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ROBERT HERRICK
Pray hurt him not ; though he be dead, He knows well who do love him,
And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him.
He 's soft and tender (pray take heed) ;
With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him*
��277 Corn-fort to a Youth that had lost his Love
WHAT needs complaints, When she a place Has with the race Of saints ?
In endless mirth She thinks not on What 's said or done In Earth.
She sees no tears, Or any tone Of thy deep groan She hears:
Nor docs she mind Or think on't now That ever thou Wast kind;
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