A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

212. A HYMN TO THE GRACES

     When I love, as some have told
     Love I shall, when I am old,
     O ye Graces!  make me fit
     For the welcoming of it!
     Clean my rooms, as temples be,
     To entertain that deity;
     Give me words wherewith to woo,
     Suppling and successful too;
     Winning postures; and withal,
     Manners each way musical;
     Sweetness to allay my sour
     And unsmooth behaviour:
     For I know you have the skill
     Vines to prune, though not to kill;
     And of any wood ye see,
     You can make a Mercury.