The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
TO A FLY.
By the Princess Elizabeth, in Prison.
Thou little animal, I wiss,
Thou seemest me a child of bliss,
And runnest, fleest here and there
Withoute a pang, and eke a tear;
While, borne to thinke of sceptres, I
Do envy thee, thou little fly!
Thou seemest me a child of bliss,
And runnest, fleest here and there
Withoute a pang, and eke a tear;
While, borne to thinke of sceptres, I
Do envy thee, thou little fly!
Fortune doth make small giftes to me,
But what is mine I give to thee:
The bread, the wine upon my boarde,
I yield to thee with much accorde.
Come when thou list, and to thy mynde
Thou something to thy taste shall fynde.
But what is mine I give to thee:
The bread, the wine upon my boarde,
I yield to thee with much accorde.
Come when thou list, and to thy mynde
Thou something to thy taste shall fynde.
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Though gladde thou frisketh to and fro,
Thy life, poor worme, is shorte, I know;
A little while thy legs outspread,
I see thee on the table ded;
And, while thou art at peace, I wail,
And think on thy lyfe's little tale.
Thy life, poor worme, is shorte, I know;
A little while thy legs outspread,
I see thee on the table ded;
And, while thou art at peace, I wail,
And think on thy lyfe's little tale.
But while thou canst my crumbs enjoy,
Thou here may hum withoute annoy;
Runne here and there, and spread thy wing,
And with thy own companions sing.
Though man be cruel unto me,
My hand shall give delyte to thee.
Thou here may hum withoute annoy;
Runne here and there, and spread thy wing,
And with thy own companions sing.
Though man be cruel unto me,
My hand shall give delyte to thee.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |