Wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, pease, stover, grass

The Tempest, [4.1.60-75]. Iris. “Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas/ Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease;/ Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,/ And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;/ Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,/ Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,/ To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom-groves,/ Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,/ Being lass-lorn; thy pole clipt vineyard;/ And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,/ Where thou thyself dost air –the queen o’ th’ sky,/ Whose wat’ry arch and messenger am I,/ Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,/ Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,/ To come and sport. Her peacock fly amain./ Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.”

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