609. OF LOVE.
I'll get me hence,
Because no fence
Or fort that I can make here,
But love by charms,
Or else by arms
Will storm, or starving take here.
611. TO HIS MUSE.
Go woo young Charles no more to look
Than but to read this in my book:
How Herrick begs, if that he can-
Not like the muse, to love the man,
Who by the shepherds sung, long since,
The star-led birth of Charles the Prince.
Long since, i.e., in the "Pastoral upon the Birth of Prince Charles" (213), where see Note.
612. THE BAD SEASON MAKES THE POET SAD.
Dull to myself, and almost dead to these
My many fresh and fragrant mistresses;
Lost to all music now, since everything
Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing.
Sick is the land to the heart, and doth endure
More dangerous faintings by her desp'rate cure.
But if that golden age would come again,
And Charles here rule, as he before did reign;
