SHUT not so soon; the dull-eyed night Has not as yet begun To make a seizure on the light, Or to seal up the sun. No marigolds yet closed are, No shadows great appear; Nor doth the early shepherd's star Shine like a spangle here. Stay but till my Julia close Her life-begetting eye, And let the whole world then dispose Itself to live or die. Robert Herrick. 1591-1674 262. The Night-piece: To Julia HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee; But on, on thy way Not making a stay, Since ghost there 's none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber: What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light Like tapers clear without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silv'ry feet, My soul I'll pour into thee. Robert Herrick. 1591-1674 263. To Music, to becalm his Fever CHARM me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers, That, being ravish'd, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou power that canst sever From me this ill, And quickly still, Though thou not kill My fever. Thou sweetly canst convert the same From a consuming fire Into a gentle licking flame, And make it thus expire. Then make me weep My pains asleep; And give me such reposes That I, poor I, May think thereby I live and die 'Mongst roses. Fall on me like the silent dew, Or like those maiden showers Which, by the peep of day, do strew A baptim o'er the flowers. Melt, melt my pains With thy soft strains; That, having ease me given, With full delight I leave this light, And take my flight For Heaven. Robert Herrick. 1591-1674 264. To Dianeme SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes Which starlike sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air; Whenas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty's gone. Robert Herrick. 1591-1674 265. To Oenone WHAT conscience, say, is it in thee, When I a heart had one, To take away that heart from me, And to retain thy own? For shame or pity now incline To play a loving part; Either to send me kindly thine, Or give me back my heart. Covet not both; but if thou dost Resolve to part with neither, Why, yet to show that thou art just, Take me and mine together! Robert Herrick. 1591-1674 266. To Anthea, who may command him Anything BID me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee.