And where now shall we brew our ale?—
But even within one walnut-shale.
And also where shall we our dinner make?—
But even upon a galled horse-back:
For there we shall have good company
With humbling and bumbling and much melody.
When ended was this wedding-day,
The Bee he took his Fly away,
And laid her down upon the marsh
Between one marigold and the long grass.
And there they begot good master gnat
And made him the heir of all,—that’s flat.
From Thomas Weelkes’ Airs or Fantastic Spirits, 1608.
Audivere, Lyce.—Horace.
The gods have heard my vows,
But now those spring-tide roses
Are turn’d to winter-posies,
To rue and thyme and sage,
Fitting thy shrivell’d age.
Fa la!