No More Learning

Is the beast exempt from stain,
Altar clean, no fire profane?
Are the garlands, is the nard
Ready here?

_Jul. _ All well prepar'd,
With the wine that must be shed,
'Twixt the horns, upon the head
Of the holy beast we bring
For our trespass-offering.

_Herr. _ All is well; now next to these
Put we on pure surplices;
And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roast
With perfumes the holocaust:
And, while we the gods invoke,
Read acceptance by the smoke.


871. TO APOLLO.

Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre,
Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspire
My fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,
That I may play and sing a hymn to Love.


872. ON LOVE.

Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear!
No cowards must his royal ensigns bear.


873. ANOTHER.
Where love begins, there dead thy first desire:
_A spark neglected makes a mighty fire_.


874. A HYMN TO CUPID.

Thou, thou that bear'st the sway,
With whom the sea-nymphs play;
And Venus, every way:
When I embrace thy knee,
And make short pray'rs to thee,
In love then prosper me.
This day I go to woo;
Instruct me how to do
This work thou put'st me to.
From shame my face keep free;
From scorn I beg of thee,
Love, to deliver me:
So shall I sing thy praise,
And to thee altars raise,
Unto the end of days.


875. TO ELECTRA.

Let not thy tombstone e'er be laid by me:
Nor let my hearse be wept upon by thee:
But let that instant when thou diest be known
The minute of mine expiration.
One knell be rung for both; and let one grave
To hold us two an endless honour have.


876. HOW HIS SOUL CAME ENSNARED.

My soul would one day go and seek
For roses, and in Julia's cheek
A richesse of those sweets she found,
As in another Rosamond.
But gathering roses as she was,
Not knowing what would come to pass,
It chanc'd a ringlet of her hair
Caught my poor soul, as in a snare:
Which ever since has been in thrall;
Yet freedom she enjoys withal.

_Richesse_, wealth.


877.