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THE WASSAILE.
Give way, give way, ye gates, and win An easie blessing to your bin And basket, by our entring in.
May both with manchet stand repleat, Your larders, too, so hung with meat, That thou a thousand, thousand eat.
Yet ere twelve moones shall whirl about Their silv'rie spheres, ther's none may doubt But more's sent in then was serv'd out.
Next, may your dairies prosper so, As that your pans no ebbe may know ; But if they do, the more to flow.
Like to a solemne sober stream, Bankt all with lillies, and the cream Of sweetest cowslips filling them.
Then may your plants be prest with fruit, Nor bee or hive you have be mute, But sweetly sounding like a lute. |
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