1. Has it a body? 2. Aye, and wings With thousand rare encolourings; And, as it flies, it gently sings, _Chor._ Love honey yields, but never stings. 330. THE ADMONITION. Seest thou those diamonds which she wears In that rich carcanet; Or those, on her dishevell'd hairs, Fair pearls in order set? Believe, young man, all those were tears By wretched wooers sent, In mournful hyacinths and rue, That figure discontent; Which when not warmed by her view, By cold neglect, each one Congeal'd to pearl and stone; Which precious spoils upon her She wears as trophies of her honour. Ah then, consider, what all this implies: She that will wear thy tears would wear thine eyes. _Carcanet_, necklace. 331. TO HIS HONOURED KINSMAN, SIR WILLIAM SOAME. EPIG. I can but name thee, and methinks I call All that have been, or are canonical For love and bounty to come near, and see Their many virtues volum'd up in thee; In thee, brave man! whose incorrupted fame Casts forth a light like to a virgin flame; And as it shines it throws a scent about, As when a rainbow in perfumes goes out. So vanish hence, but leave a name as sweet As benjamin and storax when they meet. _Benjamin_, gum benzoin. _Storax_ or _Styrax_, another resinous gum. 332. ON HIMSELF. Ask me why I do not sing To the tension of the string As I did not long ago, When my numbers full did flow? Grief, ay, me! hath struck my lute And my tongue, at one time, mute. 333. TO LAR. No more shall I, since I am driven hence, Devote to thee my grains of frankincense; No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down, To honour thee, my little parsley crown; No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bring My chives of garlic for an offering; No more shall I from henceforth hear a choir Of merry crickets by my country fire. Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here, Warm by a glitt'ring chimney all the year. _Chives_, shreds. 334. THE DEPARTURE OF THE GOOD DEMON. What can I do in poetry Now the good spirit's gone from me? Why, nothing now but lonely sit And over-read what I have writ. 335. CLEMENCY. For punishment in war it will suffice If the chief author of the faction dies; Let but few smart, but strike a fear through all; Where the fault springs there let the judgment fall. 336. HIS AGE, DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, M. JOHN WICKES, UNDER THE NAME OF POSTHUMUS. 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 ere decline The doom of cruel Proserpine.