No More Learning

This was the founder's grave and good intent:
To keep the outcast in his tenement,
To free the orphan from that wolf-like man,
Who is his butcher more than guardian;
To dry the widow's tears, and stop her swoons,
By pouring balm and oil into her wounds.
This was the old way; and 'tis yet thy course
To keep those pious principles in force.
Modest I will be; but one word I'll say,
Like to a sound that's vanishing away,
Sooner the inside of thy hand shall grow
Hisped and hairy, ere thy palm shall know
A postern-bribe took, or a forked fee,
To fetter Justice, when she might be free.
_Eggs I'll not shave_; but yet, brave man, if I
Was destin'd forth to golden sovereignty,
A prince I'd be, that I might thee prefer
To be my counsel both and chancellor.

_Hisped_ (_hispidus_), rough with hairs.
_Postern-bribe_, a back-door bribe.
_Forked fee_, a fee from both sides in a case; cp. Ben Jonson's
_Volpone_: "Give forked counsel, take provoking gold on either hand".
_Eggs I'll not shave_, a proverb.


560. THE WATCH.

Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never
Wound up again: once down, he's down for ever.
The watch once down, all motions then do cease;
And man's pulse stop'd, all passions sleep in peace.


561. LINES HAVE THEIR LININGS, AND BOOKS THEIR BUCKRAM.
As in our clothes, so likewise he who looks,
Shall find much farcing buckram in our books.

_Farcing_, stuffing.


562. ART ABOVE NATURE: TO JULIA.

When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head,
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which like a pinnacle doth show
The top, and the top-gallant too.
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility,
And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so:
I must confess mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.

_Civility_, order.


564. UPON HIS KINSWOMAN, MISTRESS BRIDGET HERRICK.

Sweet Bridget blush'd, and therewithal
Fresh blossoms from her cheeks did fall.
I thought at first 'twas but a dream,
Till after I had handled them
And smelt them, then they smelt to me
As blossoms of the almond tree.


565. UPON LOVE.

I played with Love, as with the fire
The wanton Satyr did;
Nor did I know, or could descry
What under there was hid.

That Satyr he but burnt his lips;
But mine's the greater smart,
For kissing Love's dissembling chips
The fire scorch'd my heart.

_The wanton Satyr_, see Note.