No More Learning

said he, these hurts are slight
To those that die by love's despite.
With shepherd's-purse, and clown's all-heal,
The blood I stanch and wound I seal.
Only for him no cure is found,
Whom Juliana's eyes do wound ;
'Tis death alone that this must do ;
For, Death, thou art a Mower too.



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OF BIARVELL. 95



THE MOWER TO THE GLOW WORMS.



Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
The nightingale does sit so late.
And studying all the summer night,
Her matchless songs does meditate ;

ir.
Ye country comets, that portend
No war nor prince's funeral,
Shining unto no other end
Than to presage the grass's fall ;

III.
Ye Glow-worms, whose officious flame
To wandering mowers shows the way,
That in the night have lost their aim,
And afler foolish fires do stray ;

IV.

Your courteous lights in vain you waste,
Since Juliana here is come.
For she my mind hath so displaced.
That I shall never find my home.



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96 THE POEMS



THE MOWER'S SONG.



Mt mind was once the true survey
Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
And in the greenness of the grass
Did see its hopes as in a glass,
When Juliana came, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts
and me.

II.
But these, while I with sorrow pine,
Gi-ew more luxuriant still and fine,
That not one blade of grass you spied,
But had a flower on either side, —
When Juliana came, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to my tlioughts
and me.

III.

Unthankful meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gaudy May-games meet.
While I lay trodden under feet,



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OF MARVELL. 97

When Juliana came, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to mj thoughts
and me ?

rv.

But what you in compassion ought.
Shall now by my revenge be wrought,
And flowers, and grass, and I, and all,
Will in one common ruin fell ;
For Juliana comes, and she.
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts
and me.

V.

And thus, ye meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my tomb ;
For Juliana comes, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts
and me.



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98 THE POEMS



AMETAS AND THESTYLIS MAKING HAY-
ROPES.

AMETAS.

Think'st thou that this love can stand,
Whilst thou still dost say me nay ?

Love unpaid does soon disband :
Love binds love, as hay binds hay.

THESTYLIS.