A SONG OF THE MOON by BEN JONSON

To the wonders of the Peak,
I am come to add, and speak,
Or as some would say to break
My mind unto you,
And I swear by all the light
At my back, I am no sprite,
But a very merry wight
Pressed in to see you.

I had somewhat else to say,
But have lost it by the way,
I shall think on't ere't be day.
The moon commends her
To the merry beards in hall,
Those turned up, and those that fall,
Morts, and mirkins that wag all,
Tough, foul, or tender.

And as either news of mirth
Rise or fall upon the earth
She desires of every birth
Some taste to send her.
Specially the news of Derby;
For if there or peace or war be,
To the Peak it is so hard by,
She soon will hear it.

If there be a cuckold major,
That the wife heads for a wager
As the standard shall engage her,
The moon will bear it.
Though she change as oft as she,
And of circle be as free,
Or her quarters lighter be,
Yet do not fear it.

Or if any strife betide
For the breeches with the bride,
'Tis but the next neighbour ride
And she is pleased.
Or if it be the gossips' hap
Each to pawn her husband's cap,
At Pem Waker's good ale tap,
Her mind is eased.

Or by chance if in their grease
Or their ale, they break the peace,
Forfeiting their drinking lease,
She will not seize it.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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