lyrical poems-第11部分

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　to　leave　the　thing　beloved。　Pay　we　our　vows　and　go；　yet　when　we　part；　Then；　even　then；　I　will　bequeath　my　heart　Into　thy　loving　hands；　for　I'll　keep　none　To　warm　my　breast；　when　thou；　my　pulse；　art　gone；　No；　here　I'll　last；　and　walk；　a　harmless　shade；　About　this　urn；　wherein　thy　dust　is　laid；　To　guard　it　so；　as　nothing　here　shall　be　Heavy；　to　hurt　those　sacred　seeds　of　thee。


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HIS　AGE：　DEDICATED　TO　HIS　PECULIAR　FRIEND；　MR　JOHN　WICKES；　UNDER　THE　NAME　OF　POSTUMUS

Ah；　Posthumus！　　our　years　hence　fly　And　leave　no　sound：　　nor　piety；　Or　prayers；　or　vow　Can　keep　the　wrinkle　from　the　brow；　But　we　must　on；　As　fate　does　lead　or　draw　us；　none；　None；　Posthumus；　could　e'er　decline　The　doom　of　cruel　Proserpine。

The　pleasing　wife；　the　house；　the　ground　Must　all　be　left；　no　one　plant　found　To　follow　thee；　Save　only　the　curst　cypress…tree！　A　merry　mind　Looks　forward；　scorns　what's　left　behind；　Let's　live；　my　Wickes；　then；　while　we　may；　And　here　enjoy　our　holiday。

We've　seen　the　past　best　times；　and　these　Will　ne'er　return；　we　see　the　seas；　And　moons　to　wane；　But　they　fill　up　their　ebbs　again；　But　vanish'd　man；　Like　to　a　lily　lost；　ne'er　can；　Ne'er　can　repullulate；　or　bring　His　days　to　see　a　second　spring。

But　on　we　must；　and　thither　tend；　Where　Ancus　and　rich　Tullus　blend　Their　sacred　seed；　Thus　has　infernal　Jove　decreed；　We　must　be　made；　Ere　long　a　song；　ere　long　a　shade。　Why　then；　since　life　to　us　is　short；　Let's　make　it　full　up　by　our　sport。

Crown　we　our　heads　with　roses　then；　And　'noint　with　Tyrian　balm；　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　lucky　stone。

We　are　not　poor；　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　kiss　our　hands；　nor　do　we　wish　For　Pollio's　lampreys　in　our　dish。

If　we　can　meet；　and　so　confer；　Both　by　a　shining　salt…cellar；　And　have　our　roof；　Although　not　arch'd；　yet　weather…proof；　And　cieling　free；　From　that　cheap　candle…baudery；　We'll　eat　our　bean　with　that　full　mirth　As　we　were　lords　of　all　the　earth。

Well；　then；　on　what　seas　we　are　tost；　Our　comfort　is；　we　can't　be　lost。　Let　the　winds　drive　Our　bark；　yet　she　will　keep　alive　Amidst　the　deeps；　'Tis　constancy；　my　Wickes；　which　keeps　The　pinnace　up；　which；　though　she　errs　I'　th'　seas；　she　saves　her　passengers。

Say；　we　must　part；　sweet　mercy　bless　Us　both　i'　th'　sea；　camp；　wilderness！　Can　we　so　far　Stray；　to　become　less　circular　Than　we　are　now？　No；　no；　that　self…same　heart；　that　vow　Which　made　us　one；　shall　ne'er　undo；　Or　ravel　so；　to　make　us　two。

Live　in　thy　peace；　as　for　myself；　When　I　am　bruised　on　the　shelf　Of　time；　and　show　My　locks　behung　with　frost　and　snow；　When　with　the　rheum；　The　cough；　the　pthisic；　I　consume　Unto　an　almost　nothing；　then；　The　ages　fled；　I'll　call　again；

And　with　a　tear　compare　these　last　Lame　and　bad　times　with　those　are　past；　While　Baucis　by；　My　old　lean　wife；　shall　kiss　it　dry；　And　so　we'll　sit　By　th'　fire；　foretelling　snow　and　slit　And　weather　by　our　aches；　grown　Now　old　enough　to　be　our　own

True　calendars；　as　puss's　ear　Wash'd　o'er　's；　to　tell　what　change　is　near；　Then　to　assuage　The　gripings　of　the　chine　by　age；　I'll　call　my　young　Iulus　to　sing　such　a　song　I　made　upon　my　Julia's　breast；　And　of　her　blush　at　such　a　feast。

