Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found,
(For always snails near sweetest fruit abound).
I seiz'd the vermine, whom I quickly sped,
And on the earth the milk-white embers spread.
Slow crawl'd the snail, and, if a right can spell,
In the soft ashes mark'd a curious L;
Oh, may this wond'rous omen lucky prove!
For L is found in Lubberkin and Love.
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around."
Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame,
And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name;
This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd,
That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd.
As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow;
For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow.
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around."
As peasecods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see, One that was closely fill'd with three times three, Which when I cropp'd I safely home convey'd, And o'er the door the spell in secret laid; My wheel I turn'd, and sung a ballad new,
While from the spindle I the fleeces drew; The latch mov'd up, when, who should first come in
But, in his proper person-Lubberkin.
I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see;
Sure sign that he would break his word with me.
Eftsoons I join'd it with my wonted sleight:
So may again his love with mine unite!
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the
And turn me thrice around, around, around.”
This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass,
"Fly, lady-bird, north, south, or east, or west,
Fly where the man is found that I love best."
He leaves my hand; see, to the west he's flown,
To call my true-love from the faithless town.
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around."
I pare this pippin round and round again,
My shepherd's name to flourish on the plain,
I fling th' unbroken paring o'er my head,
Upon the grass a perfect L is read;
Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen,
Than what the paring makes upon the green.
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the
And turn me thrice around, around, around."
This pippin shall another trial make,
See, from the core two kernels brown I take;
This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn;
And Boobyclod on t' other side is borne.
But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground,
A certain token that his love's unsound;
While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last:
Oh were his lips to mine but join'd so fast!
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the
And turn me thrice around, around, around."
As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree, I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee. He wist not when the hempen string I drew. Now mine I quickly doff, of inkle blue. Together fast I tie the garters twain; And while I knit the knot repeat this strain: "Three times a true-love's knot I tie secure, Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure!" "With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.”
As I was wont, I trudg'd last market-day,
To town, with new-laid eggs preserv'd in hay.
I made my market long before 'twas night,
My purse grew heavy, and my basket light.
Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went,
And in love-powder all my money spent.
Behap what will, next Sunday after prayers,
When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow.
"With my sharp heel I three times mark the
ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around."
But hold- our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his
O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears.
He comes! he comes! Hobnelia's not bewray'd,
Nor shall she crown'd with willow die a maid.
He vows, he swears, he'll give me a green gown:
O dear! I fall adown, adown, adown!
SATURDAY; OR THE FLIGHTS.
SUBLIMER strains, O rustic Muse! prepare;
Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care;
Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise,
The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays;.
With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse,
While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse.
'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil
Of the ripe harvest 'gan to rid the soil;
Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout,
Clean damsels bound the gather'd sheaves about;
The lads with sharpen'd hook and sweating brow,
Cut down the labours of the winter plough.
To the near hedge young Susan steps aside,
She feign'd her coat or garter was unty'd;
Whate'er she did, she stoop'd adown unseen,
And merry reapers what they list will ween.
Soon she rose up, and cry'd with voice so shrill,
That echo answer'd from the distant hill;
The youths and damsels ran to Susan's aid,
Who thought some adder had the lass dismay'd.
When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spy'd,
His hat and oaken staff lay close beside;
That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing,
Or with the rosin'd bow torment the string;
That Bowzybeus who, with fingers speed,
Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed;
That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue,
Ballads and roundelays and catches sung:
They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright,
And in disport surround the drunken wight.
Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long?
The mugs were large, the drink was wond'rous
Thou shouldst have left the fair before 'twas night; But thou sat'st toping till the morning light.
Cicely, brisk maid, steps forth before the rout, And kiss'd with smacking lip the snoring lout: (For custom says, "Whoe'er this venture proves, For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves.") By her example Dorcas bolder grows, And plays a tickling straw within his nose. He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke
The sneering swains with stammering speech bespoke :
To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er,
As for the maids-I've something else in store.
No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song,
But lads and lasses round about him throng.
Not ballad-singer plac'd above the crowd,
Sings with a note so shrilling sweet and loud;
Nor parish-clerk, who calls the psalm so clear,
Like Bowzybeus, soothes th' attentive ear.
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