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Yet suffer me, thou bard of wondrous meed, “ Sooner shall cats disport in waters clear,
Amid thy bays to weave this rural weed.

And speckled mackrel graze the meadows fair;
Now the Sun drove adown the western road, Sooner shall screech-owls bask in sunny day,
And oxen, laid at rest, forgot the goad, 20 And the slow ass on trees, like squirrels, play; 70
The clown, fatigued, trudg'd homeward with his Sooner shall snails on insect pinions rove;
spade,

Than I forget my shepherd's wonted love. Across the meadows stretch'd the lengthen'd shade; “ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, When Sparabella, pensive and forlorn,

" 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' Alike with yearning love and labour worn,

“ Ah ! didst thou know what proffers I withstood, Lean'd on her rake, and straight with doleful guise When late I met the squire in yonder wood! Did this sad plaint in mournful notes devise : To me he sped, regardless of his game,

“Come Night, as dark as pitch, surround my head, while all my cheek was glowing red with share ; From Sparabella Bumkinet is fled;

My lip he kiss'd, and prais'd my healthful look, The ribbon that his valorous cudgel won,

Then from bis purse of silk a guinea took, Last Sunday happier Clumsilis put on. 30 Into my hand he forc'd the tempting gold, Sure if he'd eyes, (but Love, they say, has none) While I with modest struggling broke his hold. I whilom by that ribbon had been known.

He swore that Dick, in livery strip'd with lace, Ah, well-a-day! I'm shent with baneful smart, Should wed me soon, to keep me from disgrace; For with the ribbon he bestow'd his heart.

But I nor footmen priz'd, nor golden fee; “ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, For what is lace or gold, compar'd to thee? I 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

“ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, “ Shall heavy Clumsilis with me compare ? < 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' View this, ye lovers, and like me despair.

“ Now plain I ken whence Love his rise begun; Her blubber'd lip by smutty pipes is worn,

Sure he was born some bloody butcher's son, And in her breath tobacco whiffs are borne! 40 Bred up in shambles, where our younglings slain The cleanly cheese-press she could never turn, Erst taught him mischief, and to sport with pain. Her awkward fist did ne'er employ the churn; The father only silly sheep annoys, If e'er she brew'd, the drink would straight go sour, The son the sillier shepherdess destroys. Before it ever felt the thunder's power;

Does son or father greater mischief do? No huswifery the dowdy creature knew;

The sire is cruel, so the son is too. To sum up all, her tongue confess'd the shrew. “ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid,

“ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, " 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.' • 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

“ Farewell, ye woods, ye meads, ye streams that “ I've often seen my visage in yon lake, Nor are my features of the homeliest make: 50 A sudden death shall rid me of my woe. 100 Though Clumsilis may boast a whiter dye, This penknife keen my windpipe shall divide. Yet the black sloe turns in my rolling eye; What! shall I fall as squeaking pigs have dy'd ? And fairest blossoms drop with every blast, No— To some tree this carcass I'll suspend. But the brown beauty will like hollies last.

But worrying curs find such untimely end ! Her wan complexion's like the wither'd leek, I'll speed me to the pond, where the high stool While Katharine pears adorn my ruddy cheek. On the long plank hangs o'er the muddy pool; Yet she, alas ! the witless lout hath won,

That stool, the dread of every scolding quean; And by her gain poor Sparabell's undone !

Yet, sure a lover should not die so mean! Let hares and hounds in coupling straps unite, There plac'd aloft, I'll rave and rail by fits The clucking hen make friendship with the kite ; Though all the parish say I've lost my wits; 110 Let the fox simply wear the nuptial noose, 61 And thence, if courage holds, myself I'll throw, And join in wedlock with the waddling goose; And quench my passion in the lake below. For love hath brought a stranger thing to pass, “ Ye lasses, cease your burthen, cease to m The fairest shepherd weds the foulest lass.

And, by my case forewarn'd, go mind your own.' “ My plaint, ye lasses, with this burthen aid, • 'Tis hard so true a damsel dies a maid.'

Ver. 67.

