If
anything
delight me for to print
My book, 'tis this: that Thou, my God, art in't.
My book, 'tis this: that Thou, my God, art in't.
Robert Herrick
And these mine eyes shall see
All times, how they
Are lost i' th' sea
Of vast eternity.
Where never moon shall sway
The stars; but she
And night shall be
Drown'd in one endless day.
59. TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD: A PRESENT BY A CHILD.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower
Unto thy little Saviour;
And tell Him, by that bud now blown,
He is the Rose of Sharon known.
When thou hast said so, stick it there
Upon His bib or stomacher;
And tell Him, for good handsel too,
That thou hast brought a whistle new,
Made of a clean strait oaten reed,
To charm His cries at time of need.
Tell Him, for coral, thou hast none,
But if thou hadst, He should have one;
But poor thou art, and known to be
Even as moneyless as He.
Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
From those mellifluous lips of His;
Then never take a second on,
To spoil the first impression.
_Handsel_, earnest money.
60. THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
Let others look for pearl and gold,
Tissues, or tabbies manifold:
One only lock of that sweet hay
Whereon the blessed baby lay,
Or one poor swaddling-clout, shall be
The richest New-Year's gift to me.
_Tabbies_, shot silks.
61. TO GOD.
If anything delight me for to print
My book, 'tis this: that Thou, my God, art in't.
62. GOD AND THE KING.
How am I bound to Two! God, who doth give
The mind; the king, the means whereby I live.
63. GOD'S MIRTH: MAN'S MOURNING.
Where God is merry, there write down thy fears:
What He with laughter speaks, hear thou with tears.
64. HONOURS ARE HINDRANCES.
Give me honours! what are these,
But the pleasing hindrances?
Stiles, and stops, and stays that come
In the way 'twixt me and home;
Clear the walk, and then shall I
To my heaven less run than fly.
65. THE PARASCEVE, OR PREPARATION.
To a love-feast we both invited are:
The figur'd damask, or pure diaper,
Over the golden altar now is spread,
With bread, and wine, and vessels furnished;
The sacred towel and the holy ewer
Are ready by, to make the guests all pure:
Let's go, my Alma; yet, ere we receive,
Fit, fit it is we have our parasceve.
