No More Learning

Reader, would'st thou more have known?
Ask his story, not this stone.
That will speak what this can't tell
Of his glory. So farewell.


911. AN ODE FOR HIM.

Ah Ben!
Say how, or when
Shall we thy guests
Meet at those lyric feasts
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun?
Where we such clusters had,
As made us nobly wild, not mad;
And yet each verse of thine
Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

My Ben!
Or come again,
Or send to us
Thy wit's great overplus;
But teach us yet
Wisely to husband it,
Lest we that talent spend:
And having once brought to an end
That precious stock; the store
Of such a wit the world should have no more.

_The Sun_, _etc. _, famous taverns.


912. UPON A VIRGIN.
Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours
Selecting here both herbs and flowers;
Of which make garlands here and there
To dress thy silent sepulchre.
Nor do thou fear the want of these
_In everlasting properties_,
Since we fresh strewings will bring hither,
Far faster than the first can wither.


913. BLAME.

In battles what disasters fall,
The king he bears the blame of all.


914. A REQUEST TO THE GRACES.

Ponder my words, if so that any be
Known guilty here of incivility:
Let what is graceless, discompos'd, and rude,
With sweetness, smoothness, softness, be endu'd.
Teach it to blush, to curtsy, lisp, and show
Demure, but yet full of temptation, too.
_Numbers ne'er tickle, or but lightly please,
Unless they have some wanton carriages. _
This if ye do, each piece will here be good,
And graceful made by your neat sisterhood.


915. UPON HIMSELF.

I lately fri'd, but now behold
I freeze as fast, and shake for cold.
And in good faith I'd thought it strange
T' have found in me this sudden change;
But that I understood by dreams
These only were but Love's extremes;
Who fires with hope the lover's heart,
And starves with cold the self-same part.


916.