Page:Hesperides Vol 1.djvu/202



Ask me why I do not sing To the tension of the string As I did not long ago, When my numbers full did flow? Grief, ay, me! hath struck my lute And my tongue, at one time, mute.

No more shall I, since I am driven hence, Devote to thee my grains of frankincense; No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down, To honour thee, my little parsley crown; No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bring My chives of garlic for an offering; No more shall I from henceforth hear a choir Of merry crickets by my country fire. Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here, Warm by a glitt'ring chimney all the year. Chives, shreds.

What can I do in poetry Now the good spirit's gone from me? Why, nothing now but lonely sit And over-read what I have writ.