It was, and still my care is, To worship ye, the Lares, With crowns of greenest Parsley, And Garlick chives not scarcely: For favours here to warme me, And not by fire to harme me. For gladding so my hearth here, With inoffensive mirth here; That while the Wassaile Bowle here With North-down Ale doth troule here, No sillable doth fall here, To marre the mirth at all here. For which, o Chimney-keepers! (I dare not call ye Sweepers) So long as I am able To keep a countrey-table, Great be my fare, or small cheere, I'le eat and drink up all here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH: THRENODY by RUPERT BROOKE OLD KING COLE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE LAST INVOCATION by WALT WHITMAN THE SHAVEN BEAUTY by YUSUF IBN HARUN AL-RAMADI THE WILD GEESE by MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY GRISELDA: CHAPTER 5 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT BANNOCKS O' BARLEY by ROBERT BURNS THE LORDS' MASQUE: ENTHEUS AND PROMETHEUS by THOMAS CAMPION TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. OUT OF THE HOUSE OF CHILDHOOD by EDWARD CARPENTER |