University of Virginia Library

Young girls grow eager as the day retires
& smile & whisper round their cottage fires
Listning for noises in the dusky street
For tinkling latches & for passing feet
The prophecys of coming joys to hark
Of wandering lovers stealing thro' the dark
Dropping their valentines at beautys door
With hearts & darts & love knots littered oer
“Aye” said a gossip by a neighbours hearth
While the young girls popt up in tittering mirth
To hear the door creek with heart jumping signs
& footsteps hastening bye & valentines
Drop rustling on the floor—“aye aye” she said
(As they kept back & smiled oer what they read)
Your fine love letters might be worth your smiles
If 'stead of coming from some creeping giles
Rich lovers sent them as it once befell
To one young maiden I remember well
Tho Madam Meers now lives at oakley hall
With coach & four & footmen at her call
Her father was none else than farmer Ling
& she plain Kate before she wore a ring
Tho I began about the valentine
The starting subject I'll awhile resign
But hear with patience & ye'll quickly learn
For I'll haste on & take it up in turn

When the poor irish from their country rove
& like scotch cattle throng the road in droves
To seek the profits which the harvest brings
At that same season to old farmer Lings
A stranger came but not of foreign blood
He spoke plain english & his looks was good
& hired himself for toil the season thro
At any jobs the harvest had to do
& tho he seemed as merry as the clowns
He neer was noisey like such vulgar lowns
& when he heard them urge a vulgar joke
At passing maids he neither laughd nor spoke
But while he saw the blush their rudeness made
His manners seemed their freedom to upbraid
For he'd turn round a moment from his toil
& say “good morning” & would kindly smile
Tho dressed like them in jacket russet brown
His ways betrayed him better than a clown
& many a guess from rumours whispers fell
& gossips daily had new tales to tell
Some said he once had been a wealthy man
& from a bankrupts painful ruin ran
Others with far worse causes marked his flight
& taxed him with a forgers name out right
& tho he heard such whispers passing bye
He'd laugh but never stop to question why
Nor seemed offended think whatere he would
But always seemed to be in merry mood
Bad as folks thought him I was well aware
That he by one at least was welcome there
Who always mid their noisey idle prate
Would silent stand & that was rosey Kate
She seemed bewitched with his good mannered ways
& never spoke about him but to praise
She was the youngest daughter fair & gay
As flowers that open in the dews of May
Loves heart neer trembled at a sweeter face
When health & beauty courted its embrace
Nor lived a merrier girl beneath the sun
For romp & play when labours work was done
Wild as a Doe that overleapt the park
She'd laugh & play oer evenings games till dark
All noise & stir like an ill sitting hen
But shoy & timid in the sight of men
Her friends neer dreamed of what all else might see
His ways was plain as the “cross row” to me
When ere he caught her in her dissabille
Washing or aught—she ran as lovers will
Up stairs as quickly as she could from sight
To seek her glass & put her garments right
Anxious to meet him in her best attire
As he the more might love her & admire
& once at eve as we the cows did wait
He leaned beside her on the stackyard gate
& smiled & whispered as she stooped adown
To pull some burdocks from her sweeping gown
“Mary theres one whose thoughts when your away
“Always cling with you full as close as they
“Who hopes yet fears his growing love to name
“Lest you should throw it from you just the same”
She coloured like the fire & turned aside
But I saw quickly what her heart would hide
& up & told her when she milked at night
That be the harvest stranger who he might
A winning tongue neaths toils disguise was hid
That knew more manners then our farmers did
She laughd & said “aye so you love him then
But as for her shed no regard for men”
Tho such denials kept the secret worse
I took no heed but sanctioned her discourse
& when she dressed to walk on harvest eves
Spending an hour to glean among the sheaves
Things were to others eyes full often seen
That she'd more errands than the one to glean
She always follow'd in the strangers toil
Who oft would stop to wet his hook & smile
& loose when none percieved from out his hand
Some wheat ears now & then upon the land
& oft when running from a sudden shower
Or leaving off to take their beavering hour
He always from the rest would linger last
To leave a smile & greet her as he past
All that had any sense to use their eyes
Might easy guess beneath the thin disguise
Like to the burr about the moon at night
It seems to covert but still leaves it light
& sure enough he was a handsome swain
One any maiden had been proud to gain
Een I have often envied Kittys place
& felt the heartache at his smiling face
For when I passed him he would always smile
& often took my milk pail oer a stile
Jeering us both of sweethearts in our play
Tho nothing but in good behaviours way
He said to me—yet without shame I say't
I thought myself as fine a wench as Kate

Dark as the strangers mystery were his ways
Here wandered round the field on sabbath days
& left to vulgar minds the noisey town
Nor made a partner of a fellow clown
Traceing the wood tracks overgrown with moss
Or with heath rabbits winding thro the goss
& oft neath black thorn shadows by the brook
Was seen by shepherds musing oer a book
& in his button holes was always seen
Wildflowers—that in his rambles he would glean
Folks often marvelled at each seeming whim
What we thought weeds seemd best of flowers with him
The ragged robbin by the runnel brinks
Seemed in his eye much finer flowers then pinks
& tall wild woad that lifts its spirey tops
By stone pits—nay een briony & hops
He would from hedges in a poesy bind
& leave the woodbine & the rose behind
All wondered at his ways & some believed
The man was crazed but rumour gets decieved

When busy harvest to its end had come
& childern ran to hollow “harvest home”
Bawling half hidden neath each green ash bough
For cross plumb skittles out of fashion now
Kate was the queen upon that merry night
& rode upon the waggon drest in white
The stranger oft looked up to see her stand
& smiling called her “queen of fairey land”
That harvest supper we had morts of fun
& Farmer Sparks was there a neighbours son
He was her fathers choice who dreamed of gain
& talked of marriage as he would of grain
He vainly tryed young Kittys smiles to share
& next her without bidding took his chair
Full oft with gracious simperings looking up
To drink to Kitty oer the silver cup
While she but with a careless look replied
Or turned like one that would not heed aside
But if the stranger gazed above his horn
She smiled as lovely as a mayday morn
Soon as the racket & the fun began
Young Farmer Sparks up from the table ran
To act the crane & poked the room about
Breaking the pipes & putting candles out
While wenches squealed & old dames fainted pale
Quickly recovering with an horn of ale
The stranger seemed to shun the rude uproar
& Kate slove with him to the kitchen door
I sat on thorns the live long night about
For fear their ways would blab the secret out
& had aught met the fathers jealous sight
Farewell to fun & frolic for the night
But all went right & naught was seen or done
To spoil the acting or to damp the fun
The old man smoked his pipe & drank his ale
& laughed most hearty at each sport & tale
On the next day for Kate a gloomy day
The harvest labourers took their parting pay
& the young stranger with a downcast eye
Turned round to Kate & bade us both “good bye”
Soon as he went she ran with eager feet
Up stairs to see him vanish down the street
I heard the creeking casement open thrown
& knew full well what she neer cared to own
For her swelled eyes their secrets badly kept
When she came down they told me she had wept
Twas harmless sorrows did her bosom move
& theres no sin nor shame to weep for love
Sometimes she seemed as sad & sometimes gay
But never more appeared so fond of play
Lone pastimes now did leisure hours engage
Dull as a tamed bird wonted to the cage
She seemed to be while time unheeding went
Nor left a hope to ease her discontent

