Of Water-cresse,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved Beet
To be more sweet.
’Tis thou that crownst my glittering Hearth
With guiltlesse mirth;
And giv’st me Wassaile Bowles to drink,
Spic’d to the brink.
Lord,’tis Thy plenty-dropping Hand