No More Learning

36. HOW THE WALL-FLOWER CAME FIRST, AND WHY SO CALLED.

Why this flower is now call'd so,
List, sweet maids, and you shall know.
Understand, this firstling was
Once a brisk and bonnie lass,
Kept as close as Danae was:
Who a sprightly springall lov'd,
And to have it fully prov'd,
Up she got upon a wall,
Tempting down to slide withal:
But the silken twist untied,
So she fell, and, bruis'd, she died.
Love, in pity of the deed,
And her loving-luckless speed,
Turn'd her to this plant we call
Now _the flower of the wall_.

_Tempting_, trying.


37. WHY FLOWERS CHANGE COLOUR.

These fresh beauties (we can prove)
Once were virgins sick of love.
Turn'd to flowers,--still in some
Colours go and colours come.


38. TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING.

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play
Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.
You blame me too, because I can't devise
Some sport to please those babies in your eyes:
By love's religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love when I the least express it.
_Small griefs find tongues_: full casks are ever found
To give (if any, yet) but little sound.
_Deep waters noiseless are_; and this we know,
_That chiding streams betray small depth below_.
So, when love speechless is, she doth express
A depth in love and that depth bottomless.
Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such
Who speak but little 'cause I love so much.

_Babies in your eyes_, see Note.


39. UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES.

I have lost, and lately, these
Many dainty mistresses:
Stately Julia, prime of all:
Sappho next, a principal:
Smooth Anthea for a skin
White, and heaven-like crystalline:
Sweet Electra, and the choice
Myrrha for the lute and voice:
Next Corinna, for her wit,
And the graceful use of it:
With Perilla: all are gone;
Only Herrick's left alone
For to number sorrow by
Their departures hence, and die.


40. THE DREAM.

Methought last night Love in an anger came
And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same;
Myrtle the twigs were, merely to imply
Love strikes, but 'tis with gentle cruelty.
Patient I was: Love pitiful grew then
And strok'd the stripes, and I was whole again.
Thus, like a bee, Love gentle still doth bring
Honey to salve where he before did sting.


42. TO LOVE.

I'm free from thee; and thou no more shalt hear
My puling pipe to beat against thine ear.
Farewell my shackles, though of pearl they be;
Such precious thraldom ne'er shall fetter me.