic cake,
How long, oh pardon, shall the house
And the smooth Handmaids pay their vows
With oil and wine
For your approach, yet see their Altars pine?
How long shall the page to please
You stand for to surrender up the keys
Of the glad house? Come, come,
Or Lar will freeze to death at home. _
11.
"_Welcome at last unto the Threshold, Time
Throned in a saffron evening, seems to chime
All in, kiss and so enter. If
A prayer must be said, be brief,
The easy Gods
For such neglect have only myrtle rods
To stroke, not strike; fear you
Not more, mild Nymph, than they would have you do;
But dread that you do more offend
In that you do begin than end. _
12 [7].
"And now y'are entered, see the coddled cook
Runs from his Torrid Zone to pry and look
And bless his dainty mistress; see
_How_ th' aged point out: 'This is she
Who now must sway
_Us_ (_and God_ shield her) with her yea and nay,'
And the smirk Butler thinks it
Sin in _his_ nap'ry not t' express his wit;
Each striving to devise
Some gin wherewith to catch _her_ eyes.