Nor parish-clerk who calls the pfalm so clear,
Like Bowxybeus fooths th' attentive air.

Of nature's laws his carols first begun,
Why the grave owl can never face the fun.
For owles, as fwains obferve, deteft the light,
And only fing and feek their prey by night.
How turnips hide their swelling heads below,
And how the clofing colworts upwards grow;
How Will-a-Wip mif-leads night-faring clowns,
O'er hill, and finking bogs, and pathless downs.

Of stars he told that shoot with fhining trail,

50

55

And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. 60
He fung where wood-cocks in the fummer feed,

And in what climates they renew their breed;
Some think to northern coasts their flight they tend,
Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend.

Where swallows in the winter season keep,
And how the drowsy bat and dormouse fleep.

How nature does the puppy's eyelid clofe,
Till the bright fun has nine times fet and rofe.

53. Our frain bad poffibly read Tuffer, from aubence be might

have collected thefe philofophical obfervations.

Namque canebat uti magnum per inane coa&ta &c.

65

For

For huntsmen by their long experience find,
That puppys ftill nine rolling funs are blind.

Now he goes on, and fings of Fairs and shows,
For ftill new fairs before his eyes arose.
How pedlars ftalls with glitt'ring toys are laid,
The various fairings of the country maid.

Long filken laces hung upon the twine,
And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine;

How the tight lafs, knives, combs, and fciffars fpys,
And looks on thimbles with defiring eyes.

Of lott'ries next with tuneful note he told,
Where filver spoons are won, and rings of gold.
The lads and laffes trudge the ftreet along,
And all the fair is crouded in his fong.

The mountebank now treads the stage, and fells
His pills, his balfams, and his ague-fpells;
Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler fprings,
And on the rope the ventrous maiden swings;
Fack-pudding in his parti-colour'd jacket
Toffes the glove, and jokes at ev'ry packet.
Of Raree-shows he fung, and Punch's feats,

7༠

75

80

85

Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cheats. 90

Then

Then fad he fung the children in the wood, Ah barb'rous uncle, ftain'd with infant blood! How blackberries they pluck'd in defarts wild, And fearless at the glittering fauchion fmil'd; Their little corps the robin-red-breafts found, And ftrow'd with pious bill the leaves around. Ah gentle birds! if this verse lasts so long, Your names fhall live for ever in my fong.

For buxom Joan he fung the doubtful ftrife, How the fly failor made the maid a wife.

To louder ftrains he rais'd his voice, to tell
What woeful wars in Chevy-chafe befell,
When Piercy drove the deer with bound and horn,
Wars to be wept by children yet unborn!

95

100

Ah With'rington, more years thy life had crown'd, 105 If thou hadft never heard the horn or hound!

Yet fhall the Squire, who fought on bloody ftumps, By future bards be wail'd in doleful dumps.

97. Fortunati ambo, fi quid mea carmina poffunt,

Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo.

Virg.

99. A Song in the Comedy of Love for Love, beginning A Soldier and a Sailor, &c.

V OL. I.

G

All

All in the land of Effex next he chaunts,

How to fleek mares ftarch quakers turn gallants: 110 How the grave brother food on bank fo green, Happy for him if mares had never been!

Then he was feiz'd with a religious qualm, And on a fudden, fung the hundredth pfalm.

He fung of Taffy Welch, and Sawney Scot, Lilly-bullero and the Irish Trot.

115

Why should I tell of Bateman or of Shore,

Or Wantley's Dragon flain by valiant Moore,

The bow'r of Rojamond, or Robin Hood,

119

And how the grafs now grows where Troy town flood?

His carols ceas'd: the lift'ning maids and fwains Seem ftill to hear fome foft imperfect strains. Sudden he rofe; and as he reels along

Swears kiffes fweet fhould well reward his fong.

109. A Song of Sir J. Denham's. See bis Poems.

112. Et fortunatam fi nunquam Armenta fuiffent

Pafipbarn.

117. Quid loquar aut Scyllam Nifi, &c.

117. Old English Ballads,

Virg.

The

The damfels laughing fly: the giddy clown
Again upon a wheat-fheaf, drops adown;

125

The pow'r that guards the drunk, his fleep attends, 'Till ruddy, like his face, the fun defcends.