At length the postman with his wind pluft cheek
That brought the news & letters once a week
Some mornings after valentine was bye
Came in & gan his parcel to untie
Her sisters bustled up & smiling thought
That he some lovers valentines had brought
But hopes with them was quickly out of date
Soon as they found the letter was for Kate
Poor wench her colour came & went away
Now red as crimson then as pale as may
The old man thought it farmer Sparkes's son
That sent the thing & felt his wishes won
Laying his pipe down he began to joke
& clapt her on the shoulder as he spoke
Have at him wench thats all I have to tell
& bonny Kate will sell her beauty well
For he's got money wench as well as love
To make your ring sit easy as a glove
But when he found the postmark & the seal
Did different notions to his own reveal
He let the mystery undisturbed remain
& turned his chair & took his pipe again
Her sisters bit their lips in silent spite
& could not keep their envye out of sight
To think that bonny Kate above them all
Who never in her life had seen a ball
Nor spent an hour to curl her parted hair
Nor of her beauty seemed to have one care
That romped about in play & joined in toil
While they would sit & not a finger soil
Should be thus noticed—but they urged a doubt
& muttered some low bred ingenious lout
Had sent the thing & said with louder voice
“Be who he will he wears a vulgar choice”
& tho they might clowns valentines condemn
Een they were welcome when they came to them
For Sawney Sparks & each young farmer guest
Was little better then a clown at best
Be who he might it made their bosoms ache
& worse when time unriddled their mistake

Kate had no pride about her she was free
As any maiden in the world could be
& while her sisters dressed in muslin gowns
& scorned on holidays to talk with clowns
She seemed to wear no better dress then I
Yet won a look from every passer bye
& some that passed would mutter praises loud
“Theres a sweet face” which never made her proud
She made all equals—used een beggars well
& all of Kate had some kind things to tell

When summer eves the first come swallows meet
As Kate & I were looking down the street
These little summer visitors to view
Marking how lowley & how swift they flew
We heard the bustle of a coach & four
Race the lane dust & hurry towards the door
The yard dog never barked nor made a fuss
But dropt his tail & stopt to gaze with us
Een the old geese were silent at the sight
& in amazement half forgot their spite
The noisey childern in the street at play
Picked up their tops & taws & sneaked away
& Kate half startled sneaked & hurried in
While wonder heaved her bosom to her chin
& well it might for twas the very same
Man that at harvest as a reaper came
The same that sent her at the valentine
The clever letter that was wrote so fine
Old women that had muttered round the town
& called the stranger by worse names than clown
Peeped out & dropped their courtseys to the coach
& mixed in groups to question its approach
Fine as he was soon as he came in view
I knew his face & so did Kitty too
Who overcame turned white as was the wall
& almost fainted but he stopt the fall
& kept her in his arms with fondling pain
Till the fresh rose came to her face again
Her father gaped & wondered at the throng
& bowed & chattered wether right or wrong
Guessing that love was what the stranger meant
The coach was plenty to buy his consent
& thinking Kate had made her fortune now
He bustled up & gan to scrape & bow
& bade Kate welcome in her noble guest
With wine & ale the oldest & the best
But he was not to be by flattery fed
He only smiled & never turned his head
I want no formal welcomes keep your place
Old man he said—but why that blushing face
My bonny Kate I left thee fond & true
& wish to find thee as I used to do
Smiling & free as on each harvest morn
When I as labourer reaped thy fathers corn
I travelled in disguise alone to find
The native undisguise of womans mind
They're easy coyed to take a golden bait
& love in mockery—but my bonny Kate
I found in thee a heart I wished to prove
Who ignorant of wealth was caught by love
Then shrink not if thy heart is still sincere
Nor blush nor startle with confounding fear
To see thy mother at this finery awed
& father bow & christen me “my lord”
No honours & no titled names are mine
But all I have plain love & wealth is thine
Tho I have grown above thy fathers toil
In reaping corn & ploughing up the soil
Yet that fond love my Kitty showed to me
Was neer a moment from my memory
Thy beauty would bewitch a world with love
& Ive returned thy worth & vows to prove
Ive came as promised for thee many a mile
Then bid me welcome with thy usual smile
Reach not sweet Kate the silver cup for me
But bring the horn toil often drank to thee
& thus he said but how can words of mine
Relate a speech that he told oer so fine
However there they sat the night about
& drank the old brown pitcher nearly out
Kate often smiled but yet was still & shoy
& the old man got down right drunk for joy
Who often reached across his elbow chair
To gain the whisper of his daughters ear
Muttering when ere the stranger turned his head
His urgent wishes in her looks to wed
Fingers in vain were shook to keep him still
He een got wilder in his headstrong will
“—A good receipt neer makes a bargain wrong
“So Kate says he burn nothing with your tongue”
& drank her health anew—the strangers eye
Looked smiling at him but made no reply
When morning came Kate gave her hearts consent
The coach was ordered & to church they went
Before the sun the old man bustled up
& gave his blessing oer the silver cup
At the glad closing of that happy day
The stranger drove his blooming bride away
She left her presents for the cake & tea
Leaving old gossips in the highest glee
While he with gifts the ringers did regale
Who rung his praises both with bells & ale
& tho she promised me a handsome gown
When eer she married be he gent or clown
No wonder that her memorys were away
I quite excused her breaking it that day

