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

50

Of nature's laws his carols first begun, Why the grave owl can never face the sun. For owles; as Twains observe, detest the light, And only fing and seek their prey by night. (How turnips hide their swelling head's below, 55 And how the closing colworts upwards grow; How Will-a-Wisp mis-leads night-faring clowns, O'er hill, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs. Of stars he told that shoot with shining trail, And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. 60 He sung where wood-cocks in the summer 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 afcend. Where swallows in the winter season keep, 65 And how the drowsy bat and dormouse fleep. How nature does the puppy's eyelid close, Till the bright sun has nine times set and rose.

51. Our fwain bad possibly read Tuffer, from whence be migbe

bave collected i beje pbilosopbical observations. Namque canebat uti magnum per inane coasta &c.

For

For huntsmen by their long experience find,
That puppys still nine rolling suns are blind.

70

Now he goes on, and sings of Fairs and shows, For still new fairs before his

eyes

arose.
How pedlars stalls with glitt'ring toys are laid,
The various fairings of the country maid.
Long silken laces hung upon the twine,

75
And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine ;
How the tight lass, knives, combs, and fcisfars spys,
And looks on thimbles with defiring eyes.
Of lott'ries next with tuneful note he told,
Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold. 80
The lads and lasses trudge the street along,
And all the fair is crouded in his song.
The mountebank now treads the ftage, and felis
His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells ;
Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, 85
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 sung, and Punch's seats,
of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cheats. 90

Then

1

Then sad he sung the children in the wood, Ah barb'rous uncle, stain'd with infant blood ! How blackberries they pluck'd in desarts wild, And fearless at the glittering fauchion smild; Their little corps the robin-red-breasts found, And ftrowd with pious bill the leaves around. Ah gentle birds! if this verse lafts so long, Your names shall live for ever in my song.

95

For buxom Joan he sung the doubtful ftrife, How the fly sailor made the maid a wife.

IOO

To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to tell What woeful wars in Chevy-chase befell, When Piercy drove the deer with bound and born, Wars to be wept by children yet unborn! Ah With’rington, more years thy life had crown'd, 105 If thou hadft never heard the horn or hound ! Yet shall 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 avo. Virg. 99. A Song in the Comedy of Love for Love, beginning

A Soldier and a Sailor, c.

VOL. I.

G

All

All in the land of Efex next he chaunts , How to sleek mares itarch quakers turn gallants : 116 How the grave brother stood on bank so green. Happy for him if mares had never been !

Then he was seiz'd with a religious qualm, And on a sudden, sung the hundredth pfalm.

He sung of Taffy Welch, and Sawney Scot, 115 Lilly-bullero and the Irish Trot. Why should I tell of Bateman or of Shore, Or Wantley's Dragon slain by valiant Moore, The bow'r of Rosamond, or Robin Hood,

119 And how the grass now grows where Troy town ftood?

His carols ceas d : the list’ning maids and swains
Seem still to hear some soft imperfeet strains.
Sudden he rose ; and as he reels along
Swears kifles Sweet should well reward his song.

109. A Song of Sir J. Denham’s. See bis Poems.
112. Et fortunatam fi nunquam Armenta fuifjeno

Pajipbaen.
117. Quid loquar aut Scyllam Nifi, &c,
117. Old Englija Ballads,

Virg.

The

The damsels laughing fly: the giddy clown 125
Again upon a wheat-sheaf, drops adown;
The pow'r that guards the drunk, his sleep attends,
'Till ruddy, like his face, the sun descends,