Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren (and sistren) to dwell together in unity!
It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even Bunny's beard: that went down to the skirts of his garments;		As the dew of the Moon, and as the dew that descended upon the mount of Alto: for there the LORD commanded the blessing, even life for evermore.
		Psalm 133

Come, sons of summer, by whose toil

We are the lords of wine and oil;

By whose tough labors and rough hands

We rip up first, then reap our lands;

Crowned with the ears of corn, now come,

And, to the pipe, sing harvest home.

Come forth, my lord, and see the cart

Dressed up with all the country art.

See here a maukin, there a sheet,

As spotless pure as it is sweet;

The horses, mares, and frisking fillies,

Clad all in linen, white as lilies;

The harvest swains and wenches bound

For joy to see the hock-cart crowned.

About the cart, hear how the rout

Of rural younglings raise the shout;

Pressing before, some coming after,

Those with a shout, and these with laughter.

Some bless the cart; some kiss the sheaves;

Some prank them up with oaken leaves;

Some cross the fill-horse; some with great

Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat;

While other rustics, less attent

To prayers than to merriment,

Run after with their breeches rent.

Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth

Glitt'ring with fire; where, for your mirth,

Ye shall see first the large and chief

Foundation of your feast, fat beef,

With upper stories, mutton, veal,

And bacon, which makes full the meal;

With sev'ral dishes standing by,

As here a custard, there a pie,

And here all-tempting frumentry.

And for to make the merry cheer,

If smirking wine be wanting here,

There's that which drowns all care, stout beer,

Which freely drink to your lord's health;

Then to the plow, the commonwealth,

Next to your fans, your fats;

Then to the maids with wheaten hats;

To the rough sickle, and crook'd scythe,

Drink, frolic boys, till all be blithe.

Feed, and grow fat; and as ye eat,

Be mindful that the laboring neat,

As you, may have their fill of meat.

And know, besides, ye must revoke

The patient ox unto the yoke,

And all go back unto the plow

And harrow, though they're hanged up now.

And, you must know, your lord's word's true,

Feed him ye must, whose food fills you,

And that this pleasure is like rain,

Not sent ye for to drown your pain,

But for to make it spring again.

 Robert Herrick

 

voice	imho	vision

This page is dedicated to the Secret Chiefs (iii).

Three of Cups page(s) created: September 4, 1999; last updated: July 27, 2005.
http://www.moonchild.ch/Tarot/minor/cups/c03/c03.html