Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

COME thou, who art the wine and wit

Of all I’ve writ:

The grace, the glorie, and the best

Piece of the rest;

Thou art of what I did intend

The all, and end;

And what was made, was made to meet

Thee, thee, my sheet;

Come then, and be to my chaste side

Both bed and bride.

We two, as reliques left, will have

One rest, one grave;

And, hugging close, we will not feare

Lust entering here;

Where all desires are dead or cold,

As is the mould;

And all affections are forgot,

Or trouble not.

Here needs no court for our request,

Where all are best;

All wise, all equal, and all just

Alike i’ th’ dust.

Nor need we here to feare the frowne

Of court or crown;

Where fortune bears no sway o’er things,

There all are kings.

And for a while lye here concealed,

To be revealed,

Next, at that great platonick yeere,

And then meet here.