He was no lord tho he was full as great
A country squire with a vast estate
In the most trifling things she had her ends
& ere she'd gone a twelvemonth from her friends
She wished once more to see us all again
& as indulgence to her lonely pain
They in their coach & four came shining down
To rent a dwelling near her native town
& Oakley hall that tops old cromwells hill
He took to please & occupys it still
A fine old place with ivy round the porch
That long had stood as empty as a church
Folks say it is a Cromwells castle been
& in the walls still cannon holes are seen
There they in happiness & luxury live
& share the all lifes pleasure has to give
Sometimes they visit at their own estate
& yearly drive to London with the great

Whenever I have errands from the town
To seek the hall she gives me many a crown
Making me welcome in plain friendly ways
& often laughs about our younger days
“Hark thats the clock well I must up & roam
My man no doubt sits waiting me at home
Wholl scold & say by sitting here till nine
That Im an old fool keeping Valentine
So good night all” & hastening from her seat
She sought her clogs & clocked adown the street
The girls were glad twas done—& in her place
The happy cat leapt up & cleaned her face
While crickets that had been unheard so long
Seemed as she stopt to start a merrier song

Gay rose the morn fulfilling many a prayer
Of anxious maids—the day was Topal Fair
The month was may the meadows they were green
& full of flowers tho paths were far from clean
Moistened by showers that frequent tho not long
Fell & were done ere linnets could their song
That now by crowds in every thicket sung
& from the mill dam up the Heron sprung
In every field larks twittered oer the grain
As happy twas the fair so thought the swain
Who hastened oer his labour to get free
By times the pleasures of the fair to see
The very air breathed joy & all the May
To such appeared in joyouance with the day
As if the fair had put their pleasures on
Thus merry minds shape raptures from their own
In ivy bowers woodpiegons sat to coo
& smooth voiced cuckoos muttered as they flew
Free smiled the daisey from dull nights embrace
Flushed with his dewy kisses on its face
The sun was peeping oer the spreading rows
Of dark green elms alive with busy crows
& round the Lodge that darkened neath their shade
Loud was the strife that pigs & poultry made
A farmhouse now tho once a moated hall
As loud too farmer Thriftys morning call
“Come up boys up” re-echoed thro the Lodge
Where last to bed & first to rise was Hodge
Who heard the unwelcome shout mid yawns & sighs
& spent some minutes to unclose his eyes
Yet up he must to fetch his horses now
They needed corn & waiting lay the plough
& morning toil must needs be finished soon
As all had leave to join the fair at noon
So up Hodge got & soodled down the lane
Hirpling like one whose joints was stiff with pain
Tho urged by many a call till out of sight
To mend his pace & not be out till night
& Simon foremost of the servant clan
Who next the master ruled as master man
Was more than anxious to perform his part
Who stript already stopt his song to start
As love & hope with mingling fear & glee
Burnt every thought with madness to be free
Mary a maid whose fame was in her face
Who lived his partner in his last years place
& now tho distant from him many a mile
Her former fondness cheered his present toil
For she had vowed last martinmass when they
For their new places parted wide away
That come what would—on the returning Fair
She'd come to see her friends & meet him there
So Simons hopes who painted her as come
Burnt till they grew all rebels to their home
Forcing his heart on fancys wings to wend
In thought already at its journeys end
His mind all night on thoughts with dull delay
Its parting waited wide awake for day
& now the day had come he waited on
To end his mornings labour & begone
While mingling hopes unsatisfied desires
With their warm gushes & blood boiling fires
Scarce gave him time—so anxious to pursue
Even to think of what he had to do

By kindness he had bought in seasons past
The love of Mary which he hoped would last
Who young & blushing was & sweet to see
Yet not like gaudy roses on the tree
For beauty blazed not in her face yet there
A twilight splendour owned her more then fair
Illumned by many a mellancholly smile
That taste while gazing might believe the while
The pastoral muse did in her beauty shine
Such as might warm far better songs than mine
The voice of woods & streams was in her looks
& wise she seemed tho ignorant of books
Her hair was swarthy brown & soft of hue
As the sweet gloom that falls with evens dew
That on her fine white forhead did divide
In the triumphant negligence of pride
Her eyes were dark but they wore lights to shine
That love adores & poets call divine
& her cheeks summer blooms wore hues the while
Of loves soft innoscence without its guile
& on the pouting of her amorous lip
Where love delicious nectar longed to sip
Beauty sat throned in that bewitching spell
That love adores & language cannot tell
Where charms triumphant made each gazer pay
Heartaches for looking ere he turned away
& so did Simons but the smiles that cured
Paid more then double for the pain endured
For in loves views to win her kind regard
He milked—& every sunday swept the yard
That she might on her errands safely go
Nor soil the gloss jet of her sunday shoe
& from the stack a faggot every night
He threw his Marys morning fire to light
Nay did all toils her sundays had to do
When she had on a garment that was new
& feared with thorns to tear or dirt to soil
While love was all the payment for his toil
By all these deeds he strove his love to show
Nor was she backward what they meant to know
& tho she shrieked to shun a stolen kiss
A chance to meet his smile she'd never miss
& oft for syllabubs for cream she crept
When mistress gossiped & the master slept
& slove the cellar key from off the nail
Above her masters chair to steal him ale
While in those favoured hours most like to speed
Simon had sued & Mary had agreed
Live where they might or fair or foul the weather
Theyd meet this morning at the fair together
Altho six lingering months since then had now
Spread in between warm love to cool that vow
Altho six lingering miles with dreary view
Stretched loves frail chain—still he believed her true

At length came Hodge with trouble in his speed
For when with quicker pace he did proceed
Bad news was sure the herald of his tale
To say a portion of his job did fail
& now he stopt his song ere nigh to bawl
Of gaps new broke & horses vanished all
For he seemed joyed to find them all astray
Wishing no doubt theyd neer be found that day
A truce from plough to rest each weary limb
Was more then fairs or holidays to him
Simon in silence like a statue stood
Dire dissapointment curdled up his blood
His hopes & holiday all seemed as done
While farmer Thrifty bade them search till noon
Sending out heralds famed for swifter speed
Than Hodge grown needless in the time of need
When soon the horses all were found but one
& Dobbin oftenest to transgress was gone
Dobbin a horse well known for miles around
In every village & in every pound
Altho so tame at toil that boys might guide
& childern walk uninjured by his side
When loose from geers he roved as freedoms mate
Hed find all gaps & open every gate
& if aught sweet beyond his pasture grew
No fence so thick but he would blunder thro'
His youth from gipseys did these tricks recieve
With them he toiled & worked his wits to live
Bare roads he traced all day with nought to bite
Then stole with them to stacks to feed at night
Tho now a better life was Dobbins lot
Well fed & fat youths tricks he neer forgot
Still gaps were broke & Dobbin bore the blame
Still stacks were pulled & Dobbin felt no shame
If fifty partners in his pasture lay
Dobbin was safe to lead them all astray
& yet a better horse all did alow
Was never yoked to waggon or to plough

