Explore "The Lands of Whipperginny" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
("Heaven or Hell or the Lands of Whipperginny. " -- Nashe's _Jack / Wilton_.)
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.