Julia, when thy Herrick dies, Close thou up thy poet's eyes: And his last breath, let it be Taken in by none but thee. 500. TO MISTRESS DOROTHY PARSONS. If thou ask me, dear, wherefore I do write of thee no more, I must answer, sweet, thy part Less is here than in my heart. 502. HOW HE WOULD DRINK HIS WINE. Fill me my wine in crystal; thus, and thus I see't in's _puris naturalibus_: Unmix'd. I love to have it smirk and shine; _'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throttle wine_. What madman's he, that when it sparkles so, Will cool his flames or quench his fires with snow? 503. HOW MARIGOLDS CAME YELLOW. Jealous girls these sometimes were, While they liv'd or lasted here: Turn'd to flowers, still they be Yellow, mark'd for jealousy. 504. THE BROKEN CRYSTAL. To fetch me wine my Lucia went, Bearing a crystal continent: But, making haste, it came to pass She brake in two the purer glass, Then smil'd, and sweetly chid her speed; So with a blush beshrew'd the deed. _Continent_, holder. 505. PRECEPTS. Good precepts we must firmly hold, By daily learning we wax old. 506. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDWARD, EARL OF DORSET. If I dare write to you, my lord, who are Of your own self a public theatre, And, sitting, see the wiles, ways, walks of wit, And give a righteous judgment upon it, What need I care, though some dislike me should, If Dorset say what Herrick writes is good? We know y'are learn'd i' th' Muses, and no less In our state-sanctions, deep or bottomless. Whose smile can make a poet, and your glance Dash all bad poems out of countenance; So that an author needs no other bays For coronation than your only praise, And no one mischief greater than your frown To null his numbers, and to blast his crown. _Few live the life immortal. He ensures His fame's long life who strives to set up yours._ 507. UPON HIMSELF. Thou'rt hence removing (like a shepherd's tent), And walk thou must the way that others went: Fall thou must first, then rise to life with these, Mark'd in thy book for faithful witnesses. 508. HOPE WELL AND HAVE WELL: OR, FAIR AFTER FOUL WEATHER. What though the heaven be lowering now, And look with a contracted brow? We shall discover, by-and-by, A repurgation of the sky; And when those clouds away are driven, Then will appear a cheerful heaven. 509. UPON LOVE. I held Love's head while it did ache; But so it chanc'd to be, The cruel pain did his forsake, And forthwith came to me. Ay me! how shall my grief be still'd? Or where else shall we find One like to me, who must be kill'd For being too-too kind? 510. TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MRS. PENELOPE WHEELER.