William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.
To Live Merrily and to Trust to Good VersesRobert Herrick (15911674)
N
Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;
For, with the flowery earth,
The golden pomp is come.
For now each tree does wear,
Made of her pap and gum,
Rich beads of amber here:
Th’ Arabian dew besmears
My uncontrollèd brow
And my retorted hairs.
—In sack of such a kind
That it would make thee see
Though thou wert ne’er so blind.
To pledge this second health
In wine, whose each cup’s worth
An Indian commonwealth.
To Ovid, and suppose,
Made he the pledge, he’d think
The world had all one nose.
Of aromatic wine,
Catullus, I’ll quaff up
To that terse muse of thine.
O Bacchus, cool thy rays!
Or frantic I shall eat
Thy thyrse and bite the bays.
And being ravished thus,
Come, I will drink a tun
To my Propertius.
This flood I’ll drink to thee:
But stay, I see a text
That this presents to me:—
Here burnt, whose small return
Of ashes scarce suffice
To fill a little urn.
They only will aspire
When pyramids, as men,
Are lost i’ th’ funeral fire.
In Lethe to be drown’d,
Then only numbers sweet
With endless life are crown’d.