Old farmer thrifty now with vengance ripe
Cursed & laid down half smoaked his morning pipe
Vowing old Dobbins tricks would loose his crop
Of corn if thus whole days they forced to stop
The harrow—& then threw his hands behind him
“If hes above ground curse him we will find him”
& Simon as the safest to succeed
Was posted off & tho to urge his speed
A flaggon of the best ere he did start
Was drawn that burnt like brandy round his heart
But nothing cheered it for his hopes was crost
& chance of meeting Mary seemed as lost
Yet he brushed onward on his doubtful rout
With best leg foremost to find Dobbin out
Muttering his threats in angers blustering tones
How he would thrash the wanderers lazy bones
Whittling a monstrous cudgel while he spoke
Proving therebye he did not mean to joke
Alas for Dobbin sore will be his back
If Simon finds him & he marks his track
For faithless dews his blundering steps betrayed
Oer close & field in crooked marks displayed
But the kind sun that smiles on all below
Was Dobbins friend tho Simon was his foe
Drying the tell tale dew from off the grass
Leaving the ploughman to proceed by guess
Who asked of almost every one he met
Searched in each pound & neer the wiser yet
Measuring his shadow every now & then
To guess the hour then hurried on agen
While Marys smiles & promise & the fair
Rose oer all hopes & drove them to despair
Search where he might enquire of whom he would
Dobbin was missing as if lost for good
For he was reckoned cunning & at least
Had more of reason then a common beast
Seeking such secret spots from summer skys
As if he hid from toil as well as flies
This Simon knew & searched in every spot
Where he might hide but yet had hidden not
So on he searched & cursed & searched again
Muttering the while his threatning oaths in vain
Laying to Dobbins tramp in reckless strife
The loss of love & happiness for life
While short his shadow grew & shifted on
Untill it tokened half the day was gone
& what was worse the hour when at the gate
Mary for Simons coming was to wait
When he had told her last & vowed as how
That spot should sink ere he would break his vow
That vow was broke—at least the time expired
When Mary was to wait as love desired
& wait she did for half the morning there
Where two paths met the high road to the fair
She left her fathers cot before the time
To make her lover wait appeared a crime
“Decietful man” doubt burnt hopes taper dim
She sighed & muttered “I may wait for him”
“Here I may stand in doubt the morning long
“Altho he knows he never thinks it wrong
“Last night I came six weary miles in vain
“Cheered with the thoughts of seeing him again
“My mothers love could ill my absence spare
“But without Simon I was restless there”
So sighed the maid as oer the stile she bent
& sighed & onward to the fair she went
While every noise that floated in the wind
Would make her pause & turn a look behind
For Simons haloo she would list & look
Loitering & musing to be overtook
Altho still cheated—down each narrow lane
At every turn she'd stop & wait again
Till tired with hopes excuses for delay
The rosebud in her bosom dyed away
Which there was placed new graces to reveal
Or more for Simons tempted hands to steal
But Simon came not & the withered rose
Was the first omen sorrows to disclose
Stung with the void of abscence to the fair
Hopes curdled all to malice—& when there
To loose her thoughts she struggled to be gay
Passing in freakish whims the merry day
Mocking gay feelings that had small akin
To the perplexitys that lurked within
Changing her nature & in freedoms ways
Smiled as if courting amorous eyes to gaze
Taking with willing hand in merry cue
The glass to kiss from every youth she knew
Each proffered fairing too was freely taen
She cracked the nutts & threw the shells again
Resolved to change her old love for a new
& leave off Simon deemed no longer true
Yet half unconsious of the looks she raised
She blushed & seemed to wonder why they praised
While Footman Tim in his gilt gaudy suit
Tapping with pride his cane upon his boot
Grown bold with ale nipt up in smirking glee
& rudely made her welcome to his knee
Soon from his silken purse his cash was flung
& crown by crown upon the table rung
For every groat & een a penny paid
This purse & all this silver was displayed
The while he sat he'd chink his cash about
To let folk know his pockets wa'n't without
Tween thumb & finger oft he swung his cane
In haughty grace then sipt his glass again
Still leaving dregs at bottom to throw down
To show how fashion acted from a clown
& more in Marys presence to display
A careless waste as heeding not the pay
Full oft unbidden out his watch was taen
To show the hour but more to show the chain
& off his gloves were pulled his nails to bite
With vain excuse to show his hands were white
While open flew his waistcoat at the chin
Crimpt frills displaying & a golden pin
To raise his consequence in vulgar eyes
& win the girls to think a blank a prize
Mary seemed hurt yet suffered to be held
Bearing the seat with patience while compelled
& Simon now with weary feet & mind
Pursuing Dobbin whom he could not find
Gave up the hunt his master heard the tale
& swore yet paid him with a horn of ale
Saying as morn was bye he well could spare
Them all—so all made ready for the fair
His Ash plant Simon in his hand had got
Yet paused in doubt half willing & half not
Beside the door with kerchief smoothening down
The ruffled nap upon his beavers crown
Then starting off then still foreboding doubt
Dark fears strong impulse made him pause about

Sweet was the day & sunny gleamed the weather
While sheep loud bleating called their lambs together
“Craik” went the Landrail in the wind waved grain
Whom idle schoolboys hearing chased in vain
In Simons mind the noise bespoke his fate
He thought it muttered he was all too “late”
“Chewsit” the Pewit screamed in swopping wews
“Chuse it” said Simon I know whom to chuse
Thus neer a bird could sing but Simons cares
Shaped it to somthing of his own affairs
& while he whiped the moisture from his brow
Fear chilled his spirit with his broken vow
& soon must love like lifes deciet decide
How nearly joys & sorrows are allied
The day was swiftly wasting with the wear
& some few girls were coming from the fair
Who left gay mirth & all his noisey crew
Not without sighs their evening jobs to do
& he when met got many a laughing look
Full loud their fears were urged to cross the brook
Knocking their pattens when no dirt was near
& finding danger where no danger were
Signals to urge the aid of Simons hand
But such he could or would not understand
He hurried by them all & would not stay
To ask a question or salute the day
Tho screams & shouts alternate rung behind
Raising their wanton ecchoes on the wind
He never once turned oer his arm to see
If they got oer or in the brook not he
His thoughts already at their journeys end
Left him no time on trifles to attend
With patten rings the path was thickly cut
Where fancy painted Marys nimble foot
In many a printing mark as on before
Which burnt his thoughts & hastened him the more
At length the noisey fair assailed his ear
Great grew his hope but greater grew his fear
& as he crushed among the crowds when there
His eyes dare scarcely wander oer the fair
Lest he—for fear was busy to alarm
Should see his Mary on anothers arm
& as his spirits worn in feeble guise
Needed the boldness barley stout supplies
He sought the ale house where by fear repelled
He scarce dare credit what his eyes beheld
When in a corner full of outward glee
He saw his Mary on anothers knee
He turned away nor would his looks repeat
She turned as white as death but kept her seat
For well she thought his carelessness foretold
He for a new love had forsook the old
While he with far more cause for dark distrust
Thought all was over & his actions just
& tho he could not stifle without pain
His love he thought it useless to explain
So sat in silence as if none the while
Was worth the notice of a word or smile
Yet as poor captives oft in hopeless plight
Look thro their bars on liberty & light
So did his eyes beneath his beavers brim
Steal looks on Mary half unknown to him
While lifting up when not athirst the quart
To drown the sigh fast swelling from his heart
& Mary smiling struggled to be gay
Tho dissapointment turned her cheek to clay
& eat like cankers every rose away
The deepest sorrow hath no tongue but steals
Signs from the heart betraying what it feels
Sighs come at deeper eloquence than speech
& tears touch chords that language cannot reach
—While footman Tim was busy with his tale
& toasting Mary oer each draught of ale
Simon as able to behold no more
Emptied his quart & hurried to the door
To seek amusement in the noise & rout
Within the fair & keep old memorys out
But all were blanks & every wish was vain
& search for peace still added more to pain
The showmans shouts which wonder yearly brings
The huge hung pictures of outlandish things
Where grinning tigers wavered in the wind
Raising more wonders than they hid behind
The merry fool that would his speeches make
Till at the sport old womens sides would ache
These without pleasure now he sauntered bye
& only turned a careless ear or eye
& weary with the frolic & the fun
He sauntered homeward ere the fair was done
While as in melancholly mood he went
In mutterings loud he gave his sorrows vent
‘Is it for this’ he said & turned behind
As if mistrustful of the listening wind
‘Is it for this I watched till church was oer
Her hens & scoldings from the parson bore
Hunting the eggs all churchtime thro the day
That none should scold her cause they laid away
Is it for this my credit all at stake
& even life I ventured for her sake
When in the orchard while she milked her cows
I stole & clambered to the topmost boughs
To reach the reddest apple plumb or pear
For no more payment than a smile could spare
Smiles feed young love to madness & beguiles
So Ive rued sorely since I lived on smiles
In this same close which brings up happier hours
On sundays when we brushed these selfsame flowers
When glossy slippers did her feet bedeck
I took my kerchief even from my neck
To whipe off lingering drops of bygone showers
Or maybe tears from crushed & broken flowers
& dust that would their glossy hues oercast
Powdered from kingcups shaken as we past
But whats the use to bring up things gone bye
My best I did & the worst served am I’
Here Simon stopt for loud upon his ear
Stole merry voices fast approaching near
From many laughing home returning groups
Not sad like Simon under broken hopes
But wild with joy glad frolicked many a lass
On ploughmans arms light skipping thro the grass
Old men & women too with ale inspired
Felt young again & laughed till they were tired
While childern stooped & shouted by their sides
To see their shadows take such antique strides
As mocking the old dames who danced & sung
With aprons spread as nimble as the young
Simon right anxious for the nights disguise
Hurried along to hide from meddling eyes
While low the sun in evenings mellow light
Behind the meadow bridges sunk from sight
Yet as if loath to leave the merry crew
Peeped thro the arches in a last adieu
Simon tho filled with thoughts reflecting pain
Could not but turn to see it peep again
Remembering at the sight in happier days
How Mary stood that self same thing to praise
What sorrowful delights such dreams bequeath
What golden feelings clad in memorys wreath
Past reccolections in our bosoms move
That once were hopes attendants upon love
& Simon een in sorrow felt a joy
From memorys past that nothing could destroy
But such are reveries that will not last
They come like thoughts & ere we muse are past
Hopes change like summer clouds from shape to shape
Setting the restless fancies all agape
& painting joys as beautiful & fair
Till all disolves into the common air
So Simon proved it as he onward sped
Who soon as home went supperless to bed
& tho at toil next day he bawled & sung
Twas but to smother how his heart was wrung
His mind still laboured over past affairs
& strove in vain to get the start of cares
While hope proposed a medicine for pain
Making it up to see her once again
Resolving if next sunday should be fine
To look oer all & ere he would resign
Loves all hed go & clear himself from wrong
& tell what kept him from the fair so long
For he believed & did his follys scoff
That Mary fancied he had left her off
& at the fair in hurt loves jealous whim
To be revenged took up with Footman Tim
Thus Simon thought & often stopt his song
To curse lost Dobbin that had caused the wrong

