Come, friends and gentles, I invite

You, view the city, each delight

My stately home can show:

Survey my tilth, where mine own rain,

My highland dews,a the seed sustain,

The poems that I sow,

My portion's pleasance, all my care,

My passion,b and the arms I bear,

Best treasure trove I know,

Its book built like a stronghold, packed

With answers, shelves all neatly stacked,

Planed timbers, row on row.c

Enigmas it propounds; and he

That extricates himself, is free

From his (and from my) foe.

With lion's heart,d it shall eclipse

Books issuing from foreign lips,

Of bastard birth,e I trow.

Its verse proclaims, ‘A sour affect

Taints yours: and Yemen’s, I suspect,

From Christian airs did grow.’

Their gates, like graves around us, mock:

‘Hebrew lacks pedigree, its stock

Anonymous, and low.’

Their weeds they deem fruit-trees, to their

Carillon's tinkling trills compare

Our bell's deep-sounding doh.

While constant rain makes dark all bright,

To my rich yolk they pair their white—

As savourless as snow.f

Though strange their speech, their hearts so cruel,

His heart is stout whose right to rule

David's blood did bestow.

So let the proud stray lost, nor view

A landmark, while, my friends, for you

Free shall my sweet wine flow.g

Let each one con my tome: for it

A headspring is, like holy writ,

For all that come and go.

These riddles stumbling stragglers lead

To a stout refuge,h as they read

Fables from long ago.