A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

59. TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKS

     Since shed or cottage I have none,
     I sing the more, that thou hast one;
     To whose glad threshold, and free door
     I may a Poet come, though poor;
     And eat with thee a savoury bit,
     Paying but common thanks for it.
     —Yet should I chance, my Wicks, to see
     An over-leaven look in thee,
     To sour the bread, and turn the beer
     To an exalted vinegar;
     Or should'st thou prize me as a dish
     Of thrice-boil'd worts, or third-day's fish,
     I'd rather hungry go and come
     Than to thy house be burdensome;
     Yet, in my depth of grief, I'd be
     One that should drop his beads for thee.