THE LANDS OF WHIPPERGINNY (“Heaven or Hell or the Lands of Whipperginny.”—Nashe’s Jack Wilton.)
Reading edition
Come closer yet, sweet honeysuckle, my coney, O my Jinny, With a low sun gilding the bloom of the wood. Be this Heaven, be it Hell, or the Lands of Whipperginny, It lies in a fairy lustre, it savours most good. Then stern proud psalms from the chapel on the moors Waver in the night wind, their firm rhythm broken, Lugubriously twisted to a howling of whores Or lent an airy glory too strange to be spoken.