Soon Sunday came & to make worse the matter
Rain drops from off the eves did quickly patter
He heard it while abed for sorrow aches
Around the heart & haunts it while it wakes
Sad sad he listened to the pattering sound
While every plash left hope a deeper wound
Ere the gray cock nights watchman did supprise
Nights startled sleep & bid the sun to rise
& up he got & with an anxious eye
From out the window looked upon the sky
That darkly glowered as if it meant to last
Raining away so thickly & so fast
That every drop made bubbles as they fell
In the mossed duckpond & uncovered well
While brimming ruts did headlong journeys go
As if like springs they ever meant to flow
Vain hope what is it as its sun declines
A balm on which the sick heart feeds & pines
& many a heart from whence its rapture came
Is nothing now but memory & a name
Victims of love that cheated them too long
Sunk to the burthen of a mournful song
But Simon tho perplext felt not that smart
So deep that endeth in a broken heart
Of ruder mould was he & ruder form
That like the oak grows stubborn in a storm
Not like the weaker sort that bend & sigh
& at a frown cling to despair & die
The rain it ceased at noon the sky looked thro
The breaking clouds in many a patch of blue
As breaks the thick ice in a sudden thaw
Showing the bottom of the brook below
When Simon instantly from off the nail
His bran new beaver reached & without fail
Brushed oer the plashy fields & dripping stiles
Careless of shortening day & lengthening miles
For Marys smiles would be to him as light
& make een sunshine of the darkest night
& so they ought for ere he reached the place
The sun sunk low & bade good night apace
& while the spire peeped oer the woodland bough
He stopt to whipe the moisture from his brow
Asking a shepherd where the farm might be
About the town where Mary lived—& he
Scarce raised him on his elbow from his lare
& holding out his sheephook halooed “there”
When on his greedy ear her well known voice
Ecchoed amain & made his heart rejoice
As in a milking nook she called her cows
When on he sped & hid among the boughs
Of black thorn growing in disorder near
The sad revealings of her mind to hear
For grief in solitude will tell tho vain
Its sorrows to itself to ease the pain
That stifling silence round the heart inurned
Simon thus much by self experience learned
So down he dropt amid the thickets shade
To list unseen the unsuspecting maid
Staining his garments with the bruising grass
For he thought little of his sunday dress
Nor was his expectation long decieved
Her sighs soon told him how her heart was grieved
& while the brook in mingling mutterings ran
She milked & thus her sad complaint began
‘Fye Simon fye to seem to love so true
‘Your heedless follys know not what they do
‘My hearts nigh broken with his broken vow
‘I feel so sad I scarce can milk my cow
‘Yet none will free me from my sunday toil
‘So I must milk & sunday gowns must spoil
‘& spoil they may—I feel in loves despair
‘Few are the number I shall live to wear
‘Simons unkindness made all pleasures vain
‘& left me wounds that cannot heal again
‘Ungrateful man to do as he hath done
‘To take my pails that I the dirt might shun
‘& lay fresh stones when eer the brook was high
‘That I might cross in safety & be dry
‘Then all at once to fling me from his mind
‘Nor een on memory turn a look behind
‘Around me as he did like Ivy cling
‘& then to spurn me like a poison thing
‘Dear what a terror of suspence Im in
‘My heart een heaves my bosom to my chin
‘& swelled with troubles that I could not see
‘Unpins my kerchief as it would be free
‘But sad to think of that can never be
‘I felt no joy in fussy Footman Tim
‘Twas downright malice made me notice him
‘& vain I tryed to yield & he to win
‘For love & malice claim but small akin
‘False Simon first my foolish heart beguiled
‘& to none else will it be reconsiled
‘Would I could pluck his memory from my mind
‘Just as a dewdrop trembles from the wind
‘O dear I cannot for my heart must own
‘The pain it feeleth to be left alone
‘To weep unseen & all unheard to sigh
‘Left all to silent loneliness am I
‘Save that the Robin every time I come
‘Peepeth & makes me welcome to his home
‘Leaving in neighbouring bush its mossy nest
‘To visit & invite me for its guest
‘Perk nimble thing were I but half as free
‘& half as happy I might sing with thee
‘Thy love proves true but mine was false & bad
‘& that which makes thee happy makes me sad
‘—Well foolish griefs are follys many say
‘& longs the night that never looks for day
‘Well if the roads are bad & love unkind
‘Ive got my pattens still so never mind
‘Thank heaven Im neither blind or lame to need
‘A arm to lean on or a guide to lead
‘Yet will my heart be sad’ so said her sighs
As she turned up her apron to her eyes

Simon heard all & from his hiding place
Rushed out & caught her in his hearts embrace
Cheered was his soul forgetting former toil
Glad as the hope that meets a lovers smile
Warmth did away the bashfulness of love
Leaving no pause to fear she might reprove
Alarm in her denials put to strife
& waked past pleasures into sudden life
Lost in his arms loves reverie beguiles
& kisses dry her sorrows into smiles
Till burning joy that speech to each denied
Did into reasons cooler light subside
Then Simon up & told her all & how
Misfortunes fell & made him break his vow
& laid it all to Dobbin who at large
Unfound remained as heedless of the charge
He told what kept him from the fair so long
She heard with joy yet grieved she judged so wrong
& from that night both pledged eternal love
Leaving the rest to him who rules above
& Simon when they parted in delight
Could not help singing tho twas sunday night
& sung so loud too on his homeward way
That birds awoke & thought it must be day
& day it was before he reached the farm
Where gaping wonder with enquirey warm
On tiptoe stood to question his delay
Where he had been & why he chose to stay
But silence whom no bribe can force to speak
Kept close her lips & left them still to seek
Time went on smooth & gaily with him now
& glad as larks that sung him to his plough
He toiled & sung & labour seemed as nought
While Marys smiles had share of every thought
Save now & then as oer his memory crost
The thought of Dobbin whom all reckoned lost
& many a week went bye & grew agen
To two whole months of mystery & then
With ribs nigh bare & shoulders gauled & sore
One morn they found him at the stable door
Waiting as not forgot the accustomed corn
Which he was wont to share of every morn
Hodge spied him first & with a joyous shout
Cried “heres old dobbin”—when from breakfast out
Came all & joy in every face did burn
Pleased as are mothers when their sons return
One clapped his sides one did his memory bless
While Dobbins looks bespoke his hearts distress
Low hung his lip nor in his former way
Did he give signs of frolic or of play
Yet when his name was called with freshened will
He prickt his ears as if he knew it still
The Farmer cursed the thieves he hoped to track
& clapped old Dobbin as right welcome back
& gave him extra corn & extra rest
Till he grew fat & frolic as the best
When he his former fame revived again
For breaking gaps & getting in the grain
& oft in after years with memorys mirth
Simon raised laughter round his cottage hearth
With tales of Dobbins strange eventful life
When happy Mary had become his wife
Who often laughed while in his elbow chair
He told the cause that kept him from the fair
& all the pains then felt now banished hence
Since Marys love had made them reccompence
Nay kisses now he claimed back debts to pay
& thus the winters evening wore away
Blessed each with each like birds in summer weather
Light was the chain that joined their hearts together

A grasshopper idle the whole summer long
Played about the tall grass with unthinking delight
& spent the whole day with his hopping & song
& sipp'd of the dew for his supper at night
Thus night brought him food & the red rising sun
Awoke him fresh fed to his singing agen
& thus he went on with his frolic & fun
Till winter winds whistled & where was he then

The plain wore no longer the hue of his wing
All withered & brown as a desert could be
In vain he looked round for the shelter of spring
While the longest green sprig scarcely reached to his knee
The rime feathered night fell as white as a sheet
& dewdrops were frozen before they could fall
The shy creeping sun too denied him his heat
Thus the poor silly soul was deserted of all

