aids should tell
Thy pity by love's chronicle,
O Dianeme, rather kill
Me, than to make me languish still!
'Tis cruelty in thee to th' height
Thus, thus to wound, not kill outright;
Yet there's a way found, if you please,
By sudden death to give me ease;
And thus devis'd, do thou but this--
Bequeath to me one parting kiss,
So sup'rabundant joy shall be
The executioner of me.

104. TO ANTHEA LYING IN BED.

So looks Anthea, when in bed she lies
O'ercome or half betray'd by tiffanies,
Like to a twilight, or that simpering dawn
That roses show when misted o'er with lawn.
Twilight is yet, till that her lawns give way;
Which done, that dawn turns then to perfect day.

_Tiffanies_, gauzes.
_Lawn_, fine linen.

105. TO ELECTRA.

More white than whitest lilies far,
Or snow, or whitest swans you are:
More white than are the whitest creams,
Or moonlight tinselling the streams:
More white than pearls, or Juno's thigh,
Or Pelops' arm of ivory.
True, I confess, such whites as these
May me delight, not fully please;
Till like Ixion's cloud you be
White, warm, and soft to lie with me.

_Pelops' arm_, which Jove gave him to replace the one eaten by Ceres at
the feast of Tantalus.
_Ixion's cloud_, to which Jove, for his deception, gave the form of Juno.

106. A COUNTRY-LIFE: TO HIS BROTHER, MR. THO. HERRICK.

Thrice, and above, bless'd, my soul's half, art thou
In thy both last and better vow:
Could'st 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 can'st 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:
And can'st instruct that those who have the itch
Of craving more are never rich.
These things thou know'st to th' height, and dost prevent
That plague; because thou art content
With that