With all that hospitality doth know! Where comes no guest but is allow'd 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 day At great men's tables) and yet dine away. Here no man tells my cups; nor, standing by, A waiter doth my gluttony envy: But gives me what I call, and lets me eat; He knows below he shall find plenty of meat; 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, As if thou, then, wert mine, or I reign'd here. There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. This found King James, when hunting late this way With his brave son, the Prince; they saw thy fires Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires Of thy Penates had been set on flame 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 Did'st thou then make them! and what praise was heap'd On thy good lady then, who therein reap'd 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 drest 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 * * * * * have been taught religion; thence Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. Each morn and even they are taught to pray, With the whole household, and may, every day, Head, in their virtuous parents' noble parts, The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee With other edifices, when they see Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, May say their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US.