Robert Herrick Again
Robert Herrick is included in both the group of metaphysical poets and the group of cavalier poets--probably one of the reasons he seems to be the center of study of nearly any seventeenth century poetry class. Here is an example of one of the less secular works.
His Litany to the Holy Spirit
Robert HerrickIN the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drown'd in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but on his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When his potion and his pill
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill ;
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the passing bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When, God knows, I'm toss'd about,
Either with despair, or doubt ;
Yet before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When the judgment is reveal'd,
And that open'd which was seal'd,
When to Thee I have appeal'd,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !
I can't help but admire the two stanzas concerning Doctors. In his time, and not infrequently in our own, they are too true.
When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but on his fees, And his skill runs on the lees, Sweet Spirit, comfort me !When his potion and his pill
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill ;
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !
