Now, Now, The Mirth Comes - The Hymns and Carols of Christmas

But as thy meat, so thy immortal wine
Makes the smirk face of each to shine,
And spring fresh rose-buds, while the salt, the wit,
Flows from the wine, and graces it;
While Reverence, waiting at the bashful board,
Honours my lady and my lord.
No scurril jest, no open scene is laid
Here, for to make the face afraid;
But temp'rate mirth dealt forth, and so discreet-
Ly, that it makes the meat more sweet,
And adds perfumes unto the wine, which thou
Dost rather pour forth, than allow
By cruse and measure; thus devoting wine,
As the Canary isles were thine;
But with that wisdom and that method, as
No one that's there his guilty glass
Drinks of distemper, or has cause to cry
Repentance to his liberty.
Note from Vizetelly:
Christmas Poetry By Robert Herrick
Although [this] poem contains no immediate reference to the Christmas season,
still, the pictures which it presents of the hospitality of the period, and the character of
the entertainment met with at the table of a county gentleman, of the reign of Charles
I., render it peculiarly applicable to that particular season of the year, when openhanded
liberality, such as it commemorates, is in the ascendant.
Editor's Note:
This is an excerpt from a longer poem, A Panegyric to Sir Lewis Pemberton; see“A
Selection From The Lyrical Poems Of Robert Herrick.” The full poem is reproduced in the
Appendix.
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