CLI.

THE WASSAIL,

GIVE way, give way ye gates; and win An easy blessing to your bin,

And basket, by our ent❜ring in.

May both with manchet stand replete ;
Your larders too so hung with meat,
That, though a thousand thousand eat,

Yet ere twelve moons shall whirl about
Their silv'ry spheres, there's none may doubt,
But more's sent in than was serv'd out.

Next may your dairies prosper so,
As that your pans no ebb may know;
But if they do, the more to flow

Like to a solemn, sober stream,

Bank'd all with lilies; and the cream

Of sweetest cowslips filling them.

Then may your plants be press'd with fruit;
Nor bee, or hive you have be mute,

But sweetly sounding like a lute.

POEM CLI.] A set of revellers, it would seem, had gone to the house of some churl, in their jollity, where they met with but cold reception. It was a country custom, on newyear's-eve, and twelfth-night, to go from house to house with a wassel or wassail bowl, which was presented to every person of the company, with this Saxon greeting, waes beal, that is, be of health; and it was a sort of challenge to mirth and festivity, which always ensued. In time was sail became to signify drunkenness, intemperance. See Ma lone's notes to Shakspeare, in several places, on this word; and Mr. Selden's notes to Drayton's Polyolbion,

Next may your duck, and teeming hen,
Both to the cock's tread say amen;

And for their two eggs render ten.

Last may your harrows, shares, and ploughs, Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows, All prosper by your virgin vows.

Alas! we bless; but see none here,
That brings us either ale, or beer:
In a dry house all things are near.

Let's leave a longer time to wait,
Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate,
And all live here with needy fate,

Where chimnies do for ever weep

For want of warmth, and stomachs keep
With noise the servants' eyes from sleep.

It is in vain to sing, or stay

Our free feet here, but we'll away;
Yet to the Lares this we'll say:

The time will come, when you'll be sad,

And reckon this for fortune bad,

T'ave lost the good ye might have had.

CLII.

UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILLED WITH DEW.

DEW sate on Julia's hair,

And spangled too,

Like leaves that laden are

With trembling dew;

Or glitter'd to my sight,
As when the beams
Have their reflected light

Danc'd by the streams.

CLIII.

UPON HIMSELF.

I could never love indeed; Never see mine own heart bleed; Never crucify my life

Or for widow, maid, or wife.

I could never seek to please
One, or many mistresses;
Never like their lips, to swear
Oil of roses still smelt there.

I could never break my sleep,

Fold mine arms, sob, sigh, or weep;

Never beg; or humbly woo

With oaths, and lies, as others do,

I could never walk alone,

Put a shirt of sackcloth on,
Never keep a fast, or pray
For good luck in love that day;

But have hitherto liv'd free
As the air that circles me;

And kept credit with my heart,
Neither broke i'th' whole, or part,

CLIV.

AN ECLOGUE,

BETWEEN ENDYMION PORTER, AND LYCIDAS

HERRICK.

End. Ан, Lycidas, come tell me why,

Thy whilom merry oat

By thee doth so neglected lie,

And never purls a note?

I prithee speak.-Lyc. I will.-End. Say on.

Lyc. 'Tis thou, and only thou,

That art the cause, Endymion.

End. For love's sake, tell me how.

Lyc. In this regard, that thou dost play

Upon another plain;

And for a rural roundelay

Strik'st now a courtly strain :

Thou leav'st our hills, our dales, our bow'rs,

Our finer-fleeced sheep,

Unkind to us, to spend thine hours
Where shepherds should not keep;

I mean the court: let Latmos be
My lov'd Endymion's court.
End. But I the courtly state would see.
Lyc. Then see it in report:

What has the court to do with swains,
Where Phillis is not known?

Nor does it mind the rustick strains
Of us, or Coridon :

Break, if thou lov'st us, this delay,
End. Dear Lycidas, ere long,
I vow by Pan, to come away,
And pipe unto thy song.

Lyc. Then Jessamine, with Florabell, And dainty Amarillis,

With handsome-handed Drosomel, Shall prank thy hook with lilies:

Then Tityrus, and Coridon,

And Thyrsis, they shall follow, With all the rest; while thou alone Shalt lead, like young Apollo:

And, 'till thou com'st, thy Lycidas In ev'ry genial cup

Shall write in spice, Endymion 'twas That kept his piping up.

CLV.

THE BED OF TULIPS.

BRIGHT tulips, we do know

You had your coming hither;

And fading time does show,

That ye must quickly wither.

Your sisterhoods may stay,

And smile here for your hour;

But ye must die away,

E'en as the meanest flow'r.