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Fill me a mighty bowl
Up to the brim,
That I may drink
Unto my Jonson's soul.

Crown it again, again;
And thrice repeat
That happy heat,
To drink to thee, my Ben.
...

Speak, did the blood of Abel cry
To God for vengeance? Yes, say I,
Ev'n as the sprinkled blood called on
God for an expiation.

LACON: For a kiss or two, confess,
What doth cause this pensiveness,
Thou most lovely neat-herdess?
Why so lonely on the hill?
Why thy pipe by thee so still,
That erewhile was heard so shrill?...

1. Come, blitheful neatherds, let us lay
A wager who the best shall play,
Of thee or I, the roundelay
That fits the business of the day.

Chor. And Lalage the judge shall be,...

Fly hence, pale care, no more remember
Past sorrows with the fled December,
But let each pleasant cheek appear
Smooth as the childhood of the year,
And sing a carol here....

Thrice, and above, blest, 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...

My dearest Love, since thou wilt go,
And leave me here behind thee;
For love or pity, let me know
The place where I may find thee.

AMARIL. In country meadows, pearl'd with dew,...

Hor. While, Lydia, I was loved of thee,
Nor any was preferred 'fore me
To hug thy whitest neck, than I
The Persian king lived not more happily.

Lyd. While thou no other didst affect,...

Hence, hence, profane! soft silence let us have
While we this trental sing about thy grave.

Had wolves or tigers seen but thee,
They would have showed civility;
And, in compassion of thy years,...

Still take advice; though counsels, when they fly
At random, sometimes hit most happily.

Bacchus, let me drink no more!
Wild are seas that want a shore!
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup, Hercules....

I sing thy praise, Iacchus,
Who with thy thyrse dost thwack us:
And yet thou so dost back us
With boldness, that we fear
No Brutus ent'ring here,
Nor Cato the severe....

End. Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why
Thy whilom merry oat
By thee doth so neglected lie,
And never purls a note?

I prithee speak. Lyc. I will. End. Say on.
Lyc. 'Tis thou, and only thou,...

Ah Ben!
Say how, or when
Shall we thy guests
Meet at those lyric feasts
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun?
Where we such clusters had
As made us nobly wild, not mad;...

Ah Ben!
Say how, or when
Shall we thy guests
Meet at those lyric feasts
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun?
Where we such clusters had,
As made us nobly wild, not mad;...

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, oh JESU!
Thou pretty Baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base...

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy birth, O JESU!
Thou pretty baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for Thy princely port here,
Hadst for Thy place
Of birth a base...

Not all thy flushing suns are set,
Herrick, as yet;
Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere
Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere.
Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest
As dead within the west;...

The blood of Abel was a thing
Of such a rev'rend reckoning,
As that the old world thought it fit
Especially to swear by it.

To house the hag, you must do this:
Commix with meal a little piss
Of him bewitch'd; then forthwith make
A little wafer or a cake;
And this rawly bak'd will bring
The old hag in. No surer thing.