In A Volume Of Herrick

Dear old worldling gone astray, You would rather sing than pray; While you wore the preacher’s gown How you longed for London Town! When your head ached, then, alack! You, repentant, gave up sack; Old and worn you ruthlessly Bade farewell to poesy; Full, you never cared for food, Sated, you were always good. Julia’s beauties you rehearse, Sing her charms in wanton verse, But to make poor Julia thine Not one pleasure you’d resign. Flattering, you tried to please; Generous, you loved your ease! Dear old Herrick, you’re a Man Built upon the human plan; To the world your fame belongs For the beauty of your songs-- Glorious poet--not a saint-- Lyric splendor without taint!