Robert Herrick: To His Peculiar Friend, M. Jo. Wicks.

TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, M. JO. WICKS.
by Robert Herrick

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-looks 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-boiled 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.

Worts, cabbages.
Drop his beads, i.e., pray.

Source:
Herrick, Robert. Works of Robert Herrick. vol II.
Alfred Pollard, ed.
London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1891. 150.

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