A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

70. HIS WINDING-SHEET

     Come thou, who art the wine and wit
     Of all I've writ;
     The grace, the glory, 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 need not fear
     Lust entering here,
     Where all desires are dead or cold,
     As is the mould;
     And all affections are forgot,
     Or trouble not.
     Here, here the slaves and prisoners be
     From shackles free;
     And weeping widows, long opprest,
     Do here find rest.
     The wronged client ends his laws
     Here, and his cause;
     Here those long suits of Chancery lie
     Quiet, or die;
     And all Star-chamber bills do cease,
     Or hold their peace.
     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 fear the frown
     Of court or crown;
     Where fortune bears no sway o'er things,
     There all are kings.
     In this securer place we'll keep,
     As lull'd asleep;
     Or for a little time we'll lie,
     As robes laid by,
     To be another day re-worn,
     Turn'd, but not torn;
     Or like old testaments engrost,
     Lock'd up, not lost;
     And for a-while lie here conceal'd,
     To be reveal'd
     Next, at that great Platonic year,
     And then meet here.