Ante leves ergo pascentur in æthere cervi, Ver. 17. Meed, an old word for fame, or renown.

Et freta destituent nudos in littore pisces Ver. 18. - Hanc sine tempora circum

Quàm nostro illius labatur pectore vultus. Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros.

VIRGE Ver. 25.

Virg.

Ver. 89. To ken. Scire. Chaucer, to ken, and Incumbens tereti Damon sic cæpit olivæ. VIRG.

kende ; notus A. S. cunnam. Goth. kunnam. Ger. Ver. 33 Shent, an old word, signifying hurt, or

manis kennen. Danis kiende. Islandis kunno. harmed.

Belgis kennen. This word is of general use, but Ver. 37.

not very common, though not unknown to the Mopso Nisa datur, quid non speremus amantes ? Ver. 49

vulgar. Ken, for prospicere, is well known, and VIRG.

used to discover by the eye. Ray, F. R. S. Nec sum adeo informis, nuper me in littore vidi. Ver. 53.

VIRG. Nunc scio quid sit amor, &c. Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinis nigra leguntur. Crudelis mater magis an puer improbus ille ?

VIRG. Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater. Ver. 59.

VIRG. Jungentur jam gryphes equis; ævoque sequenti

Ver. 99.

- vivite sylvæ : Cum canibus timidi venient ad pocula damæ. Præceps aërii speculá de montis in undas Virg. Deferar.

VIRG.

How;

in,

HOBNELIA.

The Sun was set; the night came on apace, • With my sharp heel I three times mark the And falling dews bewet around the place;

ground, The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings; The prudent maiden deems it now too late,

“ Last May-day fair I search'd to find a snail, And till to-morrow comes defers her fate.

50
That might my secret lover's name reveal.
120

Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found,
(For always snails near sweetest fruit abound).

I seiz'd the vermine, whom I quickly sped,
THURSDAY; OR, THE SPELL. And on the earth the milk-white embers spread.

Slow crawld the snail; and, if I right can spell,
In the soft ashes mark'd a curious L.

Oh, may this wondrous omen lucky prove!
HobseLIA, seated in a dreary vale,

For L is found in Lubberkin and Love.
In pensive mood rehears'd her piteous tale ;
Her piteous tale the winds in sighs bemoan,

"With my sharp heel I three times mark the And pining echo answers groan for groan.

ground, " I rue the day, a rueful day, I trow,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 60 The woeful day, a day indeed of woe!

“ Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame, When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove,

And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name; A maiden fine bedight he hapt to love ;

This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd, The maiden fine bedight his love retains,

That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd. And for the village he forsakes the plains. 10 As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow; Return, my Lubberkin, these ditties hear;

For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow. Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care.

• With my sharp heel I three times mark the • With my sharp heel I three times mark the

ground, ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 68 And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

“ As peasecods once I pluck’d, I chanc'd to see " When first the year I heard the cuckoo sing, One that was closely fill’d with three times three. And call with welcome note the budding spring,

Which, when I cropp'd, I safely home convey'd, I straightway set a running with such haste,

And o'er the door the spell in secret laid ; Deborah that won the smock scarce ran so fast;

My wheel I turn'd, and sung a ballad new, Till spent for lack of breath, quite weary grown,

While from the spindle I the fleeces drew; Upon a rising bank I sat adown,

20 The latch mov'd up, when, who should first come in, Then doff”d my shoe, and, by my troth, I swear,

But, in his proper person

- Lubberkin. Therein I spy'd this yellow frizzled hair,

I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see; As like to Lubberkin's in curl and hue,

Sure sign that he would break his word with me. As if upon his comely pate it grew.

Eftsoons I join'd it with my wonted slight:

So may again his love with mine unite! 80 • With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,

• With my sharp heel I three times mark the And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

ground,

And turn me thrice around, around, around.' “ At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought, But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought ;

“ This lady-fly I take from off the grass, I scatter'd round the seed on every side,

Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass, And three times in a trembling accent cry'd,

• Fly, lady-bird, North, South, or East, or West, 30

Fly where the man is found that I love best. * This hemp-seed with my virgin hand I sow, Who shall my true-love be, the crop shall mow.'

