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Near to this dome is found a patch so green,! On which the tribe their gambols do display; And at the door imprisoning board is seen, Lest weakly wights of smaller size should stray; Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day!

The noises intermix'd, which thence resound, Do learning's little tenement betray; Where sits the dame, disguis'd in look profound, And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her wheel around.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,
Emblem right meet of decency does yield;
Her apron dy'd in grain, as blue, I trowe,
As is the hare-bell that adorns the field;
And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield
Tway birchen sprays; with anxious fear entwin'd,
With dark distrust, and sad repentance fill'd;

And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction join'd, And fury uncontroul'd, and chastisement unkind.

Few but have ken'd, in semblance meet pourtray'd, The childish faces of old Eol's train;

Libs, Notus, Auster; these in frowns array'd, How then would fare or earth, or sky, or main, Were the stern god to give his slaves the rein? And were not she rebellious breasts to quell, And were not she her statutes to maintain, The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell, Where comely peace of mind, and decent order dwell.

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown: A russet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air; 'Twas simple russet, but it was her own; 'Twas her own country bred the flock so fair! 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare; And, sooth to say, her pupils, rang'd around,” Through pious awe, did term it passing rare; For they in gaping wonderment abound, And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight

on ground.

Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, Or dame, the sole additions she did hear; Yet these she challeng'd, these she held right dear: Ne would esteem him act as mought behove, Who should not honour'd eld with these revere : For never title yet so mean could prove, But there was eke a mind which did that title love.

One ancient hen she took delight to feed,
The plodding pattern of the busy dame;
Which, ever and anon, impell'd by need,
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came;
Such favour did her past deportment claim;
And, if neglect had lavish'd on the ground
Fragment of bread, she would collect the same;

For well she knew, and quaintly could expound, What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb she


Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak That in her garden sip'd the silvery dew; Where no vain flower disclos'd a gaudy streak; But herbs for use, and physick, not a few, Of grey renown, within those borders grew: The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme, Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue: The lowly gill, that never dares to climb; And more I fain would sing, disdaining here to rhyme.

Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung,

That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around;
And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue;
And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's

And marj'ram sweet, in shepherd's posie found;
And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom
Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound,
To lurk amidst the labours of her loom,

And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle rare perfume.

And here trim rosemarine, that whilom crown'd
The daintiest garden of the proudest peer;
Ere, driven from its envy'd site, it found
A sacred shelter for its branches here;

Where, edg'd with gold, its glittering skirts ap


Oh wassel days! O customs meet and well!
Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere

Simplicity then sought this humble cell, Nor ever would she more with thane and lordling


Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did mete; If winter 'twere, she to her hearth did cleave, But in her garden found a summer-seat: Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a song entreat, All, for the nonce, untuning every string, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had they to


For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore, And pass'd much time in truly virtuous deed i And, in those elfins' ears, would oft deplore The times, when truth by popish rage did bleed; And tortious death was true devotion's meed; And simple faith in iron chains did mourn, That nould on wooden image place her creed; And lawny saints in smouldering flames did burn: Ah! dearest Lord, forefend, thilk days should e'er


In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem,
By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defac'd,
In which, when he receives his diadem,
Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is plac'd,

The matron sate; and some with rank she grac'd, (The source of children's and of courtier's pride!) Redress'd affronts, for vile affronts there pass'd; And warn'd them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them betide.

Right well she knew each temper to descry; To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise ; Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high, And some entice with pittance small of praise ; And other some with baleful sprig she 'frays: Ev'n absent, she the reins of power doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways; Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold, "Twill whisper in her ear, and all the scene unfold.

Lo now with state she utters the command!
Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair;

Their books of stature small they take in hand,
Which with pellucid horn secured are;
To save from finger wet the letters fair:
The work so gay, that on their back is seen,
St. George's high achievements does declare;
On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been,
Kens the forthcoming rod, unpleasing sight, I ween!

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Ah luckless he, and born beneath the beam
Of evil star! it irks me whilst I write !
As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream,
Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight,

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