Or whether (as some Sager sing) The frolick Wind that breaths the Spring. Zephir with Aurora playing, As he met her once a Maying, There on beds of Violets blew, And fresh-blown Roses washr in dew Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair, So bucksom, blith, and debonair. Haste thee Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and Youthful Jollity, Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come, and trip it as you go On the light fantastick toe, And in thy right band lead with thee, The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty; And if I give thee Honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy cruc
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free,
To hear the Lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-towre in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spight of forrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,
Or the twisted Eglantine.
While the Çock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the Barn-door,
Stoutly struts his Dames before,
Oft liftning how the Hounds, and Horn
Chearly rouse the slumb'ring morn,
From the side of some Hoar Hill,
Through the high wood echoing frih.
Some time walking not unseen
By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green,
Right against the Eaftern gate;
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Roab'd in Flames, and Amber light,
The Clouds in thousand Liveries dight,
While the Plow-mán near at hand,
Whistles o'er the Furrowd Land,
And the Milkmaid fingeth bliche,
And the Mower whets his fiche,
And every Shepherd tells his tale
Under the Hawthorn in the dale.
Streight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the Lantskip round it measures,
Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring Clouds do often restyj
Meadows trim with Daisies pide,
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide. :
Towers and Battlements it sees
Bosom’d high in tufted Trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes.
From betwixt two aged Okes,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis mets
Are at their favoury dinner set
Of Herbs, and other Country Messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses
And then in haste her Bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves ;
Or if the earlier Season lead
To the tann'd Haycock in the Mead,
Sometimes with secure delight
The up-land Hamlets will inýite,
When the
merry
Bells ring round,
And the jocond rebecks found
To many a Youth, and many a Maid,
Dancing in the Chequer'd shade ;
And young and old come forch to play
On a Sunshine Holy-day,
Till the live-long day-lighe fail,
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Fairy Mab the junkets eat,
She was pincht, and pulld she said,
And by the Friars Lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet,
To earn his Cream-bowle duly set,
When in one night, e'er glimps of morn,
His shadowy Flale hath thresh'd the Corn,
That ten day-labourers could not end,
Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend.
And stretch'd out all the Chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And Crop-full out of doors he flings,
E’er the first Cock his Mattin rings:
Thus done the Tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering Winds foon lull'd asleep.
Towred Cities please us then,
And the busie humm of men,
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold,
With store of Ladies, whose bright Eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prise,
Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend
To win her Grace, whom all commend,
There ler Hymen oft appear
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,
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