The lorde shall still receive his rents for house and lande, [bande; But not to feede and swill a wilde tumultuous Defended by the lawes, the weak secure shall stande, And every poore man eate the labour of his hand. In senates grave and sage, the peere, a patriot has shone, And the king's true noble. Yet such as these, in troth, ye mun expect but few, Some new baronnes shall be ne wise, ne just, ne [harm can do: true, But so close shall their power be pared they little Then happy daies are these, reserved, my sonnes, for you! Like free-born men of old Englonde, REV. S. HOOLE. THE VICAR OF BRAY. IN good King Charles's golden days, Unto my flock I daily preach'd, Kings were by God appointed; And damn'd all those that dare resist Or touch the Lord's anointed. CHORUS. And this is law I will maintain When royal James possess'd the crown, The church of Rome I found would fit Full well my constitution; And I had been a Jesuit But for the Revolution. When William, our deliverer, came When royal Anne became our queen, Occasional conformists base I damn'd, and moderation; And thought the church in danger was When George in pudding-time came o'er, The' illustrious House of Hanover, For, in my faith and loyalty I never once will falter; But George my lawful king shall be- ANONYMOUS, SPRING. A Song. WHEN daisies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men, for thus sings he— Cuckoo! cuckoo!-O word of fear, When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, Mocks married men, for thus sings he- Cuckoo! cuckoo!-O word of fear, SHAKSPEARE. WINTER. A Song. WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And milk comes frozen home in pail; Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note, When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marion's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note, SHAKSPEARE. SONG. SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more; But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny; Sing no more ditties, sing no mo SHAKSPEARE. ARIEL'S SONG. WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry; On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily; Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. VOL. III. SHAKSPEARE. K K |