He leaves my hạnd; see, to the West he's flown, I straight look'd back, and, if my eyes speak truth, i

To call my true love from the faithless town. With his keen scythe behind me came the youth. • With my sharp heel I three times mark the • With my sharp heel I three times mark the And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

ground,

90 ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' “ I pare this pippin round and round again,

My shepherd's name to flourish on the plain, “ Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind

I Aing th' unbroken paring o'er my head, Their paramours with mutual chirpings find;

Upon the grass a perfect L is read;
I early rose, just at the break of day,

Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen
Before the Sun had chas'd the stars away ; 40 Than what the paring makes upon the green.
A-field I went, amid the morning dew,
To milk my kine (for so should huswives do);

• With my sharp heel I three times mark the Thee first I spy'd; and the first swain we see,

ground, In spite of Fortune, shall our true-love be.

And turn me thrice around, around, around.' See, Lubberkin, each bird his partner take ;

Ver. 64. - εγώ δ' επί Λίλφιδι δάφναν And canst thou then thy sweetheart dear forsake ?

Αίθω. χ ως αυτά λακέει, μέγα καπ

ασπυρίσασα. . Ver. 66.

Theoc. Ver. 8. Dight, or bedight, from the Saxon word Daphnis me malus urit, ego hanc in Daphnide. dighlan, which signifies to set in order.

Virg. Ver. 21. Doff and don, contracted from the words

Ver. 93. Transque caput jace; ne respexeris. do off and do on.

VIRG.

BUMKINET.

BUMKINET.

“ This pippin shall another trial make,

From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne, See from the core two kernels brown I take; 100 And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn. This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn;

Yet ev’n this season pleasance blithe affords, And Boobyclod on t' other side is borne.

Now the squeez'd press foams with our apple hoards. But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground, Come, let us hie, and quaff a cheery bowl, A certain token that his love's unsound;

Let cyder new “wash sorrow from thy soul." 10 While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last ; Oh, were his lips to mine but join'd so fast !

GRUBBINOL. • With my sharp heel I three times mark the Ah, Bumkinet! since thou from hence wert gone, ground,

From these sad plains all merriment is flown; And turn me thrice around, around, around.' Should I reveal my grief, 'twould spoil thy cheer, “ As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree,

And make thine eye o’erflow with many a tear. I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee. 110 He wist not when

the hempen string I drew, Now mine I quickly doff, of inkle blue.

“ Hang sorrow !" Let's to yonder hut repair, Together fast I tye the garters twain;

And with trim sonnets “ cast away our care. And while I knit the knot repeat this strain : “ Gillian of Croydon” well thy pipe can play: • Three times a true-love's knot I tye secure, Thou sing'st most sweet," - O'er hills and far away." Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure!' Of “ Patient Grissel" I devise to sing, • With my sharp heel I three times mark the And catches quaint shall make the valleys ring. 20 ground,

Come, Grubbinol, beneath this shelter, come; And turn me thrice around, around, around.'

From hence we view our flocks securely roam. “ As I was wont, I trudg'd last market-day

GRUBBIXOL.
To town, with new-laid eggs preserv'd in hay, 120

Yes, blithsome lad, a tale I mean to sing,
I made my market long before 'twas night,
My purse grew heavy, and my basket light.

But with my woe shall distant valleys ring.
Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went,

The tale shall make our kidlings droop their head, And in love-powder all my money spent.

For, woe is me! - our Blouzelind is dead!
Behap what will, next Sunday, after prayers,
When to the alehouse Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,

Is Blouzelinda dead ? farewell, my glee!
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow. No happiness is now reserv'd for me.
• With my sharp heel I three times mark the As the wood-pigeon coos without his mate,
ground,

So shall my doleful dirge bewail her fate. 90 And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 130

Of Blouzelinda fair I mean to tell,

The peerless maid that did all maids excel. “ But hold !-our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed, ears,

And evening tears upon the grass be spread ; O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears.

