Ben Jonson(1572–1637)

To Penshurst

Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show,

Of touch5 or marble; nor canst boast a row

Of polished pillars, or a roof of gold;

Thou hast no lantern,6 whereof tales are told,

Or stair, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile,

And, these grudged at, art reverenced the while.7

Thou joy'st in better marks, of soil, of air,

Of wood, of water; therein thou art fair.

Thou hast thy walks for health, as well as sport;

Thy mount, 8 to which the dryads 0 do resort,wood nymphs

Where Pan and Bacchus9 their high feasts have made,

Beneath the broad beech and the chestnut shade;

That taller tree, which of a nut was set

At his great birth where all the Muses1 met.

There in the writhed bark are cut the names

Of many a sylvan, taken with his flames;2

And thence the ruddy satyrs oft provoke

T h e lighter fauns to reach thy Lady's Oak.

Thy copse too, n a m e d of Gamage,3 thou hast there,

That never fails to serve thee seasoned deer

W h e n thou wouldst feast or exercise thy friends.

T h e lower land, that to the river bends,

Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed;cows

T h e middle grounds thy mares and horses breed.

Each bank doth yield thee conies; and the tops,rabbits / hills

Fertile of wood, Ashore and Sidney's copse,4

To crown thy open table, doth provide

T h e purpled pheasant with the speckled side;

T h e painted partridge lies in every field,

And for thy mess 0 is willing to be killed.meal

And if the high-swollen Medway 0 fail thy dish,local

Thou hast thy ponds, that pay thee tribute fish,

Fat aged carps that run into thy net,

And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat,

As loath the second draught5 or cast to stay,await

Officiously at first themselves betray;dutifully

Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land

Before the fisher, or into his hand.

T h e n hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers,

Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours.

T h e early cherry, with the later plum,

Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come;

T h e blushing apricot and woolly peach

H a n g on thy walls, that every child may reach.

And though thy walls be of the country stone,

They're reared with no man's ruin, no man's groan;

There's none that dwell about them wish t h e m down;

But all come in, the farmer and the clown,countryman

And no one empty-handed, to salute

Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit.request to make

Some bring a capon,6 some a rural cake,

Some nuts, some apples; some that think they make

T h e better cheeses bring them, or else send

By their ripe daughters, whom they would c o m m e n d

This way to husbands, and whose baskets bear

An emblem of themselves in plum or pear.

But what can this (more than express their love)

Add to thy free provisions, far above

The need of such whose liberal board 0 doth flowtable

With all that hospitality doth know;

Where comes no guest but is allowed to eat,

Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat;

Where the same beer and bread, and selfsame wine,

That is his lordship's shall be also mine,

And I not fain to sit (as some this dayobliged

At great men's tables), and yet dine away.7

Here no man tells 0 my cups; nor, standing by,counts

A waiter doth my gluttony envy,

But gives me what I call, and lets me eat;

He knows below 0 he shall find plenty of meat.in servants' quarters

Thy tables hoard not up for the next day;

Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray

For fire, or lights, or livery; all is there,provisions

As if thou then wert mine, or I reigned here:

There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay.wait

That found King James when, hunting late this way

With his brave son, the prince,8 they saw thy fires

Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires

Of thy Penates 0 had been set on flameRoman household gods

To entertain them; or the country came

With all their zeal to warm their welcome here.

What (great I will not say, but) sudden cheer

Didst thou then make 'em! and what praise was heaped

On thy good lady then, who therein reaped

The just reward of her high housewifery;

To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh,

When she was far; and not a room but dressed

As if it had expected such a guest!

These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all.

Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal.

His children thy great lord may call his own,

A fortune in this age but rarely known.

They are, and have been, taught religion; thence

Their gentler spirits have sucked innocence.

Each morn and even they are taught to pray,

With the whole household, and may, every day,

Read in their virtuous parents' noble parts

The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts.

Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion 0 theecompare

With other edifices, when they see

Those proud, ambitious heaps, and nothing else,

May say their lords have built, but thy lord dwells.