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Sole or responsive each to other's note,
Singing their great Creator ! oft in bands
While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk,
With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds
In full harmonic number join'd, their songs
Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven.

Thus talking, hand in hand alone they pass’d
On to their blissful bower.



This only grant me that my means may
Too low for envy, for contempt too high.

Some honour I would have,
Not from great deeds, but good alone;
The unknown are better than ill known;
Rumour can ope


Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends
Not on the number but the choice of friends.
Books should, not business, entertain the light,
And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night.

My house a cottage more
Than palace, and should fitting be
For all my use, no luxury.

My garden painted o'er
With Nature's hand, not Art's, can pleasures yield,
Horace might envy in his Sabine field.
Thus would I double


life's fading space ; For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.

And in this true delight,
These unbought sports, this happy state,
I would not fear, nor wish

my fate;
But boldly say each night,
To-morrow let my sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have lived to-day.

Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?

Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill.
Thou dost drink and dance and sing,
Happier than the happiest king !
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee,
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow:
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently joy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy:
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect, happy, thou
Dost neither age nor winter know,
But when thou'st drunk, and danced and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
Sated with thy summer feast
Thou retir'st to endless rest.

Hail, old patrician trees so great and good!
Hail, ye plebeian underwood,

Where the poetic birds rejoice,
And for their quiet nest and plenteous food,

Pay with their grateful voice !
Here Nature does a house for me erect,
Nature, the wisest architect.

Who those fond artists does despise,
That can the fair and living trees neglect,

Yet the dead timber prize.
Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying,
Hear the soft winds, above me flying:

With all their wanton boughs dispute,


155 And the more tuneful birds to both replying ;

Nor be myself too mute.
A silver stream shall roll his waters near,
Gilt with the sunbeams here and there,

On whose enamell’d back I'll walk,
And see how prettily they smile, and hear

How prettily they talk.
All wretched and too solitary he
Who loves not his own company;

He 'll feel the weight of 't many a day,
Unless he call in Sin or Vanity

To help to bear 't away!

Tell me not of joy! there's none,
Now my little sparrow's gone;

He, just as you, would sigh and woo, He would chirp and flatter me ;

He would hang the wing awhile,

Till at length he saw me smile,
Lord ! how sullen he would be !
He would catch a crumb, and then
Sporting let it go again,

He from my lip would moisture sip,
He would from my trencher feed;

Then would hop and then would run,
And cry fillip! when he'd done;
Oh! whose heart can choose but bleed ?
Oh! how eager would he fight,
And ne'er hurt though he did bite :

No morn did pass, but on my glass
He would sit, and mark, and do

What I did; now ruffle all

His feathers o'er, now let them fall, And then straightway sleek them too. Whence will Cupid get his darts Feathered now, to pierce our hearts ?

A wound he may, not love, convey,

Now this faithful bird is gone.

Oh! let mournful turtles join

With loving redbreasts, and combine To sing dirges o'er his stone. LXX. SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

1. WHY SO PALE ? Why so pale and wan, fond lover ?

Prythee, why so pale ? Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?

Prythee, why so pale ?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner ?

Prythee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do 't ?

Prythee, why so mute ? Quit, quit for shame; this will not move,

This cannot take her ;
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her,
The devil take her.

2. THE WEDDING. I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen;

Oh things without compare ! Such sights again cannot be found In any place on English ground,

Be it at wake or fair. At Charing-Cross, hard by the way Whore we, thou knowest, do sell our hay,

There is a house with stairs : And there did I see coming down Such folks as are not in our town,

Forty at least, in pairs. Amongst the rest, one pestilent fine (His beard no bigger, though, than thine)

Walked on before the rest :

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Our landlord looks like nothing to him ;
The King (God bless him !) 'twould undo him,

Should he go still so drest.
At course-a park, withouten doubt,
He should have first been taken out

By all the maids i’ the town:
Though lusty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the Green,

Or Vincent of the Crown.
But wot you what? the youth was going
To make an end of all his wooing :

The parson for him staid ;
Yet, by his leave, for all his haste,
He did not so much wish all past,

Perchance, as did the maid.
The maid—and thereby hangs a tale-
For such a maid no Whitsun ale

Could ever yet produce;
No grape that's lusty ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,

Nor half so full of juice.
Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on which they did bring,

It was too wide a peck;
And to say truth (for out it must)
It looked like the great collar, just,

About our young colt's neck.
Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice stole in and out

As if they feared the light:
But oh! she dances such a way;
No sun upon an Easter day

Is half so fine a sight.
He would have kissed her once or twice,
But she would not, she was so nice,

She would not do't in sight;
And then she looked as who should say,
I will do what I list to day,

And you shall do't at night.

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