The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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MY ROVER |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
107
MY ROVER
Who nightly in his den does lye
That slumbers only with one eye
And barks if any thing stirs nigh
My Rover
That slumbers only with one eye
And barks if any thing stirs nigh
My Rover
Who without Cocks (disturbing rest)
Can tell when morning comes the best
And leaves his bed first ready drest
My Rover
Can tell when morning comes the best
And leaves his bed first ready drest
My Rover
Who finds me out both far and near
Tracing my footsteps every where
And when I wistle's sure to hear
My Rover
Tracing my footsteps every where
And when I wistle's sure to hear
My Rover
Who will himself from day to day
Tend sheep so well when I'm away
As not to let one go astray
My Rover
Tend sheep so well when I'm away
As not to let one go astray
My Rover
And who tho batter'd out compleat
Anxious to rest his masters feet
Oer the rough fallow clods will beat
My Rover
Anxious to rest his masters feet
Oer the rough fallow clods will beat
My Rover
Who stands upon his under legs
And wistful on his master glegs
To show me how genteel he begs
My Rover
And wistful on his master glegs
To show me how genteel he begs
My Rover
108
And who when I at dinner sit
In silence seems to beg a bit
Then wags his tail in thanks for it
My Rover
In silence seems to beg a bit
Then wags his tail in thanks for it
My Rover
Who oer me such a watch will keep
As flies themselves dare hardley creep
To bit me when I fall asleep
My Rover
As flies themselves dare hardley creep
To bit me when I fall asleep
My Rover
And who to please me with a trick
Will carry in his mouth a stick
Or any thing thats not too thick
My Rover
Will carry in his mouth a stick
Or any thing thats not too thick
My Rover
Who when the sun in Summer grows
So hot will lye upon my cloathes
And start as jealous of the Crows
My Rover
So hot will lye upon my cloathes
And start as jealous of the Crows
My Rover
Nay I need not no further go
For every thing in short that you
Can please me with thoult freeley do
My Rover
For every thing in short that you
Can please me with thoult freeley do
My Rover
Then shall I like the world at last
Forgetful of thy goodness past
Bid thee seek shelter in the blast
My Rover
Forgetful of thy goodness past
Bid thee seek shelter in the blast
My Rover
No when old age has made thee weak
And plough'd a furrow down thy cheek
Thou shalt not have a friend to seek
My Rover
And plough'd a furrow down thy cheek
Thou shalt not have a friend to seek
My Rover
109
For I should have a heart more hard
Than Adamant—not to regard
One who once toild for me so hard
My Rover
Than Adamant—not to regard
One who once toild for me so hard
My Rover
Compassion on thy age I'll show
And turkish like I'll never go
To hang thee up as others do
My Rover
And turkish like I'll never go
To hang thee up as others do
My Rover
But thou by the fire side shalt lye
And oft I'll think when sitting by
How times whent once with you and I
My Rover
And oft I'll think when sitting by
How times whent once with you and I
My Rover
When you in youth—ere sense took place
Would after Hares or Rabits race
Spending whole hours in fruitles chase
My Rover
Would after Hares or Rabits race
Spending whole hours in fruitles chase
My Rover
But now thou by experience taught
When leizure minnutes may be caught
Will lye thee down and think of naught
My Rover
When leizure minnutes may be caught
Will lye thee down and think of naught
My Rover
And could I but lye down with thee
From trouble so entirely free
How happy surely should I be
My Rover
From trouble so entirely free
How happy surely should I be
My Rover
Tho thats deny'd—and wishing vain
Then lye thee down and sleep again
And I'll no more of that complain
My Rover
Then lye thee down and sleep again
And I'll no more of that complain
My Rover
But stop—that Lark see—leaves the sky
And wistling Lab'rers homeward hie
Then sure tis time for you and I
My Rover
And wistling Lab'rers homeward hie
Then sure tis time for you and I
My Rover
110
So lets go home as well as they
For morning brings another day
When we as usual must away
My Rover
For morning brings another day
When we as usual must away
My Rover
And first we'll sup and then thy den
Shall be a Bed till morn agen
And so I'll sing no more till then
My Rover
Shall be a Bed till morn agen
And so I'll sing no more till then
My Rover
| The early poems of John Clare | |