FRUIT OF OLD.
15
No lack of good employment shall he find,
To finish jobs at leisure, which, deferr'd 300
Until the busy sunshine, would be slurr'd.
The ploughman hammers out his batter'd share,
Scoops wooden troughs, and brands his fleecy care,
Or stamps the tallies on his sacks of corn,
Or sharpens stakes and forks with double horn;
While others bend the osier Amerine, 306
To check the freedom of the gadding vine:
Now weave of bramble shoots your hampers neat,
Now parch, now grind upon a stone, your wheat.
Nay e'en when holy festival succeeds, 310
Both right and statute sanction certain deeds.
From pious scruples no one hath forborne
To lift the sluice or fence the standing corn,
To snare the birds, to fire the bramble stook,
And plunge the bleaters in the wholesome brook.
And oft the driver of the laggard ass 316
With oil and orchard apples loads his pack,
And leaving market, takes a millstone back,
A chisell'd stone, or pitch a sable mass.
The moon herself hath different days assign'd,
In different order, lucky, and unkind. 321
To finish jobs at leisure, which, deferr'd 300
Until the busy sunshine, would be slurr'd.
The ploughman hammers out his batter'd share,
Scoops wooden troughs, and brands his fleecy care,
Or stamps the tallies on his sacks of corn,
Or sharpens stakes and forks with double horn;
While others bend the osier Amerine, 306
To check the freedom of the gadding vine:
Now weave of bramble shoots your hampers neat,
Now parch, now grind upon a stone, your wheat.
Nay e'en when holy festival succeeds, 310
Both right and statute sanction certain deeds.
From pious scruples no one hath forborne
To lift the sluice or fence the standing corn,
To snare the birds, to fire the bramble stook,
And plunge the bleaters in the wholesome brook.
And oft the driver of the laggard ass 316
With oil and orchard apples loads his pack,
And leaving market, takes a millstone back,
A chisell'd stone, or pitch a sable mass.
The moon herself hath different days assign'd,
In different order, lucky, and unkind. 321
