Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A NEW YEAR'S GIFT SUNG TO KING CHARLES, by BEN JONSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A NEW YEAR'S GIFT SUNG TO KING CHARLES, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Today old janus opens the new year
Last Line: Tis he, 'tis he, etc.
Subject(s): Holidays; New Year


RECTOR
Today old Janus opens the new year,

CHOR.
And shuts the old. Haste, haste, all loyal swains,
That know the times, and seasons when to appear,
And offer your just service on these plains;
Best kings expect first-fruits of your glad gains.

1. Pan is the great preserver of our bounds.
2. To him we owe all profits of our grounds.
3. Our milk. 4. Our fells. 5. Our fleeces. 6. And first lambs.
7. Our teeming ewes. 8. And lusty-mounting rams.
9. See where he walks with Mira by his side.

CHOR.
Sound, sound his praises loud, and with his, hers divide.

SHEP.
Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters, Pan,
That drives the hart to seek unused ways,
And in the chase, more than Sylvanus can,

CHOR.
Hear, O you groves, and hills, resound his praise.

NYM.
Of brightest Mira, do we raise our song,
Sister of Pan, and glory of the spring:
Who walks on earth as May still went along:

CHOR.
Rivers, and valleys, echo what we sing.

SHEP.
Of Pan we sing, the chief of leaders, Pan,
That leads our flocks and us, and calls both forth
To better pastures than great Pales can:

CHOR.
Hear, O you groves, and hills, resound his worth.

NYMP.
Of brightest Mira, is our song; the grace
Of all that nature, yet, to life did bring;
And were she lost, could best supply her place:

CHOR.
Rivers, and valleys, echo what we sing.

1. Where e'er they tread the enamoured ground,
The fairest flowers are always found;
2. As if the beauties of the year,
Still waited on them where they were.
1. He is the father of our peace;
2. She, to the crown, hath brought increase.
1. We know no other power than his,
Pan only our great shepherd is,

CHORUS
Our great, our good. Where one's so dressed
In truth of colours, both are best.

Haste, haste you hither, all you gentler swains,
That have a flock, or herd, upon these plains;
This is the great preserver of our bounds,
To whom you owe all duties of your grounds;
Your milks, your fells, your fleeces, and first lambs,
Your teeming ewes, as well as mounting rams;
Whose praises let's report unto the woods,
That they may take it echoed by the floods.
'Tis he, 'tis he, in singing he,
And hunting, Pan, exceedeth thee.
He gives all plenty, and increase,
He is the author of our peace.

Where e'er he goes upon the ground,
The better grass, and flowers are found.
To sweeter pastures lead he can,
Than ever Pales could, or Pan;
He drives diseases from our folds,
The thief from spoil, his presence holds.
Pan knows no other power than his,
This only the great shepherd is.
'Tis he, 'tis he, etc.





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