The Hesperides & Noble Numbers - Part 67
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Part 67

783. THE INVITATION.

To sup with thee thou did'st me home invite; And mad'st a promise that mine appet.i.te Should meet and tire on such laut.i.tious meat, The like not Heliogabalus did eat: And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest, Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast.

I came, 'tis true, and looked for fowl of price, The b.a.s.t.a.r.d phnix, bird of paradise, And for no less than aromatic wine Of maiden's-blush, commix'd with jessamine.

Clean was the hearth, the mantel larded jet; Which wanting Lar, and smoke, hung weeping wet; At last, i' th' noon of winter, did appear A ragg'd-soust-neat's-foot with sick vinegar: And in a burnished flagonet stood by, Beer small as comfort, dead as charity.

At which amaz'd, and pondering on the food, How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood; I curs'd the master, and I d.a.m.n'd the souce, And swore I'd got the ague of the house.

Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire, I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire.

_Tire_, feed on.

_Laut.i.tious_, sumptuous.

_Maiden's-blush_, the pink-rose.

_Larded jet_, _i.e._, blacked.

_Soust_, pickled.

784. CEREMONIES FOR CHRISTMAS.

Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing; While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your hearts' desiring.

With the last year's brand Light the new block, and For good success in his spending On your psaltries play, That sweet luck may Come while the log is a-teending.

Drink now the strong beer, Cut the white loaf here; The while the meat is a-shredding For the rare mince-pie, And the plums stand by To fill the paste that's a-kneading.

_Psaltries_, a kind of guitar.

_Teending_, kindling.

785. CHRISTMAS-EVE, ANOTHER CEREMONY.

Come guard this night the Christmas-pie, That the thief, though ne'er so sly, With his flesh-hooks, don't come nigh To catch it From him, who all alone sits there, Having his eyes still in his ear, And a deal of nightly fear, To watch it.

786. ANOTHER TO THE MAIDS.

Wash your hands, or else the fire Will not teend to your desire; Unwash'd hands, ye maidens, know, Dead the fire, though ye blow.

_Teend_, kindle.

787. ANOTHER.

Wa.s.sail the trees, that they may bear You many a plum and many a pear: For more or less fruits they will bring, As you do give them wa.s.sailing.

788. POWER AND PEACE.

_'Tis never, or but seldom known, Power and peace to keep one throne._

789. TO HIS DEAR VALENTINE, MISTRESS MARGARET FALCONBRIDGE.

Now is your turn, my dearest, to be set A gem in this eternal coronet: 'Twas rich before, but since your name is down It sparkles now like Ariadne's crown.

Blaze by this sphere for ever: or this do, Let me and it shine evermore by you.

790. TO OENONE.

Sweet Oenone, do but say Love thou dost, though love says nay.

Speak me fair; for lovers be Gently kill'd by flattery.

791. VERSES.

Who will not honour n.o.ble numbers, when Verses out-live the bravest deeds of men?

792. HAPPINESS.

That happiness does still the longest thrive, Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.

793. THINGS OF CHOICE LONG A-COMING.

We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace; _Desire deferr'd is that it may increase_.

794. POETRY PERPETUATES THE POET.

Here I myself might likewise die, And utterly forgotten lie, But that eternal poetry Repullulation gives me here Unto the thirtieth thousand year, When all now dead shall reappear.

_Repullulation_, rejuvenescence.

_Thirtieth thousand year_, an allusion to the doctrine of the Platonic year.

797. KISSES.

Give me the food that satisfies a guest: Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast.

798. ORPHEUS.

Orpheus he went, as poets tell, To fetch Eurydice from h.e.l.l; And had her; but it was upon This short but strict condition: Backward he should not look while he Led her through h.e.l.l's obscurity: But ah! it happened, as he made His pa.s.sage through that dreadful shade, Revolve he did his loving eye, For gentle fear or jealousy; And looking back, that look did sever Him and Eurydice for ever.

803. TO SAPPHO.

Sappho, I will choose to go Where the northern winds do blow Endless ice and endless snow: Rather than I once would see But a winter's face in thee, To benumb my hopes and me.