The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow,
He comes! he comes! Hobnelia's not bewray'd, And winds shall moan aloud — when loud they blow.
Nor shall she, crown'd with willow, die a maid. Henceforth, as oft as Autumn shall return,
Ile vows, he swears, he'll give me a green gown : The drooping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn;
Oh dear! I fall adowni, adown, adown!”

The season quite shall strip the country's pride,
For 'twas in Autumn Blouzelinda dy'd.

40

Where'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view,
FRIDAY; OR, THE DIRGE..

Woods, dairy, barn, and mows, our passion knew,

When I direct my eyes to yonder wood,
BUMKINET, GRUBBINOL.

Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood.

Thither I've often been the damsel's guide,
BU MKINET.

When rotten sticks our fuel have supply'd; Why, Grubbinol, dost thou so wistful seem ? There I remember how her faggots large There's sorrow in thy look, if right I deem. Were frequently these happy shoulders' charge. "Tis true yon oaks with yellow tops appear,

Sometimes this crook drew hazel-boughs adown, And chilly blasts begin to nip the year ;

And stuff'd her apron wide with nuts so brown; 50

Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way, Ver. 109.

Or wallowing ʼmid a feast of acorns lay; Necte tribus nodis ternos, Amarylli, colores : Necte, Amarylli, modo; et Veneris dic vincula Latin dirige in the popish hymn, dirige gressus meos, necto.

Virg. as some pretend; but from the Teutonic durke, Ver. 128.

laudare, to praise and extol. Whence it is possible Has herbas, atque hæc Ponto mihi lecta venena their dyrke, and our dirge, was a laudatory song to Ipse dedit Mæris.

VIRG. commemorate and applaud the dead. Ver. 127. Ποτών κακόν αύριον οισώ. . THEoc. .

Cowell's Interpreter. Ver. 131.

Ver. 15. Nescio quid certe est ; et Hylax in limine latrat. Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes

VIRG. Aut Alconis habes laudes, aut jurgia Codri. Virg. · Dirge, or dyrye, a mournful ditty, or song of Ver. 27. Glee, joy ; from the Dutch glooren, to lamentation, over the dead; not a contraction of the

recreate.

Th’ untoward creatures to the stye I drove, The lambkin, which her wonted tendance bred, And whistled all the way — or told my love. Dropy'd on the plains that fatal instant dead; If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie,

Swarm'd on a rotten stick the bees I spy'd, I shall her goodly countenance espy;

Which erst I saw when Goody Dobson dy'd. For there her goodly countenance I've seen,

How shall I, void of tears, her death relate, Set off with kerchief starch'd and pinners clean, When on her darling's bed her mother sate !

110 Sometimes, like wax, she rolls the butter round These words the dying Blouzelinda spoke, Or with the wooden lily prints the pound. 60 And of the dead let none the will revoke: Whilom I've seen her skim the clouted cream, “ Mother,” quoth she, “let not the poultry need, And press from spungy curds the milky stream: And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed : But now, alas! these ears shall hear no more Be these my sister's care — and every morn The whining swine surround the dairy door ; Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn; No more her care shall fill the hollow tray,

The sickly calf that's hous'd be sure to tend, To fat the guzzling hogs with floods of whey. Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend. Lament, ye swine, in grunting spend your grief, Yet ere I die see, mother, yonder shelf, For you, like me, have lost your sole relief. There secretly I've hid my worldly pelf. 120

When in the barn the sounding flail I ply, Twenty good shillings in a rag I laid; Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to Aly; 70 Be ten the parson's, for my sermon paid. The poultry there will seem around to stand,

The rest is yours –

my spinning-wheel and rake Waiting upon her charitable hand.

Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake; No succour meet the poultry now can find, My new straw hat, that's trimly lin’d with green, For they, like me, have lost their Blouzelind. Let Peggy wear, for she's a damsel clean. Whenever by yon barley-mow I pass,

My leathern bottle, long in harvests try'd,
Before my eyes will trip the tidy lass.

