"A baron am I," said Bluebottle; "From a foreign land I come." "I thought as much," said Web-Spinner, "Fools never stay at home!" Says the baron, "Churl, what meaneth this? I defy ye, villain base!" And he wished the while in his inmost heart He was safely from the place. Web-Spinner ran and locked the door, The baron was a man of might, A swordsman of renown; But the miser had the stronger arm, And kept the baron down; From a pocket at his side, And bound him down unto the floor, "There's heavy work in store for you; So baron take your rest!" Then up and down his house he went, With a dull and heavy countenance, And with many and many a desperate tug, And step by step, and step by step, He went with heavy tread; Now all this while a magistrate, So in he burst, through bolts and bars, But the wicked churl, who all his life Passed through a trap-door in the wall, But where he went no man could tell; He died a miserable death, But his body ne'er was found. They pulled his house down stick and stone "For a caitiff vile as he," Said they, "within our quiet town Shall not a dweller be!" LOSS IN DELAYS. SHUN delays, they breed remorse, Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee: Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Time wears all his locks before, Take thou hold upon his forehead, When he flies, he turns no more, And behind, his scalp is naked: Works adjourned, have many stays, Long demurs breed new delays. Seek thy salve while sore is green, Often sought, scarce ever chancing: TO PRIMROSES. WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? Alas! you have not known that shower Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years; Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known Ye droop, and weep; Is it for want of sleep Or that ye have not seen as yet Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? No, no; this sorrow, shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read :— "That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth." -ROBERT HERRICK. SONG OF THE CAPTIVE. [A captive knight is supposed to hold a dialogue in song with certain flowers growing near the walls of his prison.] CAPTIVE. A FLOWER that's wondrous fair I know, My bosom holds it dear, To seek that flower I long to go, But am imprisoned here. |