No More Learning

Cast off, said he, all fear,
And let not locks thus keep ye.

For I a boy am, who
By moonless nights have swerved;
And all with show'rs wet through,
And e'en with cold half starved.

I pitiful arose,
And soon a taper lighted;
And did myself disclose
Unto the lad benighted.

I saw he had a bow
And wings, too, which did shiver;
And, looking down below,
I spied he had a quiver.

I to my chimney's shine
Brought him, as Love professes,
And chafed his hands with mine,
And dried his drooping tresses.

But when he felt him warm'd:
Let's try this bow of ours,
And string, if they be harm'd,
Said he, with these late showers.

Forthwith his bow he bent,
And wedded string and arrow,
And struck me, that it went
Quite through my heart and marrow.

Then, laughing loud, he flew
Away, and thus said, flying:
Adieu, mine host, adieu,
I'll leave thy heart a-dying.


82. TO THE REVEREND SHADE OF HIS RELIGIOUS FATHER.

That for seven lusters I did never come
To do the rites to thy religious tomb;
That neither hair was cut, or true tears shed
By me, o'er thee, as justments to the dead,
Forgive, forgive me; since I did not know
Whether thy bones had here their rest or no,
But now 'tis known, behold! behold, I bring
Unto thy ghost th' effused offering:
And look what smallage, night-shade, cypress, yew,
Unto the shades have been, or now are due,
Here I devote; and something more than so;
I come to pay a debt of birth I owe.
Thou gav'st me life, but mortal; for that one
Favour I'll make full satisfaction;
For my life mortal rise from out thy hearse.
And take a life immortal from my verse.

_Seven lusters_, five and thirty years.
_Hair was cut_, according to the Greek custom.
_Justments_, dues.
_Smallage_, water parsley.


83. DELIGHT IN DISORDER.

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction:
An erring lace which here and there
Enthralls the crimson stomacher:
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly:
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.


84. TO HIS MUSE.

Were I to give thee baptism, I would choose
To christen thee, the bride, the bashful Muse,
Or Muse of roses: since that name does fit
Best with those virgin-verses thou hast writ:
Which are so clean, so chaste, as none may fear
Cato the censor, should he scan each here.


85. UPON LOVE.

Love scorch'd my finger, but did spare
The burning of my heart;
To signify in love my share
Should be a little part.

Little I love; but if that he
Would but that heat recall;
That joint to ashes burnt should be,[E]
Ere I would love at all.

[E] Orig. ed. , _should be burnt_.