Then　shall　he　read　that　flower　of　mine　Enclosed　within　a　crystal　shrine；　A　primrose　next；　A　piece　then　of　a　higher　text；　For　to　beget　In　me　a　more　transcendant　heat；　Than　that　insinuating　fire　Which　crept　into　each　aged　sire

When　the　fair　Helen　from　her　eyes　Shot　forth　her　loving　sorceries；　At　which　I'll　rear　Mine　aged　limbs　above　my　chair；　And　hearing　it；　Flutter　and　crow；　as　in　a　fit　Of　fresh　concupiscence；　and　cry；　'No　lust　there's　like　to　Poetry。'

Thus　frantic；　crazy　man；　God　wot；　I'll　call　to　mind　things　half…forgot；　And　oft　between　Repeat　the　times　that　I　have　seen；　Thus　ripe　with　tears；　And　twisting　my　Iulus'　hairs；　Doting；　I'll　weep　and　say；　'In　truth；　Baucis；　these　were　my　sins　of　youth。'

Then　next　I'Il　cause　my　hopeful　lad；　If　a　wild　apple　can　be　had；　To　crown　the　hearth；　Lar　thus　conspiring　with　our　mirth；　Then　to　infuse　Our　browner　ale　into　the　cruse；　Which；　sweetly　spiced；　we'll　first　carouse　Unto　the　Genius　of　the　house。

Then　the　next　health　to　friends　of　mine。　Loving　the　brave　Burgundian　wine；　High　sons　of　pith；　Whose　fortunes　I　have　frolick'd　with；　Such　as　could　well　Bear　up　the　magic　bough　and　spell；　And　dancing　'bout　the　mystic　Thyrse；　Give　up　the　just　applause　to　verse；

To　those；　and　then　again　to　thee；　We'll　drink；　my　Wickes；　until　we　be　Plump　as　the　cherry；　Though　not　so　fresh；　yet　full　as　merry　As　the　cricket；　The　untamed　heifer；　or　the　pricket；　Until　our　tongues　shall　tell　our　ears；　We're　younger　by　a　score　of　years。

Thus；　till　we　see　the　fire　less　shine　From　th'　embers　than　the　kitling's　eyne；　We'll　still　sit　up；　Sphering　about　the　wassail　cup；　To　all　those　times　Which　gave　me　honour　for　my　rhymes；　The　coal　once　spent；　we'll　then　to　bed；　Far　more　than　night　bewearied。


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THE　BAD　SEASON　MAKES　THE　POET　SAD

Dull　to　myself；　and　almost　dead　to　these；　My　many　fresh　and　fragrant　mistresses；　Lost　to　all　music　now；　since　every　thing　Puts　on　the　semblance　here　of　sorrowing。　Sick　is　the　land　to　th'　heart；　and　doth　endure　More　dangerous　faintings　by　her　desperate　cure。　But　if　that　golden　age　would　come　again；　And　Charles　here　rule；　as　he　before　did　reign；　If　smooth　and　unperplex'd　the　seasons　were；　As　when　the　sweet　Maria　lived　here；　I　should　delight　to　have　my　curls　half　drown'd　In　Tyrian　dews；　and　head　with　roses　crown'd：　And　once　more　yet；　ere　I　am　laid　out　dead；　Knock　at　a　star　with　my　exalted　head。


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ON　HIMSELF

A　wearied　pilgrim　I　have　wander'd　here；　Twice　five…and…twenty；　bate　me　but　one　year；　Long　I　have　lasted　in　this　world；　'tis　true　But　yet　those　years　that　I　have　lived；　but　few。　Who　by　his　gray　hairs　doth　his　lustres　tell；　Lives　not　those　years；　but　he　that　lives　them　well：　One　man　has　reach'd　his　sixty　years；　but　he　Of　all　those　three…score　has　not　lived　half　three：　He　lives　who　lives　to　virtue；　men　who　cast　Their　ends　for　pleasure；　do　not　live；　but　last。


