Analysis of His age:dedicated to his peculiar friend,mr john wickes, under the name ofpostumus
Robert Herrick 1591 (London) – 1674 (Dean Prior)
Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly
And leave no sound: nor piety,
Or prayers, or vow
Can keep the wrinkle from the brow;
But we must on,
As fate does lead or draw us; none,
None, Posthumus, could e'er decline
The doom of cruel Proserpine.
The pleasing wife, the house, the ground
Must all be left, no one plant found
To follow thee,
Save only the curst cypress-tree!
--A merry mind
Looks forward, scorns what's left behind;
Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may,
And here enjoy our holiday.
We've seen the past best times, and these
Will ne'er return; we see the seas,
And moons to wane,
But they fill up their ebbs again;
But vanish'd man,
Like to a lily lost, ne'er can,
Ne'er can repullulate, or bring
His days to see a second spring.
But on we must, and thither tend,
Where Ancus and rich Tullus blend
Their sacred seed;
Thus has infernal Jove decreed;
We must be made,
Ere long a song, ere long a shade.
Why then, since life to us is short,
Let's make it full up by our sport.
Crown we our heads with roses then,
And 'noint with Tyrian balm; for when
We two are dead,
The world with us is buried.
Then live we free
As is the air, and let us be
Our own fair wind, and mark each one
Day with the white and lucky stone.
We are not poor, although we have
No roofs of cedar, nor our brave
Baiae, nor keep
Account of such a flock of sheep;
Nor bullocks fed
To lard the shambles; barbels bred
To kiss our hands; nor do we wish
For Pollio's lampreys in our dish.
If we can meet, and so confer,
Both by a shining salt-cellar,
And have our roof,
Although not arch'd, yet weather-proof,
And cieling free,
From that cheap candle-baudery;
We'll eat our bean with that full mirth
As we were lords of all the earth.
Well, then, on what seas we are tost,
Our comfort is, we can't be lost.
Let the winds drive
Our bark, yet she will keep alive
Amidst the deeps;
'Tis constancy, my Wickes, which keeps
The pinnace up; which, though she errs
I' th' seas, she saves her passengers.
Say, we must part; sweet mercy bless
Us both i' th' sea, camp, wilderness!
Can we so far
Stray, to become less circular
Than we are now?
No, no, that self-same heart, that vow
Which made us one, shall ne'er undo,
Or ravel so, to make us two.
Live in thy peace; as for myself,
When I am bruised on the shelf
Of time, and show
My locks behung with frost and snow;
When with the rheum,
The cough, the pthisic, I consume
Unto an almost nothing; then,
The ages fled, I'll call again,
And with a tear compare these last
Lame and bad times with those are past,
While Baucis by,
My old lean wife, shall kiss it dry;
And so we'll sit
By th' fire, foretelling snow and slit
And weather by our aches, grown
Now old enough to be our own
True calendars, as puss's ear
Wash'd o'er 's, to tell what change is near;
Then to assuage
The gripings of the chine by age,
I'll call my young
Iulus to sing such a song
I made upon my Julia's breast,
And of her blush at such a feast.
Then shall he read that flower of mine
Enclosed within a crystal shrine;
A primrose next;
A piece then of a higher text;
For to beget
In me a more transcendant heat,
Than that insinuating fire
Which crept into each aged sire
When the fair Helen from her eyes
Shot forth her loving sorceries;
At which I'll rear
Mine aged limbs above my chair;
And hearing it,
Flutter and crow, as in a fit
Of fresh concupiscence, and cry,
'No lust there's like to Poetry.'
Thus frantic, crazy man, God wot,
I'll call to mind things half-forgot;
And oft between
Repeat the times that I have seen;
Thus ripe with tears,
And twisting my Iulus' hairs,
Doting, I'll weep and say, 'In truth,
Baucis, these were my sins of youth.'
Then next I'Il cause my hopeful lad,
If a wild apple can be had,
To crown the hearth;
Lar thus conspiring with our mirth;
Then to infuse
Our browner ale into the cruse;
Which, sweetly spiced, we'll first carouse
Unto the Genius of the house.
Then the next health to friends of mine.
Loving the brave Burgundian wine,
High sons of pith,
Whose fortunes I have frolick'd with;
Such as could well
Bear up the magic bough and spell;
And dancing 'bout the mystic Thyrse,
Give up the just applause to verse;
To those, and then again to thee,
We'll drink, my Wickes, until we be
Scheme Text too long Poetic Form Metre 1110111 01111100 1111 11010101 1111 11111111 1111001 011101 01010101 11111111 1101 11001101 0101 11011101 11111111 01011010 11011101 11011101 0111 11111101 1101 11010111 11111 11110101 1111011 110111 1101 11010101 1111 11011101 11111111 111111101 111011101 0111111 1111 0111110 1111 11010111 101110111 11010101 1111111 111101101 111 01110111 1101 11010101 111011111 11100101 11110101 11010110 01101 1111101 011 111101 111011111 11011101 11111111 101011111 1011 101111101 0101 11001111 0111111 1111110100 11111101 1111111100 1111 11011100 1111 11111111 11111101 11011111 1011111 1111101 1101 1111101 1101 0101101 1011101 01011101 01010111 10111111 111 11111111 0111 11110010101 01011011 110111101 1100111 1101111111 1101 0110111 1111 111101 11011101 01011101 111111011 01010101 011 01110101 1101 010111 110100010 11011110 10110101 110101 1111 1110111 0101 10011001 11101 11111100 11010111 11111101 0101 01011111 1111 010111 10110101 1101111 111111101 10110111 1101 110101101 1101 101010101 11011101 10010101 10111111 100101001 1111 1101111 1111 11010101 01010101 11010111 11010111 111101111 Closest metre Iambic tetrameter Characters 4,076 Words 808 Sentences 22 Stanzas 18 Stanza Lengths 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 2 Lines Amount 138 Letters per line (avg) 23 Words per line (avg) 6 Letters per stanza (avg) 178 Words per stanza (avg) 45 Font size:Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 4:10 min read
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"His age:dedicated to his peculiar friend,mr john wickes, under the name ofpostumus" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/31301/his-age%3Adedicated-to-his-peculiar-friend%2Cmr-john-wickes%2C-under-the-name-ofpostumus>.
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