Happie is he that from a faire voyáge Comes home as came the travell'd Ulysses Or him that raped the fleece, wayworn, in easeWith his owne kindred to live out hys age.When shall I see agayne myne owne villáge, My hearth's blue smoke? O when agayne shall these So weary eyes behold the home that isMore deare to me than a Duke's heritage?
Dearer to me my father's roofs that lean Than any Roman palace's proud gates; Dearer to me than marble the thin slates;Dearer to me my Loire than Tyber's sheen. Dwarf Lyre's top than the Palatinate's,Soft Anjou aire than anye sea-breeze keen.
