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No outward Signs their deepest Thoughts dif
For their dark Souls glare dreadful thro' their Eyes.
To hide their naked Charms the Virgins ftrove,
The boding Cries Carvilior's Ears invade,
Starting, he trembled at the well-known
His Bow, and Quiver, o'er his Arms he threw, And, wing'd with Love, fwift as the Winds he flew.
Soon on the Bank he ftood, a new Surprize!
With her they Prince Carvilior's Fate deplore, And fear for him, as for themselves before; But foon their Fears are with their Danger fled, And now the Nymph uprears her drooping Head;
For lo the blefs'd Preferver of her Fame, Safe from the Work of Fate, and Justice,
Quick to his Breast he clafp'd the love-fick Maid,
And thought the Toils he bore were well repay'd.
In filent Raptures they their Joys reveal,
Which none can well defcribe, but when they feel.
So fhall the Soul, if true the Sages fay,
Soon as the good old King the Story hears,
Not to defer the marriage Rites a Day:
To future Ages might be handed down,
Selected Souls, of all the Land the Flow'r,
To give, in Time of Need, the wretched Aid;
In Honour to the brave and godlike Man;
Which from the Virgins bathing took the
A Yorkshire Paftoral.
Oung Robin of the Plain, 'erft* blithest
That e'er with Sickle keen the Fields disray'd,
* An old Word fignifying Time past.
Who whistling drove the smoking Teem along, Or trimm'd the thorny Fence, with ruftic Song, Thro' ev'ry Seafon busy, still, and gay,
He plough'd, he fow'd; he made, and stack'd the Hay,
Not dreary Winter reach'd to Robin's Breast, He thrash'd, he winnow'd, and he crack'd his
But now, nor Spring's Return with Joy he fees,
Against a Gate he leans in rueful Plight,
Ah! wae is me, thus doleful 'gan he
Ah! wae the Time, whenever I was born, But far more waeful still that luckless Day, Which with the Commons gave Snaith Marsh
Snaith Marfh our whole Town's Pride, the poor Man's Bread,
Where, tho' no Rent he paid, his Cattle fed,
Fed on the fweetest Grafs which here rife*
Common to all, nor Fence, nor Landmark
Whofe flow'ry Turf no crooked Share had raz'd,
Nor wide destroying Scythe its Green effac'd. But now, ah! now, it stoops, fad feet + I ween, ‡
In mony a Row, with Rails fufpended 'tween. Wae warth § the Day, when tic'd fure by old Nick,
All to grow rich at once, like Neighbour Dick, To Town I high'd, and on a luckless Fair, For Cattle here to graze, war'd || all my Gear, ¶
And boldly ventur'd at one Caft to buy,
A deft ** fine breading Mear ††, and newted Whye ‡‡,
Ten Ewes, a Tup §§, and more, a Flock of
All which I thought would here so fast increase,