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Three filver pennies, and a nine-pence bent,
A token kind, to Bumkinet is sent.”
Thus spoke the maiden, while her mother cry'd,
And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, fhe dy'd. 1

To show their love, the neibours, far and near,
Follow'd, with wistful look, the damsel's bier.
Sprigg'd rosemary the lads and laffes bore,
While, dismally, the parson walk'd before.
Upon her grave the rosemary they threw,
The daisie, butter-flower, and endive blue.
After the good man warn’d us from his text,
That none could tell whose turn would be the next;
He said, that Heaven would take her soul, no doubt,
And spoke the hour-glass, in her praise-quite out.

To her sweet mem'ry flow'ry garlands ftrung, O'er her now empty feat aloft were hung. With wicker rods we fenc'd her tomb around, To ward, from man and beast, the hallow'd ground, Left her new grave the parson's cattle raze ; For both his horse and cow the church-yard graze.

Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, To drink new cyder mulld, with ginger warm : For gaffer Tread-well told us, by the by, Excesive sorrow is exceeding dry.

While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, Or lasses with soft ftroakings milk the cow; While paddling ducks the standing lake desire, Or batt'ning hogs roll in the finking mire; While moles the crumbled earth in hillocks raise, So long shall swains tell Blouzelinda's praise,


Thus wail'd the louts in melancholy strain,
'Till bonny Susan sped a-crofs the plain;
They seiz'd the lass, in apron clean array'd,
And to the ale-house forc'd the willing maid:
In ale and kisses they forget their cares,
And Susan Blouzelinda's loss repairs.


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UBLIMER strains, O rustic mufe, prepare ;

Forget, a-while, the barn and dairy's care ;
Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise ;
The drunkard's flights require fonorous lays,
With Bowzybeus fongs exalt thy verse,
While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse.

'Twas in the season when the reapers toil
Of the ripe harvest 'gan to rid the soil ;
Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout,
Clean damsels bound the gather'd fheafs about ;
The lads, with sharpen'd hook and sweating brow,
Cut down the labours of the winter plow.
To the near hedge young Susan steps aside,
She feign'd her coat or garter was unty'd,
Whate'er she did, the stoop'd adown unseen,

merry reapers, what they list, will ween.
Soon she rose up, and cry'd with voice so thrill,
That echo answer'd from the distant hill ;
The youths and damsels ran to Susan's aid,
Who thought some adder had the lass dismay'd.


When fast alleep they Bowzybeus spy'd, His hat and oaken staff lay close beside. That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing, Or, with the rofin'd bow, torment the string : That Bowzybeus who, with finger's speed, Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed ; That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue, Ballads, and roundelays, and catches sung. They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright, And in difport surround the drunken wight.

Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? The mugs were large, the drink was wond'rous strong! Thou should'st have left the fair before 'twas night, But thou fat'st toping till the morning light.

Cic’ly, brisk maid, steps forth before the rout,
And kiss’d with smacking lip, the snoring lout;
For custom says, 6. Whoe'er this venture proves,
For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves."
By her example Dorcas bolder grows,
And plays a tickling straw within his nose.
He rubs his noftril, and, in wonted joke,
The sneering swains with stamm’ring speech bespoke.
To you, my lads, I'll fing my carrols o'er;
As for the maids I've something else in store.

No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song,
But lads and lasses round about him throng.
Not ballad-finger, plac'd above the crowd,
Sings with a note so thrilling sweet and loud,
Nor parish-clerk, who calls the psalm so clear,
Like Bowzybeus fooths th' attentive ear..


Of nature's laws his carols first begun, Why the


owl can never face the sun. For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, And only fing and seek their prey by night. How turnips hide their swelling heads below, And how the closing colworts upwards grow; How Will-a-Wisp misleads night-faring clowns, O’er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs. Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail, And of the glow-worms light that gilds his tail. He fung, 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's season keep. And how the drowsy bat and dormoufe sleep. How nature does the puppy's eyelid close, Till the bright sun has nine times set and rose ; For huntsmen, by their long experience find, That puppies, ftill, nine rolling suns are blind.

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 filken laces hang upon the twine, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine ; How the tight lass knives, combs, and scisfars fpies, And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes. Of lott'ries, next, with tuneful note, he told, Where filver spoons are won, and rings of gold.


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