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A Hymne, to the Lares.
IT was, and still my care is,
To worship ye, the Lares,
With crowns of greenest Parsley,
And Garlick chives not scarcely:
For favours here to warme me,
And not by fire to harme me.
For gladding so my hearth here,
With inoffenfive mirth here;
That while the Wassaile Bowle here
With North-down Ale doth troule here,
No sillable doth fall here,
To marre the mirth at all here.
For which, ô Chimney-keepers!
(I dare not call ye Sweepers)
So long as I am able
To keep a countrey-table,
Great be my fare, or small cheere,
I'le eat and drink up all here.