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Foi ncx h. farmers come, jog, jog,

Along the miry road,
Each heart as heavy as a log,

To make their payments good.
In sooth, the sorrow of such days

Is not to be express’d, When he that takes, and he that payı,

Are both alike distress'd.

Now all unwelcome at his gates

The clumsy swains alight, With rueful faces and bald pates

He trembles at the sight.

And well he may, for well he knows

Each bumpkin of the clan, Instead of paying what he owes,

Will cheat him if he can.

So in they come-each makes his leg.

And flings his head before, And looks as if he came to beg,

And not to quit a score,

“ And how does miss and madam do,

“ The litile boy, and all !" " All tight and well. And how do you

“Good Mr. What-d'ye call ?”

The dinner comes, and down they sit:

Were e'er such hungry folk ?

There's little talking, and no wit ;

It is no time to joke.

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,

One spits upon the floor,
Yet not to give offence or grieve,

Holds up the cloth before.

The punch goes round, and they are dull

And lumpish still as ever;
Like barrels with their bellies full,

They only weigh the heavier.

At length the busy time begins,

“Come, neighbours, we must wag-" The money chinks, down drop their chins,

Each lugging out his bag.
One talks of mildew and of frost,

And one of storms of hail,
And one of pigs, that he has lost

By maggots at the tail.

Quoth one, “A rarer man than you

“In pulpit none shall hear; “But yet, methinks, to tell you true,

“You sell it plaguy dear."

O why are farmers made so coarse,

Or clergy made so fine ?
A kick that scarce would move a horse,

May kill a sound divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home;

'Twould cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sun, Withcut the clowns that pav.


Supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk,

during his solitary abode on the island of Juan Fernandez.

1. Lam monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute: From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O Solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms,

Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,

I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see. They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.

III. Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man, O had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.

IV. Religion ! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell

These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,

Or smil'd when a sabbath appear’d.

V. Ye winds that have made me your sports

Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

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