Robert Herrick (Роберт Геррик (Херрик))

The Wake

Come, Anthea, let us two
Go to feast, as others do:
Tarts and custards, creams and cakes,
Are the junkets still at wakes;
Unto which the tribes resort,
Where the business is the sport:
Morris-dancers thou shalt see,
Marian, too, in pageantry;
And a mimic to devise
Many grinning properties.
Players there will be, and those
Base in action as in clothes;
Yet with strutting they will please
The incurious villages.
Near the dying of the day
There will be a cudgel-play,
Where a coxcomb will be broke,
Ere a good word can be spoke:
But the anger ends all here,
Drench'd in ale, or drown'd in beer.
—Happy rusticks!  best content
With the cheapest merriment;
And possess no other fear,
Than to want the Wake next year.

Robert Herrick’s other poems:

  1. A Paranaeticall, or Advisive Verse to His Friend, Mr John Wicks
  2. Upon Julia’s Recovery
  3. To His Mistress, Objecting to Him Neither Toying or Talking
  4. The Present Time Best Pleaseth
  5. The Definition of Beauty




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