And when-But why these unavailing pains?
The gifts alike and giver she disdains :
And now, left heiress of the glen, she'll deem
Me, landless lad, unworthy her esteem:
Yet was she born, like me, of shepherd sire;
And I may fields and lowing herds acquire.
O! would my gifts but win her wanton heart,
Or could I half the warmth I feel impart,
How would I wander, every day, to find
The choice of wildings, blushing through the rind!
For glossy plums how lightsome climb the tree,
How risk the vengeance of the thrifty bee!
Or, if thou deign to live a shepherdess,
Thou Lobbin's flock and Lobbin shalt possess:
And, fair my flock, nor yet uncomely I,
If liquid fountains flatter not; and why

Should liquid fountains flatter us, yet show [grow?
The bordering flowers less beauteous than they
O! come, my love; nor think the' employment

mean,

The dams to milk, and little lambkins wean;
To drive afield, by morn, the fattening ewes,
Ere the warm sun drink up the cooly dews;
While, with my pipe, and with my voice, I cheer
Each hour, and through the day detain thine ear.
How would the crook beseem thy lily hand!
How would my younglings round thee gazing
stand!

Ah, witless younglings! gaze not on her eye:
Thence all my sorrow; thence the death I die.
O, killing beauty! and O, sore desire!

Must then my sufferings but with life expire? Though blossoms every year the trees adorn, Spring after spring I wither, nipp'd with scorn

Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end,
Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend.
Sleep, sleep, my flock; for happy ye may take
Sweet nightly rest, though still your master wake.'
Now to the waning moon, the nightingale,
In slender warblings, tuned her piteous tale;
The lovesick shepherd, listening, felt relief,
Pleased with so sweet a partner in his grief,
Till by degrees her notes and silent night
To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.

A. PHILIPS.

A COUNTRY LIFE.

TO HIS BROTHER, THOMAS HERRICK.

THRICE, and above bless'd, my soul's half, art thou
In thy both last and better vow;

Couldst leave the city, for exchange, to see
The country's sweet simplicity,

And it to know and practise; with intent
To grow the sooner innocent,

By studying to know virtue; and to aim
More at her nature than her name:
The last is but the least; the first doth tell
Ways less to live than to live well;

And both are known to thee, who now canst live
Led by thy conscience, to give

Justice to soon pleased nature, and to show
Wisdom and she together go,

And keep one centre; this with that conspires
To teach man to confine desires,

And know that riches have their proper stint
In the contented mind, not mint;
VOL. II.

N N

And canst instruct, that those who have the itch

Of craving more are never rich::

These things thou know'st to the height, and dost prevent

That plague, because thou art content With that Heaven gave thee with a wary hand, More blessed in thy brass than land, To keep cheap nature even and upright; To cool, not cocker, appetite:

Thus thou canst tersely live to satisfy

The belly chiefly, not the eye;

Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet

Less with a neat than needful diet.

But that, which most makes sweet thy country life, Is the fruition of a wife;

Whom, stars consenting with thy fate, thou hast Got, not so beautiful as chaste;

By whose warm side thou dost securely sleep, While Love the sentinel doth keep,

With those deeds done by day, which ne'er affright
Thy silken slumbers in the night.

Nor has the darkness power to usher in
Fear to those sheets, that know no sin.
The damask'd meadows and the pebbly streams
Sweeten and make soft your dreams;

The purling springs, groves, birds, and well weaved bowers,

With fields enameled with flowers,
Present their shapes; while fantasy discloses
Millions of lilies mixed with roses :

Then dream ye hear the lamb by many a bleat
Wooed to come suck the milky teat;
While Faunus in the vision comes, to keep
From ravening wolves the fleecy sheep:

With thousand such enchanting dreams that meet
To make sleep not so sound as sweet:
Nor can these figures so thy rest endear,
As not to rise when chanticleer

Warns the last watch; but with the dawn dost rise
To work, but first to sacrifice;

Making thy peace with Heaven, for some late fault,
With holy meal and spirting salt;

Which done,thy painful thumb this sentence tells us,
'Jove for our labour all things sells us.'
Nor are thy daily and devout affairs
Attended with those desperate cares

The' industrious merchant has, who, for to find
Gold, runneth to the Western Ind

And back again; tortured with fears, doth fly,
Untaught to suffer poverty.

But thou at home, bless'd with securest ease,
Sitt'st, and believest that there be seas
And watery dangers; while thy whiter hap
But sees these things within thy map;
And viewing them with a more safe survey,
Makest easy fear unto thee say,

"A heart thrice walled with oak and brass that man Had first durst plough the ocean!'

But thou at home, without or tide or gale,
Canst in thy map securely sail,

Seeing those painted countries; and so guess
By those fine shades their substances;
And, from thy compass taking small advice,
Buy'st travel at the lowest price.

Nor are thine ears so deaf but thou canst hear,
Far more with wonder than with fear,

Fame tell of states, of countries, courts, and kings, And believe there be such things;

When of these truths, thy happier knowledge lies
More in thine ears than in thine eyes;
And when thou hear'st by that too true report
Vice rules the most or all at court;

Thy pious wishes are, though thou not there,
Virtue had, and moved her sphere.

But thou livest fearless; and thy face ne'er shows
Fortune when she comes or goes;

But with thy equal thoughts prepared dost stand To take her by the either hand:

Nor carest which comes the first, the foul or fair;
A wise man every way lies square;

And, like a surly oak with storms perplex'd,
Grows still the stronger, strongly vex'd:
Be so, bold spirit! stand centrelike unmoved;
And be not only thought, but proved

To be what I report thee; and inure

Thyself, if want comes, to endure;
And so thou dost; for thy desires are
Confined to live with private Lar:
Not curious whether appetite be fed
Or with the first or second bread:
Who keep'st no proud mouth for delicious cates;
Hunger makes coarse meats delicates:
Canst, and unurged, forsake that larded fare,
Which art, not nature, makes so rare,
To taste boil'd nettles, coleworts, beets, and eat
These, and sour herbs, as dainty meat,
While soft opinion makes thy genius say,
"Content makes all ambrosia.'

Nor is it that thou keep'st this stricter size
So much for want as exercise;

[haste it,

To numb the sense of dearth, which, should sin Thou might'st but only see't, not taste it.