Hesperides, or, The works both humane & divine of Robert Herrick, Esq.

Ambition.

IN wayes to greatnesse, think on this, That slippery all Ambition is.

The Country life, to the honoured M. End. Porter, Groome of the Bed-Chamber to His Maj.

SWeet Country life, to such unknown, Whose lives are others, not their own! But serving Courts, and Cities, be Less happy, less enjoying thee. Thou never Plow'st the Oceans foame To seek, and bring rough Pepper home:

Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove To bringfrom thence the scorched Clove. Nor, with the losse of thy lov'd rest, Bring'st home the Ingot from the West. No, thy Ambition's Master-piece Flies no thought higher then a fleece: Or how to pay thy Hinds, and cleere All scores; and so to end the yeere: But walk'st about thine own dear bounds, Not envying others larger grounds: For well thou know'st, 'tis not th'extent Of Land makes life, but sweet content. When now the Cock (the Plow-mans Horne) Calls forth the lilly-wristed Morne; Then to thy corn-fields thou dost goe, Which though well soyl'd, yet thou dost know, That the best compost for the Lands Is the wise Masters Feet, and Hands. There at the Plough thou find'st thy Teame, With a Hind whistling there to them: And cheer'st them up, by singing how The Kingdoms portion is the Plow. This done, then to th'enameld Meads Thou go'st; and as thy foot there treads, Thou seest a present God-like Power Imprinted in each Herbe and Flower: And smell'st the breath of great-ey'd Kine, Sweet as the blossomes of the Vine. Here thou behold'st thy large sleek Neat Unto the Dew-laps up in meat: And, as thou look'st, the wanton Steere, The Heifer, Cow, and Oxe draw neere To make a pleasing pastime there. These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks Of sheep, (safe from the Wolfe and Fox)

And find'st their bellies there as full Of short sweet grasse, as backs with wool. And leav'st them (as they feed and fill) A Shepherd piping on a hill. For Sports, for Pagentrie, and Playes, Thou hast thy Eves, and Holydayes: On which the young men and maids meet, To exercise their dancing feet: Tripping the comely country round, With Daffadils and Daisies crown'd. Thy Wakes, thy Quintels, here thou hast, Thy May-poles too with Garlands grac't: Thy Morris-dance; thy Whitsun-ale; Thy Sheering-feast, which never faile. Thy Harvest home; thy Wassaile bowle, That's tost up after Fox i'th'Hole. Thy Mummeries; thy Twelse tide Kings And Queenes; thy Christmas revellings: Thy Nut-browne mirth; thy Russet wit; And no man payes too deare for it. To these, thou hast thy times to goe And trace the Hare i'th'trecherous Snow: Thy witty wiles to draw, and get The Larke into the Trammell net: Thou hast thy Cockrood, and thy Glade To take the precious Phesant made: Thy Lime-twigs, Snares, and Pit-falls then To catch the pilfring Birds, not Men. O happy life! if that their good The Husbandmen but understood! Who all the day themselves doe please, And Younglings, with such sports as these. And, lying down, have nought t'affright Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night.

Caetera desunt—