The ant had forewarned him of what he would be
When he laughed at his toil on the parched summer plain
He now saw the folly he then could not see
But advice taen too late is but labour in vain
If he wished to work now there was nothing to find
The winter told plain twas too late in the day
In vain he looked round in the snow & the wind
Unable to toil & too saddened for play

He looked back & sighed on his singing & racket
& employed the last hope he had left him to beg
So he sought in the woods withered leaves for a jacket
Of a rushe he made crutches & limped of a leg
The winds whistled round him while seeking for pity
Oer the white crimping snows he went limping along
Sighing sad at each cottage his sorrowful ditty
But a song out of season is povertys song

The first hut he came too belonged to a mouse
Beneath a warm bank at the foot of a tree
While dead rush & grass nodded over her house
& made it as snug as a dwelling could be
He told his sad tale & the mouse as in fear
Bade him work for a living & shrank from his sight
For she at that moment was nibbling an ear
Of barley she stole from a barn over night

He left her & journeyed half hopeless & chill
& met with a beetle that bustled away
To a crack called his home in a sun slanting hill
& he'd scarce stop to hear what the beggar would say
Though he held neath his arm a hugh crumble of bread
Which a shepherd boy dropped on his cold dinner seat
& well might he haste when from danger he fled
For his dog had nigh crushed him to death with his feet

At the hut of an ear wig he next made a call
Who crept from the cold in a down headed thistle
That nodded & minutely threatened to fall
While winnowing by it the tempest did whistle
The beggars loud rappings soon scared her from sleep
& her bosom for safety did terribly quake
For she thought it the treading down rustle of sheep
But slept undisturbed when she found the mistake

Hot summers sweet minstrel the large bumble bee
The one that wears clothing of tawney & brown
Who early in springs kindled suns we may see
Booming round peeping blossoms & bowing them down
Our beggar tho hopeless resolved to try all
& came to his hut in an old rotten oak
The bee thought it spring & was glad at the call
But frowned a denial as soon as he woke

He then sought a Ladycows cottage of moss
As old summer friends with as little success
& told his misfortunes to live by the loss
She pitied but pitys no food for distress
A chrysalis dwelt on the back of dead leaves
In a palace of silk & it gladdened his heart
But wealth rarely sleeps without dreaming of thieves
So she kept her door bolted & bade him depart

In a long hollow keck by the side of the road
As tall as in summer tho withered & old
A long legged shepherd had taen his abode
& made a good shift to keep out of the cold
Our beggar knocked hard at his door passing bye
& begged for a morsel & told his despair
The tennant looked out of his hole with a sigh
& pitied his fate—but had nothing to spare

He then shunned the road & went up by a hedge
Where some Gnats had collected to dance in the sun
& the day smiled so warm neath the bushes & sedge
That hopes had nigh whispered the summer begun
His heart even jumped at the sight of their play
But ere his sad steps to their revels had come
A cloud hid the sun that made night at noon day
& each gnat soon was missing away to his home

Over hill-spotted pasture & wild rushy lea
A poor houseless vagabond doomed for all weathers
He wandered where none was left wretched but he
While the white flakey snow flew about him like feathers
In vain he sought shelter & down in the vale
By the brook to an old hollow willow did roam
& there een a foot foundered slow creeping snail
Had crept in before him & made it her home

Her door was glued up from the frost & the snow
As a bee in its hive she was warm in her shell
& the storm it might drift & the wind it might blow
She was safe & could dream about spring in her cell
He knocked & begged hard een to creep in the porch
If she'd no room for two in her parlour to spare
But as dead as a dormouse asleep in a church
All was silent & still as no tennant was there

Thus pleading & praying & all to no good
Telling vainly a story of troubles & wants
He bethought of an old snubby oak by a wood
Where flourished in summer a city of ants
& though they reproved him for singing & play
& told him that winter would bring its reward
He knew they were rich & he hoped on his way
That pitys kind ear would his sorrows regard

From people so rich trifles could not be missed
So he thought ere his hopes to their finish had come
Though as to their giving he could not insist
Yet he might from such plenty be sure of a crumb
Thus he dreamed on his journey but guess his supprise
When come to the place where such bustle had been
A high wooden wall hid it all from his eyes
& an ant round about it was not to be seen

Their doors were shut up till the summer returned
Nor would one have come had he stood for a day
Again in despair with his wants he sojourned
& sighed lone & sad on his sorrowful way
He limped on his crutches in sorrow & pain
With neer a hope left to indulge his distress
While snows spread a carpet all over the plain
& hiding his path made him travel by guess

He roamed through the wood where he'd fain made a stop
But hunger so painful still urged him away
For the oak tho it rocked like a cradle atop
Was as still at its root as a midsummer day
Where the leaves that the wind wirligigs to the ground
& feathers pruned off from the crows sooty wing
Lie mid the green moss that is blooming around
Undisturbed till the bird builds its nest in the spring

The night came apace & the clouds sailing bye
Wore the copper flushed tints of the cold setting sun
& crows to their rime feathered forests did flye
& owls round about had their whoopings begun
He hopped through rough hedges & rude creaking wickets
Till a shepherds lodgehouse in the fields met his eye
Where he heard with surprise the glad chirping of crickets
& hoped his companions & summer was nigh

He paused with delight oer the chitter & mirth
& tried to stare in thro a crack in the door
While a cat half asleep on the warm cottage hearth
Dreamed a mouse made the rustle & bounced on the floor
Our beggar half frighted to death at the sight
Hopped off & retreated as fast as he could
Better pleased to tramp on in the star studded night
Than hazard such danger for shelter & food

In passing a barn he a dwelling espied
Where silk hangings hung round the room like a hall
In a crack of the wall—once again he applied
& who but a spider should come at the call
The Grasshopper said he was weary & lost
& the spider gave welcome with cunning disguise
Altho a hugh jiant in size to his host
Our beggars heart trembled in terrors surprise

When he set down before him dried wings of a fly
& fear made him ready to sink thro his seat
For hunger found nothing its wants to supply
& fear had him ready to sink thro his seat
Then to bed he went quaking & faith well he might
Where murdered things lay round the room in a heap
Too true did he dream oer his dangers that night
For the spider watched chances & killed him asleep

In the morning a cock robin hopped from his perch
& fluttered about by the side of the wall
Where the murdering spider peeped out on the lurch
& thought a new beggar was going to call
The Robin soon found what the spider was at
& killed him & bore the dead beggar away
But wether to bury or eat him or what
Is a secret he never would tell to this day

