Five Herrick Poems

Now is your turne, my dearest, to be set
A jem in this eternall coronet;
'Twas rich before, but since your name is downe,
It sparkles now like Ariadne's crowne.
Blaze by this sphere for ever; or this doe,
Let me and it shine evermore by you. 

Dearest of thousands, now the time draws neere,
That with my lines my life must full-stop here;
Cut off thy haires, and let thy teares be shed
Over my turfe, when I am buried.
Then for effusions, let none wanting be,
Or other rites that doe belong to me;
As love shall helpe thee, when thou do'st go hence
Unto thine everlasting residence. 

These Springs were Maidens once that lov'd,
But lost to that, they most approv'd:
My Story tels, by Love they were
Turn'd to these Springs, which we see here:
The pretty whimpering that they make,
When of the Banks their leave they take;
Tels yee but this, they are the same,
In nothing chang'd but in their name.

My God! look on me with thine eye
Of pittie, not of scrutinie;
For if thou dost, thou then shalt see
Nothing but loathsome sores in mee.
O then! for mercies' sake, behold
These my irruptions manifold;
And heale me with thy looke or touch:
But if thou wilt not deigne so much
Because I'm odious in thy sight,
Speake but the word, and cure me quite. 

If nine times you your bridegroom kiss,
The tenth you know the parson's is;
Pay then your tithe; and doing thus,
Prove your bride-bed numerous.
If children you have ten, Sir John
Won't for his tenth part ask you one.