I PRAISED the speech, but cannot now abide it, That warre is sweet to those that have not try'd it; For I have proved it now and plainly see 't, It is so sweet, it maketh all things sweet. At home Canaric wines and Greek grow lothsome; Here milk is nectar, water tasteth toothsome. There without baked, rost, boyl'd, it is no cheere; Bisket we like, and Bonny Clabo here. here we complain of one wan roasted chick; ere meat worse cookt ne're makes us sick. t home in silken sparrers, beds of Down, e scant can rest, but still tosse up and down; ere we can sleep, a saddle to our pillow, hedge the Curtaine, Canopy a Willow. here if a child but cry, O what a spite! ere we can brook three larums in one night. here homely rooms must be perfumed with Roses; ere match and powder ne're offend our noses. here from a storm of rain we run like Pullets; ere we stand fast against a shower of bullets. o, then how greatly their opinions erre, hat think there is no great delight in warre; But yet for this, sweet warre, Ile be thy debtor, I shall forever love my home the better. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IPPOLIT KONOVALOFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HEART AND MIND by EDITH SITWELL IF WE KNEW; OR, BLESSINGS OF TO-DAY by MAY LOUISE RILEY SMITH THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JANUARY by EDMUND SPENSER |