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My goodly Stock, e'er yet they tafted Food, By cross-grain'd Hinds were driv'n from their Abode,
Tho' left bad Neighbours might have ow'd me fpight,
I fore-hand taid a Houfe to give me Right,
But Roger has a House in yonder Lane,
And we'll in Love be blefs'd, tho' Snaith
Alas! will Roger e'er his Sleep forego?
And when thy well-ftript Kye* would yield
Still on my Head the reeking + Kit I bore.
We've held together ganging down the Balk‡,
But now, I ween, mais ¶ no such Haste away.
And there again them leetfome t†† Days re-
1 Where unaffail'd by meety ‡‡ Folk in Pow'r, Our Cattle yet may feed, tho' Snaith Marsh
be no more.
But wae is me, I wot, I fand §§ am grown,
e'er Lady-day to wed,
'The Bands laft Sunday in the Church were bid;
*Cow. + Pail. Paths and Carriages,
Makes. ** An old Word for very foon.
fome or very chearful. Яtupid. Intends.
A Land in the Field for Foot§ Finding Fault.
|| Not. ++ Light§§ Foolish or
‡‡ Mighty Men.
And tho' his Fleece no more our Parfon takes, And roaft Goose dainty Food, his Table lacks, Yet he for Tythes ill-paid, gets better Land, While I am ev'ry Way o'th' lofing Hand : My Adlings war'd, and yet my Rent to pay, My Geefe, like Sufan's Faith, flown far away, My Cattle, like their Mafter, lank and poor, My Heart with hopeless Love to Pieces tore, And all these Sorrows came, fyne Snaith Marfh was no more.
The BROCADED GOWN and LINEN RAG.
ROM a fine Lady to her Maid,
Or from fome Caufe, I can't divine,
The Gown, contemptuous Beholder,
Unfit for Tinder, Lint, or Fodder, "Thou Thing of Filth, and (what is odder) "Discarded from thy Owner's Iffue,
"Dare you approach Brocade and Tiffue?
Who likes a Jeft, and was a Wag,
Tho' thy glib Tongue without an Halt run, Thou fhabby, fecond-hand, Subaltern, • At once so antient and so easy,
At once fo gorgeous and fo greasy, • I value not your gasconading, • Nor all your A-la-mode parading. ◄ But to abstain from Words imperious, And to be fober, grave, and serious, (Tho', fays Friend Horace, 'tis no Treason At once to giggle, and to Reason)
‹ When me you leffen, Friend, you dream, • For know I am not what I feem.
Soon by the Mill's refining Motion,
Then shall the Sons of Genius join To make my second Life divine. O Murray, let me then difpenfe, Some Portion of thy Eloquence; For Greek and Roman Rhetoric shine, < United and improv'd in thine. The fpirit-ftirring * Sage alarms, • And Ciceronian Sweetness charms.Th' Athenian Akenfide may deign, To ftamp me deathlefs with his Pen, While flows, approv'd by all the Nine, Th' immortal Soul of ev'ry Line. • Perhaps, ev'n all-accomplish'd Gray, • May grace me with a Doric Lay, • With sweet, with manly Words of Woe, That nervously pathetic flow.
What, Mason, may I owe to you,
6 Learning's first Pride, and Nature's too :
Such Glories my mean Lot betide Hear, tawdry Fool, and check thy Pride. Thou, after scouring, dying, turning, (If haply you escape a Burning) From Gown to Petticoat descending, • And in a Beggar's Mantle ending,