Part 25 (1/2)

_c.o.c.k_, the traditional offering to aesculapius; cp. the last words of Socrates; cp. Ben Jonson, Epig. xiii.

303. TO APOLLO. A SHORT HYMN.

Phbus! when that I a verse Or some numbers more rehea.r.s.e, Tune my words that they may fall Each way smoothly musical: For which favour there shall be Swans devoted unto thee.

304. A HYMN TO BACCHUS.

Bacchus, let me drink no more; Wild are seas that want a sh.o.r.e.

When our drinking has no stint, There is no one pleasure in't.

I have drank up, for to please Thee, that great cup Hercules: Urge no more, and there shall be Daffodils given up to thee.

306. ON HIMSELF.

Here down my wearied limbs I'll lay; My pilgrim's staff, my weed of gray, My palmer's hat, my scallop's sh.e.l.l, My cross, my cord, and all, farewell.

For having now my journey done, Just at the setting of the sun, Here I have found a chamber fit, G.o.d and good friends be thanked for it, Where if I can a lodger be, A little while from tramplers free, At my up-rising next I shall, If not requite, yet thank ye all.

Meanwhile, the holy-rood hence fright The fouler fiend and evil sprite From scaring you or yours this night.

307. CASUALTIES.

Good things that come of course, far less do please Than those which come by sweet contingencies.

308. BRIBES AND GIFTS GET ALL.

Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute; But let that speak, the client gets the suit.

309. THE END.

If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right; _It is the end that crowns us, not the fight_.

310. UPON A CHILD THAT DIED.

Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood: Who as soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep.

Give her strewings, but not stir The earth that lightly covers her.

312. CONTENT, NOT CATES.

'Tis not the food, but the content That makes the table's merriment.

Where trouble serves the board, we eat The platters there as soon as meat.

A little pipkin with a bit Of mutton or of veal in it, Set on my table, trouble-free, More than a feast contenteth me.

313. THE ENTERTAINMENT; OR, PORCH-VERSE, AT THE MARRIAGE OF MR. HENRY NORTHLY AND THE MOST WITTY MRS. LETTICE YARD.

Welcome! but yet no entrance, till we bless First you, then you, and both for white success.

Profane no porch, young man and maid, for fear Ye wrong the Threshold-G.o.d that keeps peace here: Please him, and then all good-luck will betide You, the brisk bridegroom, you, the dainty bride.

Do all things sweetly, and in comely wise; Put on your garlands first, then sacrifice: That done, when both of you have seemly fed, We'll call on Night, to bring ye both to bed: Where, being laid, all fair signs looking on, Fish-like, increase then to a million; And millions of spring-times may ye have, Which spent, one death bring to ye both one grave.