_Mercury_, god of eloquence and
inventor
of the lyre.
Robert Herrick
II.
_REVISED EDITION_
[Illustration]
LONDON: NEW YORK:
LAWRENCE & BULLEN, LTD. , CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS,
16 HENRIETTA STREET, W. C. 153-157 FIFTH AVENUE
1898. 1898.
HESPERIDES.
569. A HYMN TO THE GRACES.
When I love (as some have told,
Love I shall when I am old),
O ye Graces! make me fit
For the welcoming of it.
Clean my rooms, as temples be,
T' entertain that deity.
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures, and, withal,
Manners each way musical:
Sweetness to allay my sour
And unsmooth behaviour.
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill,
And of any wood ye see,
You can make a Mercury.
_Suppling_, softening.
_Mercury_, god of eloquence and inventor of the lyre.
570. TO SILVIA.
No more, my Silvia, do I mean to pray
For those good days that ne'er will come away.
I want belief; O gentle Silvia, be
The patient saint, and send up vows for me.
573. THE POET HATH LOST HIS PIPE.
I cannot pipe as I was wont to do,
Broke is my reed, hoarse is my singing, too;
My wearied oat I'll hang upon the tree,
And give it to the sylvan deity.
574. TRUE FRIENDSHIP.
Wilt thou my true friend be?
Then love not mine, but me.
575. THE APPARITION OF HIS MISTRESS CALLING HIM TO ELYSIUM.
_Desunt nonnulla ----_
Come then, and like two doves with silv'ry wings,
Let our souls fly to th' shades where ever springs
Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil,
Roses and cassia crown the untill'd soil.
Where no disease reigns, or infection comes
To blast the air, but ambergris and gums
This, that, and ev'ry thicket doth transpire,
More sweet than storax from the hallowed fire,
Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue bears
Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, or pears;
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew
Like morning sunshine tinselling the dew.
_REVISED EDITION_
[Illustration]
LONDON: NEW YORK:
LAWRENCE & BULLEN, LTD. , CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS,
16 HENRIETTA STREET, W. C. 153-157 FIFTH AVENUE
1898. 1898.
HESPERIDES.
569. A HYMN TO THE GRACES.
When I love (as some have told,
Love I shall when I am old),
O ye Graces! make me fit
For the welcoming of it.
Clean my rooms, as temples be,
T' entertain that deity.
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures, and, withal,
Manners each way musical:
Sweetness to allay my sour
And unsmooth behaviour.
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill,
And of any wood ye see,
You can make a Mercury.
_Suppling_, softening.
_Mercury_, god of eloquence and inventor of the lyre.
570. TO SILVIA.
No more, my Silvia, do I mean to pray
For those good days that ne'er will come away.
I want belief; O gentle Silvia, be
The patient saint, and send up vows for me.
573. THE POET HATH LOST HIS PIPE.
I cannot pipe as I was wont to do,
Broke is my reed, hoarse is my singing, too;
My wearied oat I'll hang upon the tree,
And give it to the sylvan deity.
574. TRUE FRIENDSHIP.
Wilt thou my true friend be?
Then love not mine, but me.
575. THE APPARITION OF HIS MISTRESS CALLING HIM TO ELYSIUM.
_Desunt nonnulla ----_
Come then, and like two doves with silv'ry wings,
Let our souls fly to th' shades where ever springs
Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil,
Roses and cassia crown the untill'd soil.
Where no disease reigns, or infection comes
To blast the air, but ambergris and gums
This, that, and ev'ry thicket doth transpire,
More sweet than storax from the hallowed fire,
Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue bears
Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, or pears;
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew
Like morning sunshine tinselling the dew.
