Pray, hurt him not, though he be dead, He knows well who do love him, And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him. He's soft and tender (pray take heed); With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home; but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him. 413. TO SPRINGS AND FOUNTAINS. I heard ye could cool heat, and came With hope you would allay the same; Thrice I have wash'd but feel no cold, Nor find that true which was foretold. Methinks, like mine, your pulses beat And labour with unequal heat; Cure, cure yourselves, for I descry Ye boil with love as well as I. 414. UPON JULIA'S UNLACING HERSELF. Tell if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come This camphor, storax, spikenard, galbanum; These musks, these ambers, and those other smells, Sweet as the vestry of the oracles. I'll tell thee: while my Julia did unlace Her silken bodice but a breathing space, The passive air such odour then assum'd, As when to Jove great Juno goes perfum'd, Whose pure immortal body doth transmit A scent that fills both heaven and earth with it. 415. TO BACCHUS, A CANTICLE. Whither dost thou whorry me, Bacchus, being full of thee? This way, that way, that way, this, Here and there a fresh love is. That doth like me, this doth please, Thus a thousand mistresses I have now; yet I alone, Having all, enjoy not one. _Whorry_, carry rapidly. 416. THE LAWN. Would I see lawn, clear as the heaven, and thin? It should be only in my Julia's skin, Which so betrays her blood as we discover The blush of cherries when a lawn's cast over. 417. THE FRANKINCENSE. When my off'ring next I make, Be thy hand the hallowed cake, And thy breast the altar whence Love may smell the frankincense. 420. TO SYCAMORES. I'm sick of love, O let me lie Under your shades to sleep or die! Either is welcome, so I have Or here my bed, or here my grave. Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep Time with the tears that I do weep? Say, have ye sense, or do you prove What crucifixions are in love? I know ye do, and that's the why You sigh for love as well as I. 421. A PASTORAL SUNG TO THE KING: MONTANO, SILVIO, AND MIRTILLO, SHEPHERDS.