Page images
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors][ocr errors]

II.

If we may ask the reason, say

The why, and wherefore all things here
Seem like the spring time of the year?

III.

Why does the chilling winter's morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell, like to a mead new shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?

IV.

Come and see

The cause, why things thus fragrant be: 'Tis He is born, whose quickening birth Gives life and lustre, public mirth,

To Heaven and the under Earth.

CHORUS.

We see Him come, and know him ours,
Who with his sunshine and his showers,
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.

I.

The darling of the world is come,

And fit it is we find a room

To welcome him.

II.

The nobler part

Of all the house here, is the heart.

CHORUS.

Which we will give Him; and bequeath

This holly and this ivy wreath,

To do Him honour who's our King,

And Lord of all this revelling.

TRUE HOSPITALITY.

Although the following poem contains no immediate reference to the Christmas season, still, the pictures which it presents of the hospitality of the period, and the character of the entertainment met with at the table of a country gentleman, of the reign of Charles I., render it peculiarly applicable to that particular season of the year, when open-handed liberality, such as it commemorates, is in the ascendant.

TRUE HOSPITALITY:

A PANEGYRIC TO SIR LEWIS PEMBERTON.

TILL I shall come again, let this suffice,

I send my salt, my sacrifice

To thee, thy lady, younglings, and as far
As to thy Genius and thy Larr; *

To the worn threshold, porch, hall, parlour; kitchen,
The fat-fed smoking temple, which in
The wholesome savour of thy mighty chines,
Invites to supper him who dines;

Where laden spits, warped with large ribs of beef,
Not represent, but give relief

To the lank stranger and the sour swain,
Where both may feed and come again,
For no black-bearded vigil from thy door
Beats with a buttoned-staff the poor;
But from thy warm love-hatching gates, each may
Take friendly morsels, and there stay
To sun his thin-clad members, if he likes,
For thou no porter keep'st who strikes.

No comer to thy roof his guest-rite wants;

Or, staying there, is scourged with taunts

Of some rough groom, who, yirked with corns, says, "Sir, You've dipt too long i' th' vinegar;

And with our broth and bread and bits, Sir friend,

You've fared well, pray make an end;

An elfish spirit.

Two days you've larded here; a third, you know,
Makes guests and fish smell strong; pray go
You to some other chimney, and there take
Essay of other giblets; make
Merry at another's hearth! you 're here
Welcome as thunder to our beer."

Manners know distance, and a man unrude
Would soon recoil, and not intrude

His stomach to a second meal. No, no,

Thy house, well fed and taught, can show No such crabbed visard: Thou hast learned thy train With heart and hand to entertain;

And by the armsful, with the breast unhid,

As the old race of mankind did

When either's heart, and either's hand did strive

To be the nearer relative:

Thou dost redeem those times; and what was lost Of ancient honesty, may boast

It keeps a growth in thee, and so will run

A course in thy fame's pledge, thy son. Thus, like a Roman Tribune, thou thy gate Early sets ope to feast, and late; Keeping no currish waiter to affright,

With blasting eye, the appetite,

Which fain would waste upon thy cates, but that
The trencher creature marketh what

Best and more suppling piece he cuts, and by
Some private pinch tells danger's nigh—
A hand too desp'rate, or a knife that bites
Skin deep into the pork, or lights
Upon some part of kid, as if mistook,

When checked by the butler's look.

TRUE HOSPITALITY.

No, no, thy bread, thy wine, thy jocund beer

Is not reserved for Trebins here,

But all who at thy table seated are,

Find equal freedom, equal fare:

And thou, like to that hospitable god,

Jove, joy'st when guests make their abode
To eat thy bullock's thighs, thy veals, thy fat
Wethers, and never grudged at

The pheasant, partridge, godwit, reeve, ruff, 1ail,
The cock, the curlew, and the quail:
These, and thy choicest viands do extend
Their taste unto the lower end

Of thy glad table; not a dish more known
To thee, than unto any one.

But as thy meat, so thy immortal wine

Makes the smirk face of each to shine,

And spring fresh rosebuds, while the salt, the wit
Flows from the wine, and graces it;
While reverence, waiting at the bashful board,
Honours my lady and my lord.

No scurrile jest, no open scene is laid

Here, for to make the face afraid;

But temp'rate mirth dealt forth, and so discreet-
Ly, that it makes the meat more sweet,
And adds perfumes unto the wine, which thou
Dost rather pour forth, than allow

By cruise and measure; thus devoting wine
As the Canary Isles were thine;
But with that wisdom and that method, as

No one that's there his guilty glass
Drinks of distemper, or has cause to cry

Repentance to his liberty.

[graphic][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][merged small]
« PreviousContinue »