Be Grubbinol's - this silver ring beside :
I pitch'd the sheaves, (oh, could I do so now !) Three silver pennies, and a nine-pence bent,
Which she in rows pild on the growing mow. A token kind to Bumkinet is sent."

130
There every deale my heart by love was gain'd, Thus spoke the maiden, while the mother cry'd;
There the sweet kiss my courtship has explain'd. 80 | And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, she dy'd.
Ah, Blouzelind! that mow I ne'er shall see,

To show their love, the neighbours far and near But thy memorial will revive in me.

Follow'd with wistful look the damsel's bier.
Lament, ye fields, and rueful symptoms show; Sprig'd rosemary the lads and lasses bore,
Henceforth let not the smelling primrose grow; While dismally the parson walk'd before.
Let weeds, instead of butter-flowers, appear, Upon her grave the rosemary they threw,
And meads, instead of daisies, hemlock bear; The daisy, butter-Hower, and endive blue.
For cowslips sweet let dandelions spread ;

After the good man warn'd us from his text, 139 For Blouzelinda, blithsome maid, is dead !

That none could tell whose turn would be the next; Lament, ye swains, and o'er her grave bemoan, He said, that Heaven would take her soul, no And spell ye right this verse upon her stone: 90

doubt, “ Here Blouzelinda lies-- Alas, alas !

And spoke the hour-glass in her praise - quite out. Weep shepherds — and remember flesh is grass." To her sweet memory, flowery garlands strung,

O’er her now empty seat aloft were hung.

With wicker rods we fenc'd her tomb around, GRUBBINOL

To ward from man and beast the hallow'd ground; Albeit thy songs are sweeter to mine ear,

Lest her new grave the parson's cattle raze, Than to the thirsty cattle rivers clear ;

For both his horse and cow the church-yard graze. Or winter porridge to the labouring youth,

Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, Or buns and sugar to the damsel's tooth;

To drink new cyder mull’d, with ginger warm. 150 Yet Blouzelinda's name shall tune my lay,

For Gaffer Treadwell told us, by the by, Of her I'll sing for ever and for aye.

“ Excessive sorrow is exceeding dry." When Blouzelind expir'd, the wether's bell

While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, Before the drooping flock tolld forth her knell; 100 Or lasses with soft stroakings milk the cow; The solemn death-watch click’d the hour she dy'd, While paddling ducks the standing lake desire, And shrilling crickets in the chimney cry'd ! Or battening hogs roll in the sinking mire; The boding raven on her cottage sate,

While moles the crumbled earth in hillocks raise ; And with hoarse croaking warn'd us of her fate ;

So long shall swains tell Blouzelinda's praise.

Thus wail'd the louts in melancholy strain,

Till bonny Susan sped across the plain. 160 Ver. 84.

They seized the lass in apron clean array'd, Pro molli violâ, pro purpureo narcisso,

And to the ale-house forc'd the willing maid; Carduus et spinis surgit paliurus acutis. Virg. In ale and kisses they forget their cares,

And Susan Blouzelinda's loss repairs.
Et tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen.
Ver. 93.

VIRG.
Tale tuum carmen nobis, divine poeta,

Ver. 153. Quale sopor fessis in gramine: quale per æstum

Dum juga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, Dulcis aquæ saliente sitim restinguere rivo.

Dumque thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicada, Nos tamen hæc quocunque modo tibi nostra vicissim, Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque maneDicemus, Daphninque tuum tollemus ad astra.

bunt.

VIRG. Virg. Ver. 96. An imitation of Theocritus.

Ver. 90.

:

BOW ZYBEUS

For owls, as swains observe, detest the light,

And only sing and seek their prey by night.
SATURDAY; OR, THE FLIGHTS.

