Robert Herrick

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
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I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.

'Tis not the food, but the content,
That makes the table's merriment.

'Tis not the food, but the content,
That makes the table's merriment.

Attempt the end and never stand to doubt;
Nothing's so hard, but search will find it out.

Attempt the end and never stand to doubt;
Nothing's so hard, but search will find it out.

Hell is no other but a soundlesse pit,
Where no one beame of comfort peeps in it.

Hell is no other but a soundlesse pit,
Where no one beame of comfort peeps in it.

Praise they that will times past, I joy to see
My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.

Praise they that will times past, I joy to see
My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.