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With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.
As peascods once I plucked, I chanced to see
One that was closely filled with three times three;
Which when I cropped I safely home conveyed,
And o'er my door the spell in secret laid.
My wheel I turned, and sung a ballad new,
While from the spindle I the fleeces drew.
The latch moved up, when who should first come in
But in his proper person-Lubberkin!

I broke my yarn, surprised the sight to see,

Sure sign that he would break his word with me.
Eftsoons I joined it with my wonted slight:
So may again his love with mine unite!

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
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
This mellow pippin, which I pare around,
My shepherd's name shall flourish on the ground:
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 marks upon the green.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
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 joined so fast!









With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.
As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree,
I twitched 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 trudged last market-day
To town, with new-laid eggs preserved in hay.
I made my market long before 't was 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 alehouse 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 ears:
O'er yonder stile, see, Lubberkin appears!
He comes, he comes! Hobnelia's not bewrayed,
Nor shall she, crowned with willow, die a maid.
He vows, he swears, he'll give me a green gown:
Oh dear! I fall adown, adown, adown!


'T was when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined.

Wide o'er the rolling billows
She cast a wistful look;

Her head was crowned with willows
That tremble o'er the brook.









"Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days:
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest!
Ah, what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?

"The merchant, robbed of pleasure,
Sees tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on
Where gold and di'monds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.
"How can they say that Nature

Has nothing made in vain?
Why, then, beneath the water
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes the rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep
To wreck the wand'ring lover
And leave the maid to weep."

All melancholy lying,

Thus wailed she for her dear;
Repaid each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear:
When, o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied;
Then, like a lily drooping,

She bowed her head and died.




Through winter streets to steer your course aright,
How to walk clean by day and safe by night,
How jostling crowds with prudence to decline,

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When to assert the wall and when resign,
I sing. Thou, Trivia, goddess, aid my song;
Through spacious streets conduct thy bard along.

For ease and for dispatch, the morning's best;
No tides of passengers the street molest.
You'll see a draggled damsel, here and there,
From Billingsgate her fishy traffic bear;
On doors the sallow milk-maid chalks her gains-
Ah, how unlike the milk-maid of the plains!
Before proud gates attending asses bray,
Or arrogate with solemn pace the way;
These grave physicians with their milky cheer
The lovesick maid and dwindling beau repair.
Here rows of drummers stand in martial file,
And with their vellum thunder shake the pile,
To greet the new-made bride: are sounds like these
The proper prelude to a state of peace?
Now Industry awakes her busy sons:
Full charged with news, the breathless hawker runs;
Shops open, coaches roll, carts shake the ground,
And all the streets with passing cries resound.

If clothed in black you tread the busy town,
Or if distinguished by the rev'rend gown,
Three trades avoid: oft in the mingling press
The barber's apron soils the sable dress;
Shun the perfumer's touch with cautious eye,
Nor let the baker's step advance too nigh.
Ye walkers too that youthful colours wear,
Three sullying trades avoid with equal care:
The little chimney-sweeper skulks along,
And marks with sooty stains the heedless throng;
When "Small-coal!" murmurs in the hoarser throat,
From smutty dangers guard thy threatened coat;
The dust-man's cart offends thy clothes and eyes,
When through the street a cloud of ashes flies.
But whether black or lighter dyes are worn,
The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne,
With tallow spots thy coat; resign the way
To shun the surly butcher's greasy tray-
Butchers whose hands are dyed with blood's foul stain,









And always foremost in the hangman's train.
Let due civilities be strictly paid:
The wall surrender to the hooded maid,
Nor let thy sturdy elbow's hasty rage
Jostle the feeble steps of trembling age;
And when the porter bends beneath his load,
And pants for breath, clear thou the crowded road;
But, above all, the groping blind direct,
And from the pressing throng the lame protect.
You'll sometimes meet a fop, of nicest tread,
Whose mantling peruke veils his empty head;
At ev'ry step he dreads the wall to lose
And risks, to save a coach, his red-heeled shoes:
Him, like the miller, pass with caution by,
Lest from his shoulder clouds of powder fly.
But when the bully, with assuming pace,
Cocks his broad hat, edged round with tarnished lace,
Yield not the way; defy his strutting pride,
And thrust him to the muddy kennel's side;
He never turns again nor dares oppose,

But mutters coward curses as he goes.





But hark! Distress with screaming voice draws nigh'r, 65
And wakes the slumb'ring street with cries of fire.
At first a glowing red enwraps the skies,

And, borne by winds, the scatt'ring sparks arise;
From beam to beam the fierce contagion spreads;
The spiry flames now lift aloft their heads;
Through the burst sash a blazing deluge pours,
And splitting tiles descend in rattling show'rs.
Now with thick crowds th' enlightened pavement swarms;
The fireman sweats beneath his crooked arms;
A leathern casque his vent'rous head defends;
Boldly he climbs where thickest smoke ascends;
Moved by the mother's streaming eyes and pray'rs,
The helpless infant through the flame he bears,
With no less virtue than through hostile fire
The Dardan hero bore his aged sire.

See forceful engines spout their levelled streams,
To quench the blaze that runs along the beams;
The grappling-hook plucks rafters from the walls,




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