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But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something too high for syllables to speak;
Till the free soul to a composedness charmed,
Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
O'er als below a solemn quiet grown,
Joys in th' inferior world and thinks it like her own:
In such a night let me abroad remain
Till morning breaks and all's confused again;
Our cares, our toils, our clamours are renewed,
Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.



When the ploughman leaves the task of day, And, trudging homeward, whistles on the way; When the big-uddered cows with patience stand, Waiting the strokings of the damsel's hand; No warbling cheers the woods; the feathered choir, To court kind slumbers, to their sprays retire; When no rude gale disturbs the sleeping trees, Nor aspen leaves confess the gentlest breeze; Engaged in thought, to Neptune's bounds I stray, To take my farewell of the parting day: Far in the deep the sun his glory hides, A streak of gold the sea and sky divides; The purple clouds their amber linings show, And edged with flame rolls every wave below; Here pensive I behold the fading light, And o'er the distant billows lose my sight.


I rue the day, a rueful day I trow,
The woeful day, a day indeed of woe!
When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove:
A maiden fine bedight he happed to love;

The maiden fine bedight his love retains,
And for the village he forsakes the plains.
Return, my Lubberkin! these ditties hear!
Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care.
With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Last May Day fair I searched to find a snail
That might my secret lover's name reveal.
Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found,
For always snails near sweetest fruit abound.
I seized the vermin, home I quickly sped,
And on the hearth the milk-white embers spread:
Slow crawled the snail, and, if I right can spell,
In the soft ashes marked a curious L.
Oh, may this wondrous omen lucky prove!
For L is found in 'Lubberkin' and 'Love.'

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass:
Fly, lady-bird, north, south, or east, or west!
Fly where the man is found that I love best!',
He leaves my hand: see, to the west he's flown,
To call my true-love from the faithless town.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This mellow pippin, which I pare around,
My shepherd's name shall flourish on the ground:
I fling th' unbroken paring o'er my head-
Upon the grass a perfect L is read.
Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen
Than what the paring marks upon the green.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This pippin shall another trial make.
See, from the core two kernels brown I take:

This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn,
And Boobyclod on t other side is borne;
But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground
(A certain token that his love's unsound),
While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last
Oh, were his lips to mine but joined so fast!

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree,
I twitched his dangling garter from his knee;
He wist not' when the hempen string I drew.
Now mine I quickly doff of inkle blue;
Together fast I tie the garters twain,
And while I knit the knot repeat this strain:
"Three times a true-love's knot I tie secure;
Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure!'

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As I was wont I trudged last market-day
To town, with new-laid eggs preserved in hay.
I made my market long before 't was night;
My purse grew heavy and my basket light:
Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went,
And in love-powder all my money spent.
Behap what will, next Sunday after prayers,
When to the alehouse Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

But hold! our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his ears:
O’er yonder stile, see, Lubberkin appears !
He comes, he comes! Hobnelia's not bewrayed,
Nor shall she, crowned with willow, die a maid.
He vows, he swears, he'll give me a green gown:
Oh, dear! I fall adown, adown, adown!

FROM TRIVIA If clothed in black you tread the busy town, Or if distinguished by the reverend gown, Three trades avoid: oft in the mingling press The barber's apron soils the sable dress; Shun the perfumer's touch with cautious eye, Nor let the baker's step advance too nigh. Ye walkers too that youthful colours wear, Three sullying trades avoid with equal care: The little chimney-sweeper skulks along, And marks with sooty stains the heedless throng; When 'Small-coal! murmurs in the hoarser throat, From smutty dangers guard thy threatened coat; The dust-man's cart offends thy clothes and eyes, When through the street a cloud of ashes flies. But whether black or lighter dyes are worn, The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne, With tallow spots thy coat; resign the way To shun the surly butcher's greasy trayButchers whose hands are dyed with blood's foul stain, And always foremost in the hangman's train.

Let due civilities be strictly paid: The wall surrender to the hooded maid, Nor let thy sturdy elbow's hasty rage Jostle the feeble steps of trembling age; And when the porter bends beneath his load, And pants for breath, clear thou the crowded road; But, above all, the groping blind direct, And from the pressing throng the lame protect. You'll sometimes meet a fop, of nicest tread, Whose mantling peruke veils his empty head; At every step he dreads the wall to lose And risks, to save a coach, his red-heeled shoes : Him, like the miller, pass with caution by, Lest from his shoulder clouds of powder fly. But when the bully, with assuming pace, Cocks his broad hat, edged round with tarnished lace, Yield not the way; defy his strutting pride, And thrust him to the muddy kennel's side; He never turns again nor dares oppose, But mutters coward curses as he goes.



All in the Downs the fleet was moored,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard:

‘Oh, where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William sails among the crew ??
William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sighed and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,

And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Mighty envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
'O, Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain!
Let me kiss off that falling tear:

We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
'Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:
They'll tell thee sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find-
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
'If to far India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.

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