THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME: to the right honourable MILDMAY, EARL OF WESTMORLAND
COME, Sons of Summer, by whose toil
We are the lords of wine and oil :
By whose tough labours, and rough hands,
We rip up first, then reap our lands.
Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come,
And, to the pipe, sing Harvest Home.
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart
Drest up with all the country art.
See, here a maukin, there a sheet,
As spotless pure, as it is sweet :
The horses, mares, and frisking fillies,
Clad, all, in linen white as lilies.
The harvest swains and wenches bound
For joy, to see the Hock-Cart crown'd.
About the cart, hear, how the rout
Of rural younglings raise the shout;
Pressing before, some coming after,
Those with a shout, and these with laughter.
Some bless the cart ; some kiss the sheaves ;
Some prank them up with oaken leaves :
Some cross the fill-horse; some with great
Devotion, stroke the home-borne wheat :
While other rustics, less attent
To prayers, than to merriment,
Run after with their breeches rent.
-Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth,
Glitt'ring with fire; where, for your mirth.
Ye shall see first the large and chief
Foundation of your feast, fat beef :
With upper stories, mutton, veal
And bacon, which makes full the meal,
With sev'ral dishes standing by,
As here a custard, there a pie,
And here, all tempting frumenty.
And for to make the merry cheer,
If smirking wine be wanting here,
There's that which drowns all care, stout beer :
Which freely drink to your lord's health ;-
Then to the plough, the common-wealth;
Next to your flails, your fanes, your vats;
Then to the maids with wheaten hats :
To the rough sickle, and crookt scythe,-
Drink, frolic, boys, till all be blythe.
Feed, and grow fat; and as.ye eat,
Be mindful, that the lab'ring neat,
As you, may have their fill of meat.
And know, besides, ye must revoke
The patient ox unto the yoke,
And all go back unto the plough
And harrow, though they're hang'd up now.
And, you must know, your lord's word's true,
Feed him ye must, whose food fills you;
And that this pleasure is like rain,
Not sent ye for to drown your pain,
But for to make it spring again.
THIS day, my Julia, thou must make
For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake :
Knead but the dough, and it will be
To paste of almonds turn'd by thee;
Or kiss it thou but once or twice,
And for the bride-cake there'll be spice
THE OLD WIVES' PRAYER
HOLY-ROOD, come forth and shield
Us i' th' city and the field;
Safely guard us, now and aye,
From the blast that burns by day;
And those sounds that us affright
In the dead of dampish night ;
Drive all hurtful fiends us fro,
By the time the cocks first crow.
FROM noise of scare-fires rest ye free
From murders, Benedicite;
From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye, while ye sleep.
-Past one a clock, and almost two, -
My masters all, 'Good day to you.'
TO THE GENIUS OF HIS HOUSE
COMMAND the roof, great Genius, and from thence
Into this house pour down thy influence,
That through each room a golden pipe may run
Of living water by thy benizon,
Fulfil the larders, and with strength'ning bread
Be evermore these bins replenishéd.
Next, like a bishop consecrate my ground,
That lucky fairies here may dance their round ;
And, after that, lay down some silver pence,
The master's charge and care to recompence.
Charm then the chambers; make the beds for ease,
More than for peevish pining sicknesses;
Fix the foundation fast, and let the roof
Grow old with time, but yet keep weather-proof.
HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH
To tell how night draws hence, I've none,
I have to sing how day draws on;
A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent,
That little, Fates me gave or lent.
A hen
I keep, which, creeking day by day,
She goes her long white egg to lay :
I have, which, with a jealous ear,
Her tongue, to tell what danger's near.
I keep, tame, with my morsels fed,
An orphan left him, lately dead :
I keep, that plays about my house,
Grown fat
With eating many a miching mouse :
A Trasy I do keep, whereby
The more my rural privacy :
But toys, to give my heart some ease :-
None is, slight things do lightly please.
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