by Robert Herrick

I SING thy praise, Iacchus,
Who with thy thyrse dost thwack us :
And yet thou so dost back us
With boldness, that we fear
No Brutus ent'ring here,
Nor Cato the severe.
What though the lictors threat us,
We know they dare not beat us,
So long as thou dost heat us.
When we thy orgies sing,
Each cobler is a king,
Nor dreads he any thing :
And though he do not rave,
Yet he'll the courage have
To call my Lord Mayor knave ;
Besides, too, in a brave,
Although he has no riches,
But walks with dangling breeches
And skirts that want their stitches,
And shows his naked flitches,
Yet he'll be thought or seen
So good as George-a-Green ;
And calls his blouze, his queen ;
And speaks in language keen.
O Bacchus !  let us be
From cares and troubles free ;
And thou shalt hear how we
Will chant new hymns to thee.

Orgies, hymns to Bacchus.
Brave, boast.
George-a-Green, the legendary pinner of Wakefield,
renowned for the use of the quarterstaff.
Blouze, fat wench.

Herrick, Robert. Works of Robert Herrick. vol II.
Alfred Pollard, ed.
London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1891. 74-75.

Backto Works of Robert Herrick

Site copyright ©1996-2002 Anniina Jokinen. All Rights Reserved.
Created by Anniina Jokinen on April 29, 2002.

Background from a tile by Stormi Wallpaper Boutique.