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| THE SUN (which doth the greatest comfort bring | |
| To absent friends, because the self-same thing | |
| They know they see, however absent) is | |
| Here our best haymaker (forgive me this; | |
| It is our country’s style): in this warm shine | 5 |
| I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid Wine. | |
| O, we have Winter mixed with claret lees, | |
| Drink apt to bring in drier heresies | |
| Than beer, good only for the sonnet’s strain, | |
| With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain; | 10 |
| So mixed, that, given to the thirstiest one, | |
| ’Twill not prove alms, unless he have the stone: | |
| I think with one draught man’s invention fades, | |
| Two cups had quite spoiled Homer’s Iliads! | |
| ’Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff’s wit, | 15 |
| Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet. | |
| Filled with such moisture, in most grievous qualms, | |
| Did Robert Wisdom write his singing Psalms; | |
| And so must I do this: and yet I think | |
| It is our potion sent us down to drink, | 20 |
| By special Providence, keeps us from fights, | |
| Makes us not laugh, when we make legs to Knights: | |
| ‘Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states; | |
| A medicine to obey our Magistrates; | |
| For we do live more free than you; no hate, | 25 |
| No envy at one another’s happy state, | |
| Moves us; we are equal every whit; | |
| Of land that God gives men, here is their wit, | |
| If we consider fully; for our best | |
| And gravest man will with his main-house-jest | 30 |
| Scarce please you: we want subtlety to do | |
| The city-tricks; lie, Hate, and flatter too: | |
| Here are none that can bear a painted show, | |
| Strike, when you wince, and then lament the blow; | |
| Who (like mills set the right way for to grind) | 35 |
| Can make their gains alike with every wind: | |
| Only some fellows with the subtlest pate | |
| Amongst us, may perchance equivocate | |
| At selling of a horse; and that’s the most | |
| Methinks the little wit I had is lost | 40 |
| Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest | |
| Held up at tennis, which men do the best | |
| With the best gamesters. What things have we seen | |
| Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been | |
| So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, | 45 |
| As if that every one (from whence they came) | |
| Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, | |
| And had resolved to live a fool the rest | |
| Of his dull life;—then when there hath been thrown | |
| Wit able enough to justify the town | 50 |
| For three days past; wit that might warrant be | |
| For the whole city to talk foolishly | |
| Till that were cancelled; and, when we were gone, | |
| We left an air behind us; which alone | |
| Was able to make the two next companies | 55 |
| (Right witty; though but downright fools) more wise! | |
| When I remember this, and see that now | |
| The country gentlemen begin to allow | |
| My wit for dry bobs, then I needs must cry, | |
| ‘I see my days of ballating grow nigh!’ | 60 |
| I can already riddle, and can sing | |
| Catches, sell bargains: and I fear shall bring | |
| Myself to speak the hardest words I find | |
| Over as oft as any, with one wind, | |
| That takes no medicines. But one thought of thee | 65 |
| Makes me remember all these things to be | |
| The wit of our young men, fellows that show | |
| No part of good, yet utter all they know; | |
| Who, like trees of the guard, have growing souls, | |
| Only strong Destiny, which all controls, | 70 |
| I hope hath left a better fate in store | |
| For me, thy friend, than to live ever poor, | |
| Banished unto this home. Fate once again, | |
| Brings me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain | |
| The way of knowledge for me, and then I | 75 |
| (Who have no good, but in thy company,) | |
| Protest it will my greatest comfort be, | |
| To acknowledge all I have, to flow from thee! | |
| Ben, when these Scenes are perfect, we’ll taste wine! | |
| I’ll drink thy Muse’s health! thou shalt quaff mine! | 80 |
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