Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MR. ROBERT HERICKE HIS FARWELL UNTO POETRIE, by ROBERT HERRICK


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MR. ROBERT HERICKE HIS FARWELL UNTO POETRIE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I haue behelde two louers in a night
Last Line: Doing's, the fruite of doinge well, farwell.


I haue behelde two louers in a night
(Hatch't o're with Moone-shine, from their stolen delight)
When this to that, and that, to this, had giuen
A kisse to such a Jewell of the heauen:
Or while that each from other's breath did drincke
Healthes to the Rose, the Violet, or Pinke,
Call'd on the suddayne by the Jealouse Mother,
Some strickter Mris. or suspitious other
Vrging diuorcement (worse then death to theis)
By the soone gingling of some sleepy keyes,
Parte wth a hastye kisse; and in that shew
How stay thay would, yet forc't thay are to goe.
Euen such are wee; and in our parting, doe
Noe otherwise then as those former two
Natures, like ours, wee who haue spent our tyme
Both from the Morning to the Euening Chyme;
Nay tell the Bell-man of the Night had tould
Past Noone of night, yett weare the howers not old
Nor dull'd wth Iron sleeps; but haue out-worne
The fresh and fayrest flourish of the Morne
Wth Flame, and Rapture; drincking to the odd
Number of Nyne, wch makes vs full wth God,
And In that Misticke frenzie, wee haue hurl'de
(As wth a Tempeste) Nature through the worlde
And In a Whirl-wynd twirld her home, agast
Att that wch in her extasie had past;
Thus Crownd with Rose Budds, Sacke, thou mad'st mee flye
Like fier-drakes, yett did'st mee no harme therby.
O thou Allmightye Nature, who did'st giue
True heate, whearwth humanitie doth liue
Beyond its stinted Circle; giueing foode
(White Fame) and Resurrection to the Good,
Soaring them vpp, boue Ruyne, till the doome
(The generall Aprill of the worlde) dothe Come,
That makes all aequall. Manye thowsands should
(Wert not for thee) haue Crumbled Into Mould,
And wth thayr Ceareclothes rotted, not to shew
Whether the world such Sperritts had or noe,
Whearas by thee, those, and A Million since
Nor Fate, nor Enuye, cann theyr Fames Conuince,
Homer, Musoeus, Ouid, Maro, more
Of those god-full prophetts longe before
Holde their Eternall fiers; and ours of Late
(Thy Mercie helping) shall resist stronge fate
Nor stoope to'th Center, but suruiue as Longe
As Fame or Rumour, hath or Trumpe or Tongue.
But vnto mee, bee onlye hoarse, since now
(Heauen and my soule beare Record of my Vowe)
I, my desires screw from thee, and directe
Them and my thoughts to that sublim'd respecte
And Conscience vnto Preist-hood, tis not Need
(The skarcrow vnto Mankinde) that doth breed
Wiser Conclusions in mee, since I knowe
I've more to beare my Chardge, then way to goe,
Or had I not, I'de stopp the spreading itch
Off craueing more: soe In Conceipt bee ritch.
But tis the god of Nature, who Intends
And shaps my Function, for more glorious ends:
Guesse, soe departe; yett stay A while to[o] see
The Lines of Sorrowe, that lye drawne in mee
In speach, in Picture; noe otherwise then when
(Judgment and Death, denounc'd gainst Guilty men)
Each takes A weeping farwell, rackt in mynde
Wth Joyes before, and Pleasures left behind:
Shakeing the head, whilst each, to each dothe mourne,
Wth thought thay goe, whence thay must ner returne.
Soe wth like lookes, as once the Ministrell
Cast, leading his Euredice through hell,
I stricke thy loues, and greedyly persue
Thee, wth myne Eyes, or in, or out, of View.
Soe look't the Grecian Oratour when sent
Froms Natiue Cuntrye, into Banishmt,
Throwing his eye balls backward, to suruaye
The smoake of his beloued Attica,
Soe Tullye look't, when from the Brest's of Rome
The sad soule went, not with his Loue, but doome;
Shooting his Eye-darts 'gainst it, to surprise
It, or to drawe the Cittie to his Eyes.
Such is my parting wth thee; and to proue
Ther was not Varnish (only) in my loue
But substance, to! receaue this Pearlye Teare
Frozen wth Greife; and place it in thyne eare,
Then Parte in name of peace; & softely on
Wth Numerous feete to Hoofy Helicon,
And when thou art vppon that forked Hill
Amongest the thrice-three-sacred Virgins, fill
A full brimm'd bowle of Furye and of rage
And quafe it to the Prophets of our Age;
When drunck wth Rapture; Curse the blind & lame
Base Ballad-mongers, who vsurpe thy name
And fowle thy Altar, Charme some Into froggs,
Some to bee Ratts, and others to bee hoggs:
Into the Loathsoms shapps, thou canst deuise
To make Fools hate them, onlye by disguise;
Thus wth a kisse of warmth, and loue, I parte
Not soe, but that some Relique In my Harte
Shall stand for euer, though I doe addresse
Cheifelye my selfe to what I must proffess:
Knowe yet, (rare soule,) when my diuiner Muse
Shall want a Hand-mayde, (as she ofte will vse)
Bee readye, thou In mee, to wayte vppon her
Thoughe as a seruant, yet a Mayde of Honor.
The Crowne of dutye is our dutye; well
Doing's, the Fruite of Doinge well, Farwell.





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