Therefore thou art not baited.
For seven years Hear it, O Heaven, and give ear, O Earth! For seven long years this precious syllogism Hath baffled justice and humanity!
NAY, gather not that Filbert, Nicholas, There is a maggot there, it is his house, ..
His castle,.. oh commit not burglary!
Strip him not naked,. . 't is his clothes, his shell, His bones, the case and armour of his life, And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas ! It were an easy thing to crack that nut Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth, So easily may all things be destroy'd! But 't is not in the power of mortal man To mend the fracture of a filbert shell.
There were two great men once amused themselves Watching two maggots run their wriggling race, And wagering on their speed; but Nick, to us It were no sport to see the pamper'd worm Roll out and then draw in his folds of fat, Like to some Barber's leathern powder-bag Wherewith he feathers, frosts, or cauliflowers Spruce Beau, or Lady fair, or Doctor Enough of dangers and of enemies
Hath Nature's wisdom for the worm ordain'd, Increase not thou the number! Him the Mouse Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell's defence, May from his native tenement eject;
Him may the Nut-hatch, piercing with strong bill, Unwittingly destroy; or to his hoard
The Squirrel bear, at leisure to be crack'd. Man also hath his dangers and his foes
As this poor Maggot hath; and when I muse Upon the aches, anxieties, and fears, The Maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks It were a happy metamorphosis
To be enkernell'd thus: never to hear Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots, Kings, Jacobines, and Tax-commissioners; To feel no motion but the wind that shook The Filbert Tree, and rock'd us to our rest; And in the middle of such exquisite food To live luxurious! The perfection this Of snugness! it were to unite at once Hermit retirement, Aldermanic bliss, And Stoic independence of mankind.
DESCRIBED IN RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY.
"How does the Water,
Come down at Lodore?' My little boy ask'd me Thus, once on a time; And moreover he task'd me To tell him in rhyme.
Anon at the word,
There first came one daughter And then came another,
To second and third
The request of their brother, And to hear how the Water Comes down at Lodore, With its rush and its roar. As many a time
They had seen it before. So I told them in rhyme, For of rhymes I had store; And 't was in my vocation For their recreation That so I should sing; Because I was Laureate To them and the King.
From its sources which well In the Tarn on the fell; From its fountains
In the mountains, It's rills and it's gills;
Through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps For awhile, till it sleeps In its own little Lake. And thence at departing, Awakening and starting, It runs through the reeds And away it proceeds, Through meadow and glade, In sun and in shade, And through the wood-shelter, Among crags in its flurry, Helter-skelter,
Hurry-scurry.
Here it comes sparkling, And there it lies darkling; Now smoaking and frothing It's tumult and wrath in, Till in this rapid race On which it is bent, It reaches the place Of its steep descent.
The Cataract strong Then plunges along, Striking and raging
As if a war waging
Its caverns and rocks among:
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