THE WATCH.

MAN is a watch, wound up at first, but never Wound up again; once down, he's down for ever: The watch once downe, all motions then do cease; The man's pulse stopt, all passions sleep in peace.

LINES HAVE THEIR LININGS, AND BOOKES THEIR
BUCKRAM.

As in our clothes, so likewise he who lookes,
Shall find much farcing buckram in our books.

ART ABOVE NATURE. TO JULIA.

WHEN I behold a forrest spread
With silken trees upon thy head;
And when I see that other dresse
of flowers set in comelinesse ;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which, like a pinnacle, doth shew
The top, and the top-gallant too ;.
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round;
And knit in knots far more then I
Can tell by tongue, or true love tie ;
Next, when those lawnie filmes I see
Play with a wild civility;

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And all those airie silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so
I must confesse, mine eye and heart
Dotes less on nature then on art.

UPON SIBILLA.

WITH paste of almonds Syb her hands doth scoure, Then gives it to the children to devoure.

In cream she bathes her thighs, more soft then silk, Then to the poore she freely gives the milke.

UPON HIS KINSWOMAN, MISTRESSE BRIDGET

HERRICK.

SWEET Bridget blusht, and therewithal,
Fresh blossoms from her cheekes did fali.
I thought at first 'twas but a dream,
Till after I had handled them,

And smelt them; then they smelt to me
As blossomes of the almond tree.

UPON LOVE.

I PLAID with love as with the fire
The wanton satyre did;

Nor did I know, or co'd descry

What under there was hid.

That satyre he but burnt his lips;
But min's the greater smart,
For kissing love's dissembling chips,
The fire scorcht my heart.

UPON A COMELY AND CURIOUS MAIDE.

IF men can say that beauty dyes,
Marbles will sweare that here it lyes.
If, reader, then thou canst forbeare,
In publique loss to shed a teare,
The dew of griefe upon this stone
Will tell thee, pitie thou hast none.

UPON THE LOSSE OF HIS FINGER.

ONE of the five. straight branches of my hand
Is lopt already; and the rest but stand
Expecting when to fall; which soon will be;
First dyes the leafe, the bough next, next the tree.

UPON IRENE.

ANGRY if Irene be

But a minute's life with me;

Such a fire I espie

Walking in and out her eye,

As at once I freeze and frie.

UPON ELECTRA'S TEARES.

UPON her cheekes she wept, and from those showers Sprang up a sweet nativity of flowres.

UPON TOOLY.

THE eggs of pheasants wrie-nos'd Tooly sells,
But ne'r so much as licks the speckled shells;
Only, if one prove addled, that he eates
With superstition, as the cream of meates:
The cock and hen he feeds, but not a bone
He ever pickt, as yet, of any one.

END OF VOLUME FIRST.

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