The Hesperides & Noble Numbers Part 17

Behold, Tibullus lies Here burnt, whose small return Of ashes scarce suffice To fill a little urn.

Trust to good verses then; They only will aspire When pyramids, as men, Are lost i' th' funeral fire.

And when all bodies meet In Lethe to be drown'd, Then only numbers sweet With endless life are crown'd.

_Retorted_, bound back, "retorto crine," _Martial_.

_Immensive_, measureless.

202. FAIR DAYS: OR, DAWNS DECEITFUL.

Fair was the dawn, and but e'en now the skies Show'd like to cream inspir'd with strawberries, But on a sudden all was chang'd and gone That smil'd in that first sweet complexion.

Then thunder-claps and lightning did conspire To tear the world, or set it all on fire.

What trust to things below, whenas we see, As men, the heavens have their hypocrisy?

203. LIPS TONGUELESS.

For my part, I never care For those lips that tongue-tied are: Tell-tales I would have them be Of my mistress and of me.

Let them prattle how that I Sometimes freeze and sometimes fry: Let them tell how she doth move Fore or backward in her love: Let them speak by gentle tones, One and th' other's pa.s.sions: How we watch, and seldom sleep; How by willows we do weep; How by stealth we meet, and then Kiss, and sigh, so part again.

This the lips we will permit For to tell, not publish it.

204. TO THE FEVER, NOT TO TROUBLE JULIA.

Thou'st dar'd too far; but, fury, now forbear To give the least disturbance to her hair: But less presume to lay a plait upon Her skin's most smooth and clear expansion.

'Tis like a lawny firmament as yet, Quite dispossess'd of either fray or fret.

Come thou not near that film so finely spread, Where no one piece is yet unlevelled.

This if thou dost, woe to thee, fury, woe, I'll send such frost, such hail, such sleet, and snow, Such flesh-quakes, palsies, and such fears as shall Dead thee to th' most, if not destroy thee all.

And thou a thousand thousand times shalt be More shak'd thyself than she is scorch'd by thee.

205. TO VIOLETS.

Welcome, maids-of-honour!

You do bring In the spring, And wait upon her.

She has virgins many, Fresh and fair; Yet you are More sweet than any.

You're the maiden posies, And so grac'd To be plac'd 'Fore damask roses.

Yet, though thus respected, By-and-by Ye do lie, Poor girls, neglected.

207. TO CARNATIONS. A SONG.

Stay while ye will, or go And leave no scent behind ye: Yet, trust me, I shall know The place where I may find ye.

Within my Lucia's cheek, Whose livery ye wear, Play ye at hide or seek, I'm sure to find ye there.

208. TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may go marry: For having lost but once your prime You may for ever tarry.

209. SAFETY TO LOOK TO ONESELF.

For my neighbour I'll not know, Whether high he builds or no: Only this I'll look upon, Firm be my foundation.

Sound or unsound, let it be!

'Tis the lot ordain'd for me.

He who to the ground does fall _Has not whence to sink at all_.

210. TO HIS FRIEND, ON THE UNTUNABLE TIMES.

Play I could once; but, gentle friend, you see My harp hung up here on the willow tree.

Sing I could once; and bravely, too, inspire With luscious numbers my melodious lyre.

Draw I could once, although not stocks or stones, Amphion-like, men made of flesh and bones, Whither I would; but ah! I know not how, I feel in me this trans.m.u.tation now.

Grief, my dear friend, has first my harp unstrung, Wither'd my hand, and palsy-struck my tongue.

211. HIS POETRY HIS PILLAR.

Only a little more I have to write, Then I'll give o'er, And bid the world good-night.

'Tis but a flying minute That I must stay, Or linger in it; And then I must away.

O time that cut'st down all And scarce leav'st here Memorial Of any men that were.

How many lie forgot In vaults beneath?

And piecemeal rot Without a fame in death?

Behold this living stone I rear for me, Ne'er to be thrown Down, envious Time, by thee.

Pillars let some set up If so they please: Here is my hope And my Pyramides.

212. SAFETY ON THE Sh.o.r.e.

What though the sea be calm? Trust to the sh.o.r.e, s.h.i.+ps have been drown'd where late they danc'd before.