No More Learning

Welcome as are the ends unto my vows:
_Nay_, far more welcome than the happy soil
The sea-scourged merchant, after all his toil,
Salutes with tears of joy, when fires _display_
The _smoking_ chimneys of his Ithaca.
Where hast thou been so long from my embraces,
Poor pitied exile? Tell me, did thy Graces
Fly discontented hence, and for a time
_Choose rather for_ to bless _some_ other clime?
? *_Oh, then, not longer let my sweet defer
*Her buxom smiles from me, her worshipper! _
Why _have those amber_ looks, the which have been
Time-past so fragrant, sickly now _call'd_ in
Like a dull twilight? Tell me, *_hath my soul
*Prophaned in speech or done an act that is foul
*Against thy purer essence? _ _For that_ fault
I'll expiate with sulphur, hair and salt:
And with the crystal humour of the spring
Purge hence the guilt, and kill _the_ quarrelling.
_Wilt_ thou not smile, _nor_ tell me what's amiss?
Have I been cold to hug thee, too remiss,
Too temperate in embracing? Tell me, has desire
To-thee-ward died in the embers, and no fire
Left in _the_ raked-up _ashes_, as a mark
To testify the glowing of a spark?
? _I must_ confess I left thee, and appeal
'Twas done by me more to _increase_ my zeal,
And double my affection[? ]; as do those
Whose love grows more inflamed by being _froze_.
But to forsake thee, [?
] could there _ever_ be
A thought of such-like possibility?
When _all the world may know that vines_ shall lack
Grapes, before Herrick _leave_ Canary sack.
*_Sack is my life, my leaven, salt to all
*My dearest dainties, nay, 'tis the principal
*Fire unto all my functions, gives me blood,
*An active spirit, full marrow, and, what is good,_
_Sack makes_ me _sprightful, airy_ to be borne,
Like Iphyclus, upon the tops of corn.
_Sack makes_ me nimble, as the winged hours,
To dance and caper _o'er the tops_ of flowers,
And ride the sunbeams. Can there be a thing
Under the _cope of heaven_ that can bring
More _joy_ unto my _soul_, or can present
My Genius with a fuller blandishment?
Illustrious Idol! _Can_ the Egyptians seek
Help from the garlick, onion and the leek,
And pay no vows to thee, who _art the_ best
God, and far more _transcending_ than the rest?
Had Cassius, that weak water-drinker, known
Thee in _the_ Vine, or had but tasted one
Small chalice of thy _nectar, he, even_ he
As the wise Cato had approved of thee.
Had not Jove's son, the _rash_ Tyrinthian swain
(Invited to the Thesbian banquet), ta'ne
Full goblets of thy [? ] blood; his *_lustful_ sprite
_Had not_ kept heat for fifty maids that night.
? As Queens meet Queens, _so let sack come to_ me
_Or_ as Cleopatra _unto_ Anthonie,
When her high _visage_ did at once present
To the Triumvir love and wonderment.
Swell up my _feeble sinews_, let my blood
? Fill each part full of fire,* _let all my good_
_Parts be encouraged_, active to do
What thy commanding soul shall put _me_ to,
And till I turn apostate to thy love,
Which here I vow to serve, _never_ remove
Thy _blessing_ from me; but Apollo's curse
Blast _all mine_ actions; or, a thing that's worse,
When these circumstants _have the fate_ to see
The time _when_ I prevaricate from thee,
Call me the Son of Beer, and then confine
Me to the tap, the toast, the turf; let wine
Ne'er shine upon me; _let_ my _verses_ all
_Haste_ to a sudden death and funeral:
And last, _dear Spouse, when I thee_ disavow,
_May ne'er_ prophetic Daphne crown my brow. "

Certainly this manuscript version is in every way inferior to that
printed in the _Hesperides_, and Herrick must be reckoned among the
poets who are able to revise their own work.

_The smoky chimneys of his Ithaca.