How turnips hide their swelling heads below:
And how the closing coleworts upwards grow ;

How Will-o-wisp misleads night-faring clowns SUBLIMER strains, O rustic Muse! prepare ; O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs. Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care ;

Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail, Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise,

And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. 60 The drunkard's fights require sonorous lays; He sung where woodcocks in the Summer feed, With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse,

And in what climates they renew their breed, (tend, While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse. (Soine think to northern coasts their flight they

'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil Or to the Moon in midnight hours ascend); Of the ripe barvest 'gan to rid the soil;

Where swallows in the Winter's season keep, Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout, And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep, Clean damsels bound the gather'd sheaves about; 10 How Nature does the puppy's eyelid close The lads, with sharpen'd hook and sweating brow, Till the bright Sun has nine times set and rose; Cut down the labours of the winter plough. (For huntsmen by their long experience find, To the near hedge young Susan steps aside, That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind.) 70 She feign'd her coat or garter was unty'd;

Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows, Whate'er she did, she stoop'd adown unseen,

For still new fairs before his eyes arose. And merry reapers what they list will ween. How pedlars' stalls with glittering toys are laid, Soon she rose up, and cry'd with voice so shrill, The various fairings of the country maid. That Echo answer'd from the distant hill;

Long silken laces hang upon the twine, The youths and damsels ran to Susan's aid, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine ; Who thought some adder had the lass dismay'd. 20 How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissars spies, When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spy'd,

And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes. His hat and oaken staff lay close beside;

Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told, That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing,

Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold. 80 Or with the rosin’d bow torment the string;

The lads and lasses trudge the street along, That Bowzybeus who, with fingers speed,

And all the fair is crowded in his song. Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed; The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue,

His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells; Ballads and roundelays and catches sung:

Now o’er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright, And on the rope the venturous maiden swings; And in disport surround the drunken wight. 30 Jack Pudding in his party-colour'd jacket

« Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet. The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats, strong!

Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cbeats. 90 Thou should'st have left the fair before 'twas night; Then sad he sung the Children in the Wood : But thou sat'st toping till the morning light." (Ah, barbarous uncle, stain'd with infant blood!)

Cicely, brisk maid, steps forth before the rout, How blackberries they pluck'd in deserts wild, And kiss'd with smacking lip the snoaring lout : And fearless at the glittering falchion smild; (For custom says, “ Whoe'er this venture proves, Their little corpse the robin-red-breasts found, For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves.")

And strow'd with pious bill the leaves around. By her example Dorcas bolder grows,

(Ah, gentle birds! if this verse lasts so long, And plays a tickling straw within his nose. Your names shall live for ever in my song.) He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke (spoke : For Buxom Joan he sung the doubtful strife, The sneering swains with stammering speech be- How the sly sailor made the maid a wife. 100 " To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er,

To louder strains be rais'd his voice, to tell As for the maids — I've something else in store." What woeful wars in Chevy-chace befell,

No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song, When Percy drove the deer with hound and horn, But lads and lasses round about him throng. Wars to be wept by children yet unborn! Not ballad-singer plac'd above the crowd

Ah, Witherington! more years thy life had crown'd, Sings with a note so shrilling sweet and loud ; If thou hadst never heard the horn or hound ! Nor parish-clerk, who calls the psalm so clear,

Yet shall the 'squire, who fought on bloody stumps, Like Bowzybeus soothes th' attentive ear. 50 By future bards be wail'd in doleful dumps. Of Nature's laws his carols first begun,

All in the land of Essex next he chants, 109 Why the grave owl can never face the Sun. How to sleek mares starch quakers turn gallants : Ver. 22.

Ver. 51. Our swain had possibly read Tusser, Serta procul tantum capiti delapsa jacebant. Virg. from whence he might have collected these philoso Ver. 40.

phical observations : Sanguineis frontem moris et tempora pingit. Virg. Namque canebat, uti magnum per inane coacta, &e. Ver. 43.

Ver. 97. Carmina, quæ vultis, cognoscite ! carmina vobis ; Fortunati ambo, quid mea carmina possunt, Huic aliud mercedis erit.

Virg. Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo. Virg. Ver. 47.

Ver. 99. A song in the comedy of Love for Love, Nec tantum Phæbo gaudet Parnassia rupes : beginning " A soldier and a sailor," &c. Nec tantum Rhodope mirantur et Ismarus Orphea. Ver. 109.

A song of Sir J. Denham's.

See Virg. his poems.

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