When words we want, Love teacheth to indite; And what we blush to speak, she bids us write. 847. SOCIETY. Two things do make society to stand: The first commerce is, and the next command. 848. UPON A MAID. Gone she is a long, long way, But she has decreed a day Back to come, and make no stay: So we keep, till her return, Here, her ashes, or her urn. 849. SATISFACTION FOR SUFFERINGS. For all our works a recompense is sure: _'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t' endure_. 850. THE DELAYING BRIDE. Why so slowly do you move To the centre of your love? On your niceness though we wait, Yet the hours say 'tis late: _Coyness takes us, to a measure; But o'eracted deads the pleasure._ Go to bed, and care not when Cheerful day shall spring again. One brave captain did command, By his word, the sun to stand: One short charm, if you but say, Will enforce the moon to stay, Till you warn her hence, away, T' have your blushes seen by day. _Niceness_, delicacy. 851. TO M. HENRY LAWES, THE EXCELLENT COMPOSER OF HIS LYRICS. Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hear From thee some raptures of the rare Gotiere; Then if thy voice commingle with the string, I hear in thee rare Laniere to sing; Or curious Wilson: tell me, canst thou be Less than Apollo, that usurp'st such three? Three, unto whom the whole world give applause; Yet their three praises praise but one; that's Lawes. _Gotiere_, Wilson, see above, 111. _Laniere_, Nicholas Laniere (1590?-1670?), musician and painter, appointed Master of the King's Music in 1626. 852. AGE UNFIT FOR LOVE. Maidens tell me I am old; Let me in my glass behold Whether smooth or not I be, Or if hair remains to me. Well, or be't or be't not so, This for certainty I know, Ill it fits old men to play, When that Death bids come away. 853. THE BEDMAN, OR GRAVEMAKER. Thou hast made many houses for the dead; When my lot calls me to be buried, For love or pity, prithee let there be I' th' churchyard made one tenement for me. 854. TO ANTHEA. Anthea, I am going hence With some small stock of innocence: But yet those blessed gates I see Withstanding entrance unto me. To pray for me do thou begin, The porter then will let me in. 855. NEED. Who begs to die for fear of human need, Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed. 856. TO JULIA. I am zealless; prithee pray For my welfare, Julia, For I think the gods require Male perfumes, but female fire. _Male perfumes_, perfumes of the best kind. 857. ON JULIA'S LIPS. Sweet are my Julia's lips and clean, As if o'erwashed in Hippocrene. 858. TWILIGHT. Twilight no other thing is, poets say, Than the last part of night and first of day. 859. TO HIS FRIEND, MR. J. JINCKS.