When chilly rains forbid abroad to roam,
Much may at leisure be prepar'd at home,
What need oft hurries, when the season's fair: 303
The ploughman to an edge whets the blunt share;
Scoops troughs from trees: nor less his flocks the swain
Marks, or prints numbers on his sacks of grain.
Some sharpen spars, and two-horn'd forks, and twine
From willows twigs to stay the flexile vine.
Now weave with bramble rods the frail's thin round;
With fire now roast the corn, with flints now pound.
Nay ev'n for festal days some works are fit, 311
Works, which the laws of gods and men permit.
Moist lands no rigour would refuse to drain,
Or with an hedge to fence the springing grain;
To burn the thorns, the feather'd race insnare, 315
Or in the river plunge the bleating care.
Nor to the city trudging on these days
Of oil and fruit the clown his trade delays;
Returning of black pitch he brings a mass,
Or with th' indented stone loads his slow ass. 320
Observe the moon; ev'n she for rural cares
In various order lucky days declares:
Beware the fifth: on this detested morn
Pale Orcus, and the sister-fiends were born;
Cæus
