Some have too muche, yet still do crave; I little have, and seek no more. They are but poore, though muche they have, I laughe not at another's losse, Some weighe their pleasure by theyre luste, A clokèd crafte theyre store of skylle. My wealthe is healthe and perfect ease; Nor by deceyte to breede offence; Would all did so well as I. SIR EDWARD DYER. SONG: WHO FINDS A WOMAN GOOD AND WISE I WHO finds a Woman good and wise, II The Merchant-ship resembling right, A field she viewes and that she buyes; III If in her worke she profit feele, IV She Mantles maketh, wrought by hand: (Knowne in the Gate) her husband sits. V She speakes discreetly when she talkes; Her children rise, and blest her call: VI Deceitfull Fauour quickly weares, GEORGE WITHER. A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE LORD, thou hast given me a cell A little house, whose humble Roof Under the sparres of which I lie Where Thou my chamber for to ward Of harmlesse thoughts, to watch and keep Low is my porch, as is my Fate, And yet the threshold of my doore Who thither come, and freely get A little Butterie, and therein Which keeps my little loafe of Bread Some brittle sticks of Thorne or Briar Close by whose living coale I sit, Lord, I confesse too, when I dine, And all those other Bits, that bee The Worts, the Purslain, and the Messe Which of Thy kindnesse Thou hast sent; Makes those, and my beloved Beet, 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering Hearth With guiltlesse mirth; And giv'st me Wassaile Bowles to drink, Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand, And giv'st me, for my Bushel sowne, Thou mak'st my teeming Hen to lay Besides my healthful Ewes to beare The while the conduits of my Kine All these, and better Thou dost send That I should render, for my part, Which, fir'd with incense, I resigne, But the acceptance, that must be, ROBERT HERRICK. |