OF HIS LYRICS.

Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hear
From thee some raptures of the rare Gotiere;
Then if thy voice commingle with the string,
I hear in thee rare Laniere to sing;
Or curious Wilson: tell me, canst thou be
Less than Apollo, that usurp'st such three?
Three, unto whom the whole world give applause;
Yet their three praises praise but one; that's Lawes.

_Gotiere_, Wilson, see above, 111.
_Laniere_, Nicholas Laniere (1590?-1670?), musician and painter,
appointed Master of the King's Music in 1626.

852. AGE UNFIT FOR LOVE.

Maidens tell me I am old;
Let me in my glass behold
Whether smooth or not I be,
Or if hair remains to me.
Well, or be't or be't not so,
This for certainty I know,
Ill it fits old men to play,
When that Death bids come away.

853. THE BEDMAN, OR GRAVEMAKER.

Thou hast made many houses for the dead;
When my lot calls me to be buried,
For love or pity, prithee let there be
I' th' churchyard made one tenement for me.

854. TO ANTHEA.

Anthea, I am going hence
With some small stock of innocence:
But yet those blessed gates I see
Withstanding entrance unto me.
To pray for me do thou begin,
The porter then will let me in.

855. NEED.

Who begs to die for fear of human need,
Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.

856. TO JULIA.

I am zealless; prithee pray
For my welfare, Julia,
For I think the gods require
Male perfumes, but female fire.

_Male perfumes_, perfumes of the best kind.

857. ON JULIA'S LIPS.

Sweet are my Julia's lips and clean,
As if o'erwashed in Hippocrene.

858. TWILIGHT.

Twilight no other thing is, poets say,
Than the last part of night and first of day.

859. TO HIS FRIEND, MR. J. JINCKS.

Love, love me now, because I place
Thee here among my righteous race:
The bastard slips may droop and die
Wanting both root and earth; but thy
Immortal self shall boldly trust
To live for ever with my Just.

_With my Just_, cp. 664.

860. ON HIMSELF.

If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year,
And so soon stopt my longer living here;
What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save,
But while he met with his paternal grave!
Though while we living 'bout the world do roam,
We love to rest in peaceful urns at home,
Where w