Thus idleness ever on sorrows attend
& often shakes hands with repentance too late
Till forced to take up with a foe as a friend
Then death & destruction is certain as fate
Had he taen the advice of the hardworking ant
He had shunned the sad snares of bad company then
& dwelt with his brothers & sisters from want
& lived to see summer & singing again

Now Anna my child to this story of truth
Pay attention & learn as thy reason comes on
To value that sweetest of seasons thy youth
Nor live to repent of its loss when its gone
Shun the idle that spend all their childhood in play
& pass them to school without care or regret
Where thy books they will show thee that this is the way
To shun the sad fate which the Grasshopper met

Some two or three weeks before valentine day
At a time when Sir Winter grew kind & in play
Shook hands with Miss Flora he wooed her to spare
A few pretty snowdrops to stick in his hair
Intending for truth as he said to resign
His throne to Miss Spring & her priest Valentine
Which trifle he asked for before he set forth
To remind him of all when he got in the north
& this is the reason that snowdrops appear
Mid the cold of the winter so soon in the year
Flora gladly complied & the instant she heard
Flew away with the news to each bachelor bird
Who in raptures half moved on loves errands to start
Their songs muttered over to get them by heart
Nay the Mavis at once sung aloud in their glee
& looked for a spot where loves dwelling should be
& ever since then both in garden & grove
The Mavis tunes first a short ditty to love—
While all the young gentlemen birds that were near
Fell to trimming their jackets anew for the year
One & all they determined to seek for a mate
& thought it a folly for seasons to wait
So even agreed before valentine day
To join hearts in love but the ladies said nay
Yet each one consented at once to resign
Her heart unto Hymen on St Valentine
While winter who only pretended to go
Lapt himself out of sight in some hillocks of snow
That behind all the rest neath the wood hedges lay
So close that the sun could not drive them away
Yet the gentlemen birds on their love errands flew
Thinking all flora told them was nothing but true
Till out winter came & his frowns in a trice
Turned the lady birds hearts all as hardened as ice
In vain might the gentles in love sue & plead
They heard but not once did they notice or heed
From winter they crept who in tyranny proud
Yoked his horses of storms to his coach of a cloud
For on Valentines morn he was raving so high
Lady Spring for the life of her dare not come nigh
While Floras gay feet where so numbed with the snow
That she could not put on her best slippers to go
Then spring she fell ill & her health to regain
On a sunbeam rode back to her south once again
& as both were the bridemaids their teazing delay
Made the lady birds put off their weddings till may
Some sighed their excuses & feared to catch cold
& the redcap in mantle all bordered with gold
Sore feared that the weather would spoil her fine cloaths
& nought but complaints through the forrest arose
So St Valentine came on his journey alone
In the coach of the morn for he'd none of his own
& put on his cassock & band & went in
To the temple of Hymen the rights to begin
Where the Mavis Thrush waited along with his bride
Nor in the whole place was a lady beside
The gentlemen they came alone to the saint
& instead of being married each made a complaint
Of Sir Winter whose folly had caused the delay
& forced love to put off the wedding till May
So the priest shook his head & undrest to be gone
As he had no day for his leisure but one
& when the May came with Miss Flora & Spring
They had nought but old cares & new sorrows to sing
For some of the lady birds ceased to be kind
To their old loves & changed for newcomers their mind
& some had resolved to keep single that year
Untill St Valentine with the next should appear

Then the birds sung their sorrows the whole summer long
& the Robin first mixed up his ills with his song
He sung of his griefs—how in love hed been crost
& gave up his heart as eternally lost
Twas burnt to a coal as sly Cupid let fall
A spark that scorched through both the feathers & all
To cure it time tried but neer found out the way
So the mark on his bosom he wears to this day
& when birds are all silent & not a leaf seen
On the trees but the ivy & holly so green
In frost & in snow little Robin will sing
To put off the sorrow that ruffles his wing
& that is the cause in our gardens we hear
The Robins sweet note in the close of the year

The Wagtail too mourned in his doubtlet of gray
As if powdered with rime on a dull winters day
He twittered of love—how he courted a fair
Who altered her mind & so made him despair
In a stone pit he chose her a place for a nest
But she like a wanton but made it a jest
Though he dabbled in brooks to convince her how kind
He would feed her with worms which he laboured to find
Till he een got the ague still nought could prevail
So ever since then he's been wagging his tail
In the white thorn the linnet bides lonely to sing
How his lady love shunned his embraces in spring
Though he found out a bush that the sun had half drest
With leaves quite sufficient to shelter their nest
& yet she forsook him no more to be seen
So that is the reason he dresses in green
Then aloud in his grief sings the gay speckled Thrush
That changes his music on every bush—
“My love she has left me to sorrow & mourn
“Yet I hope in my heart she'll repent & return”
So he tries at all notes her approval to meet
& that is the reason he singeth so sweet
& as sweet sang the Bulfinch although he confest
That the anguish he felt was more deep then the rest
& they all marvelled much how he'd spirits to sing
When to show them his anguish he held up his wing
From his throat to his tail not a feather was found
But what had been stained red as blood from the wound

& sad chirped the Sparrow of joys fled & gone
Of his love being lost he so doated upon
So he vowed constant silence for that very thing
& this is the reason why Sparrows dont sing

Then next came the Rook & the sorrowful crow
To tell birds the cause why in mourning they go
Ever since their old loves their embraces forsook
& all seemed to pity the Crow & the Rook

The Jay he affected to hide his despair
& rather than mourn he had spirits to wear
A coat of all colours yet in it some blue
Denoted his passion though crossed was too true
So now in lone woods he will hide him all day
& aloud he scolds all that intrude in his way

The Magpie declared it should never be said
That he mourned for a lover though fifty had fled
Yet his heart all the while was so burnt & distrest
That it turned all the feathers coal black on his breast
The birds they all marvelled but still he denied
& wore a black cap his deep blushes to hide
So that is the reason himself & his kin
Wear hoods with the lappets quite under the chin

Then last came the Owl grieving loud as he flew
Saying how his false lover had bade him adieu
& though he knew not where to find her or follow
Yet round their old haunts he would still whoop & halloo
For no sleep could he get in his sorrowful plight
So that is the reason Owls halloo at night

& here ends the song of each woe stricken bird
Now was a more pitiful story eer heard
The rest was all coupled & happy & they
Sung the old merry songs which they sung at this day
& good little boys when this tale they read oer
Will neer have the hearts to hurt birds any more
& add to the griefs they already have sung
By robbing their nests of their eggs & their young
But feel for their sufferings & pity their pain
Nor give them new cause of their lot to complain