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HIS　WINDING…SHEET

Come　thou；　who　art　the　wine　and　wit　Of　all　I've　writ；　The　grace；　the　glory；　and　the　best　Piece　of　the　rest；　Thou　art　of　what　I　did　intend　The　All；　and　End；　And　what　was　made；　was　made　to　meet。　Thee；　thee　my　sheet。　Come　then；　and　be　to　my　chaste　side　Both　bed　and　bride。　We　two；　as　reliques　left；　will　have　One　rest；　one　grave；　And；　hugging　close；　we　need　not　fear　Lust　entering　here；　Where　all　desires　are　dead　or　cold；　As　is　the　mould；　And　all　affections　are　forgot；　Or　trouble　not。　Here；　here　the　slaves　and　prisoners　be　From　shackles　free；　And　weeping　widows；　long　opprest；　Do　here　find　rest。　The　wronged　client　ends　his　laws　Here；　and　his　cause；　Here　those　long　suits　of　Chancery　lie　Quiet；　or　die；　And　all　Star…chamber　bills　do　cease；　Or　hold　their　peace。　Here　needs　no　court　for　our　Request　Where　all　are　best；　All　wise；　all　equal；　and　all　just　Alike　i'th'　dust。　Nor　need　we　here　to　fear　the　frown　Of　court　or　crown；　Where　fortune　bears　no　sway　o'er　things；　There　all　are　kings。　In　this　securer　place　we'll　keep；　As　lull'd　asleep；　Or　for　a　little　time　we'll　lie；　As　robes　laid　by；　To　be　another　day　re…worn；　Turn'd；　but　not　torn；　Or　like　old　testaments　engrost；　Lock'd　up；　not　lost；　And　for　a…while　lie　here　conceal'd；　To　be　reveal'd　Next；　at　that　great　Platonic　year；　And　then　meet　here。


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ANACREONTIC

Born　I　was　to　be　old；　And　for　to　die　here；　After　that；　in　the　mould　Long　for　to　lie　here。　But　before　that　day　comes；　Still　I　be　bousing；　For　I　know；　in　the　tombs　There's　no　carousing。


*72*

TO　LAURELS

A　funeral　stone　Or　verse；　I　covet　none；　But　only　crave　Of　you　that　I　may　have　A　sacred　laurel　springing　from　my　grave：　Which　being　seen　Blest　with　perpetual　green；　May　grow　to　be　Not　so　much　call'd　a　tree；　As　the　eternal　monument　of　me。


*73*

ON　HIMSELF

Weep　for　the　dead；　for　they　have　lost　this　light；　And　weep　for　me；　lost　in　an　endless　night；　Or　mourn；　or　make　a　marble　verse　for　me；　Who　writ　for　many。　　BENEDICTE。


*74*

ON　HIMSELF

Lost　to　the　world；　lost　to　myself；　alone　Here　now　I　rest　under　this　marble　stone；　In　depth　of　silence；　heard　and　seen　of　none。


*75*

TO　ROBIN　RED…BREAST

Laid　out　for　dead；　let　thy　last　kindness　be　With　leaves　and　moss…work　for　to　cover　me；　And　while　the　wood…nymphs　my　cold　corpse　inter；　Sing　thou　my　dirge；　sweet…warbling　chorister！　For　epitaph；　in　foliage；　next　write　this：　HERE；　HERE　THE　TOMB　OF　ROBIN　HERRICK　IS！


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THE　OLIVE　BRANCH

Sadly　I　walk'd　within　the　field；　To　see　what　comfort　it　would　yield；　And　as　I　went　my　private　way；　An　olive…branch　before　me　lay；　And　seeing　it；　I　made　a　stay；　And　took　it　up；　and　view'd　it；　then　Kissing　the　omen；　said　Amen；　Be；　be　it　so；　and　let　this　be　A　divination　unto　me；　That　in　short　time　my　woes　shall　cease；　And　love　shall　crown　my　end　with　peace。


*77*

THE　PLAUDITE；　OR　END　OF　LIFE

If　after　rude　and　boisterous　seas　My　wearied　pinnace　here　finds　ease；　If　so　it　be　I've　gain'd　the　shore；　With　safety　of　a　faithful　oar；　If　having　run　my　barque　on　ground；　Ye　see　the　aged　vessel　crown'd；　What's　to　be　done？　　but　on　the　sands　Ye　dance　and　sing；　and　now　clap　hands。　The　first　act's　doubtful；　but　（we　say）　It　is　the　last　commends　the　Play。


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AMORES

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TO　GROVES

Ye　silent　shades；　whose　each　tree　here　Some　relique　of　a　saint　doth　wear；　Who　for　some　sweet…heart's　sake；　did　prove　The　fire　and　martyrdom　of　Love：　Here　is　the　legend　of　those　saints　That　died　for　love；　and　their　complaints；　Their　wounded　hearts；　and　names　we　find　Encarved　upon　the　leaves　and　rind。　Give　way；　give　way　to　me；　who　come　Scorch'd　with　the　self…same　martyrdom！　And　have　deserved　as　much；　Love　knows；　As　to　be　canonized　'mongst　those　Whose　deeds　and　deaths　here　written　are　Within　your　Greeny…kalendar。　By　all　those　virgins'　fillets　hung　Upon！　　your　boughs；　and　requiems　sung　For　saints　and　souls　departed　hence；　Here　honour'd　still　with　frankincense；　By　all　those　tears　that　have　been　shed；　As　a　drink…offering　to　the　dead；