Hesperides, or, The works both humane & divine of Robert Herrick, Esq.

His age, dedicated to his peculiar friend, M. John Wickes, under the name of Posthumus.

1.

AH Posthumus! Our yeares hence flye, And leave no sound; nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keepe the wrinkle from the brow: But we must on, As Fate do's lead or draw us; none, None, Posthumus, co'd ere decline The doome of cruell Proserpine.

2.

The pleasing wife, the house, the ground Must all be left, no one plant found To follow thee, Save only the Curst-Cipresse tree: A merry mind Looks forward, scornes what's left behind: Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may, And here enjoy our Holiday.

W'ave seen the past-best Times, and these Will nere return, we see the Seas, And Moons to wain; But they fill up their Ebbs again: But vanisht man, Like to a Lilly-lost, nere can, Nere can repullulate, or bring His dayes to see a second Spring.

4.

But on we must, and thither tend, Where Anchus and rich Tullus blend Their sacred seed: Thus has Infernall jove decreed; We must be made, Ere long, a song, ere long, a shade. Why then, since life to us is short, Lets make it full up, by our sport.

5.

Crown we our Heads with Roses then, And 'noint with Tirian Balme; for when We two are dead, The world with us is buried. Then live we free, As is the Air, and let us be Our own fair wind, and mark each one Day with the white and Luckie stone.

6.

We are not poore; although we have No roofs of Cedar, nor our brave Baiae, nor keep Account of such a flock of sheep; Nor Bullocks fed To lard the shambles: Barbels bred To kisse our hands, nor do we wish For Pollio's Lampries in our dish.

7.

If we can meet, and so conferre, Both by a shining Salt-seller; And have our Roofe, Although not archt, yet weather proofe, And seeling free, From that cheape Candle baudery: We'le eate our Beane with that full mirth As we were Lords of all the earth.

8.

Well then, on what Seas we are tost, Our comfort is, we can't be lost. Let the winds drive Our Barke; yet she will keepe alive Amidst the deepes; 'Tis constancy (my Wickes) which keepes The Pinnace up; which though she erres I'th' Seas, she saves her passengers.

9.

Say, we must part (sweet mercy blesse Us both i'th' Sea, Camp, Wildernesse) Can we so farre Stray, to become lesse circular, Then we are now? No, no, that selfe same heart, that vow, Which made us one, shall ne'r undoe; Or ravell so, to make us two.

10.

Live in thy peace; as for my selfe, When I am bruised on the Shelfe Of Time, and show My locks behung with frost and snow: When with the reume, The cough, the ptisick, I consume Unto an almost nothing; then, The Ages fled, Ile call agen:

11.

And with a teare compare these last Lame, and bad times, with those are past, While Baucis by, My old leane wife, shall kisse it dry: And so we'l sit By 'th 'fire, foretelling snow and slit, And weather by our aches, grown Now old enough to be our own

12.

True Calenders, as Pusses eare Washt o'rs, to tell what change is neare Then to asswage The gripings of the chine by age; I'le call my young Iülus to sing such a song I made upon my Julia's brest; And of her blush at such a feast.

13.

Then shall he read that flowre of mine Enclos'd within a christall shrine: A Primrose next; A piece, then of a higher text: For to beget In me a more transcendant heate, Then that insinuating fire, Which crept into each aged Sire.

14.

When the faire Hellen, from her eyes, Shot forth her loving Sorceries: At which I'le reare Mine aged limbs above my chaire: And hearing it, Flutter and crow, as in a fit Of fresh concupiscence, and cry, No lust theres like to Poetry.

15.

Thus frantick crazie man (God wot) Ile call to mind things half forgot: And oft between, Repeat the Times that I have seen! Thus ripe with tears, And twisting my Iülus hairs; Doting, Ile weep and say (In Truth) Baucis, these were my sins of youth.

16.

Then next Ile cause my hopefull Lad (If a wild Apple can be had) To crown the Hearth, (Larr thus conspiring with our mirth) Then to infuse Our browner Ale into the cruse: Which sweetly spic't, we'l first carouse Unto the Genius of the house.

17.

Then the next health to friends of mine (Loving the brave Burgundian wine) High sons of Pith, Whose fortunes I have frolickt with: Such as co'd well Bear up the Magick bough, and spel: And dancing 'bout the Mystick Thyrse, Give up the just applause to verse:

18.

To those, and then agen to thee We'l drink, my Wickes, untill we be Plump as the cherry, Though not so fresh, yet full as merry As the crickit; The untam'd Heifer, or the Pricket, Untill our tongues shall tell our ears, W'are younger by a score of years.

19.

Thus, till we see the fire lesse shine From th' embers, then the kitlings eyne, We'l still sit up, Sphering about the wassail cup, To all those times, Which gave me honour for my Rhimes, The cole once spent, we'l then to bed, Farre more then night bewearied.