 | May Fair |  |
Ye weary washers of chemises;
Ye warm artificers of cheeses;
Ye ploughmen's ladies, who must wake,
Before the dawn, to brew and bake;
Ye milkmaids, who your charms display,
Piled overhead with curds and whey;
Ye who with cobwebs wage the war,
Kneel down and thank your lucky star!
For press, or wash, or milk, or sweep,
Still, spite of fortune, you can sleep.
No rabble roar, no strife of poles,
Disturbs your linsey-wolsey souls;
No Brussels drapery gone to wreck,
Gives to the world your knee or neck.
The midnight o'er your blanket flies;
The morn is up, you rub your eyes;
Then off to milk, sweep, wash, and press,
Without a wrinkle more or less.
Ye warm artificers of cheeses;
Ye ploughmen's ladies, who must wake,
Before the dawn, to brew and bake;
Ye milkmaids, who your charms display,
Piled overhead with curds and whey;
Ye who with cobwebs wage the war,
Kneel down and thank your lucky star!
For press, or wash, or milk, or sweep,
Still, spite of fortune, you can sleep.
35
Disturbs your linsey-wolsey souls;
No Brussels drapery gone to wreck,
Gives to the world your knee or neck.
The midnight o'er your blanket flies;
The morn is up, you rub your eyes;
Then off to milk, sweep, wash, and press,
Without a wrinkle more or less.
| May Fair | |