I Have behelde two louers in a night
(Hatch't o're with Moone=shine, from their stolen delight)
When this to that, and That, to This, had giuen
A kisse to such a Jewell of the heauen:
Or while that each from other's breath, did drincke
Healthes to the Rose, the Violet, or Pinke,
Call'd on the suddayne by the Jealouse Mother
Some strickter Mistris or suspitious other
Vrging diuorcement (worse then death to Theis)
By the soone gingling of some sleepy keyes
Parte with a hastye kisse; and in that shew
how stay thay would, yet forc't thay are to goe:
Euen such are wee; and in our parting, doe
Noe otherwise then as those former, two
Natures, like ours, wee who haue spent our tyme
Both from the Morning to the Euening Chyme;
Nay tell the Bell-man of the Night had tould
past Noone of night, yett weare the howers not old
Nor dull'd with Iron sleepe; but haue out-worne
The fresh and fayrest flourish of the Morne
With Flame, and Rapture; drincking to the ode
Number of Nyne, which makes vs full with God
And In that Misticke frenzie, wee haue hurl'de
(As with a Tempest) Nature through the worlde
And In a Whirl=wynd twirld her home, agast
Att that which in her extasie had past;
Thus Crownd with Rose Budds, Sacke, thou mad'st mee flye
Like fier-drakes, yett did'st mee no harme therby.
O thou Allmightye Nature, who did'st giue
True heate, whear with humanitie doth Liue
Beyond its stinted Circle; giueing foode
(While Fame) and Resurrection to the Good
Soaring them vpp, boue Ruyne, till the doome
(The generall Aprill of the world dothe Come)
That makes all aequall, manye thowsands should
(wert not for thee) haue Crumbled Into Mould
And with thayr Ceareclothes rotted, not to shew
whether the world such Sperritts had or noe
whear as by Thee, Those, and A Million since
Nor Fate, nor Enuye, cann theyr Fames Conuince,
Homer, Musaeus, Ouid, Maro, more
Of those god-full Prophetts longe before
Holde there Eternall fiers; and ours of Late
(Thy Mercie helping) shall resist stronge fate
nor stoope to'th Center, but suruiue as Longe
As Fame or Rumour, hath or Trumpe or Tongue
But vnto mee, bee onlye hoarse, since now
(Heauen and my soule beare Record of my Vowe)
I, my desires screw from thee, and directe
Them and my Thoughts to that sublim'd respecte
And Conscience vnto Preist-hood, tis not Need
(The skarcrow vnto Mankinde) that doth breed
Wiser Conclusions in mee, since I knowe
I'ave more to beare my Chardge, then way to goe
Or had I not, I'de stopp the spreading itch
Off craueing more: soe In Conceipt bee ritch,
But tis the god of Nature, who Intends
And shaps my Functions for more glorious ends
Guesse, soe departe; yett stay A while too see
The Lines of Sorrowe, that lye drawne in mee
In speach, in Picture; noe otherwise then when
(Judgment and Death, denounc'd gainst Guilty men)
Each takes A weeping farwell, rackt in mynde
With Joyes before, and Pleasures left behind:
Shakeing the head, whilst each, to each dothe mourne
With thought thay goe, whence thay must ner returne
Soe with like lookes, as once the Ministrell
Cast, leading his Euredice through hell
I stricke thy loues, and greedyly persue
Thee, with myne Eyes, or in, or out, of View
Soe look't the Grecian Oratour when sent
ffroms Natiue Cuntrye, in to Banishment
Throwing his eye balls backward, to suruaye
The smoake of his beloued Attica
Soe Tullye look't, when from the Brest's of Rome
The sad soule went, not with his Loue, but doome;
Shooting his Eye-darts 'gainst it, to surprise
It, or to drawe the Cittie to his Eyes
Such is my parting with thee; and to proue
Ther was not Varnish (only) in my loue
But substance, to! receaue this Pearlye Teare
ffrozen with Greife; and place it in thyne eare
Then Parte in name of peace; & softely on
With Numerous feete to Hoofy Helicon
And when thou art vppon that forked Hill
Amongest the thrice, three, sacred Virgins, fill
A full brimm'd bowle of Furye and of rage
And quafe it to the Prophets of our Age;
when drunck with Rapture; Curse the blind & lame
Base Ballad=mongers, who vsurpe thy name
And fowle thy Altar, Charme some Into froggs
Some to bee Ratts, and others to bee hoggs:
Into the Loathsomst shapps, thou Canst deuise
To make ffooles hate them, onlye by disguise;
Thus with a kisse of warmth, and loue, I parte
Not soe, but that some Relique In my Harte
Shall stand for euer, though I doe addresse
Cheifelye my selfe to what I must proffess:
Knowe yet (rare soule) when my diuiner Muse
Shall want a Hand-mayde, (as she ofte will vse)
Bee readye, thou In mee, to wayte vppon her
Thoughe as a seruant, yet a Mayde of Honor
The Crowne of dutye is our dutye; well
Doing's, the Fruite of Doinge well, Farwell

finis Mr Robt Herricke