Avon! that fills the farmers' purses,
And decks with flowers both farms and verses; She visits many a fertile vale
Such was the scene of this my
For 'tis in Evesham's Vale, or near it,
That folks with laughter tell and hear it.
The soil, with annual plenty bless'd,
Was by young Corydon possess'd.
His youth alone I lay before ye,
As most material to my story;
For strength and vigour too, he had them,
And 'twere not much amiss to add them.
Thrice happy lout! whose wide domain
Now green with grass, now gilt with grain,
In russet robes of clover deep,
Or thinly veil'd, and white with sheep;
Now fragrant with the bean's perfume,
Now purpled with the pulse's bloom,
Might well with bright allusion store me ;-
But happier bards have been before me.
Amongst the various year's increase
The stripling own'd a field of peas,
Which, when at night he ceased his labours,
Was haunted by some female neighbours.
Each morn discover'd to his sight
The shameful havoc of the night;
Traces of this they left behind them,
But no instructions where to find them.
The Devil's works are plain and evil,
But few or none have seen the Devil.
Old Noll, indeed (if we may credit
The words of Echard, who has said it),
Contrived with Satan how to fool us,
And bargain'd face to face to rule us;
But then old Noll was one in ten,
And sought him more than other men :
Our shepherd, too, with like attention,
May meet the female fiends we mention.
He rose one morn at break of day,
And near the field in ambush lay;
When, lo! a brace of girls appears,
The third a matron much in years.
Smiling amidst the peas, the sinners
Sat down to cull their future dinners,
And caring little who might own them,
Made free, as though themselves had sown them.
'Tis worth a sage's observation
How Love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had forced the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid;
And Love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd Anger out o' door,
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
If Anger bid our youth revile,
Love form'd his features to a smile;
And knowing well 'twas all grimace
To threaten with a smiling face,
He in few words express'd his mind-
And none would deem them much unkind.
The amorous youth, for their offence,
Demanded instant recompense;
That recompense from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful Muse to name:
Yet, more this sentence to discover,
"Tis what Bett * * grants her lover,
When he, to make the strumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune-to a shilling.
Each stood a while, as 'twere suspended,
And loath to do what-each intended.
At length, with soft pathetic sighs,
The matron, bent with age, replies:
• "Tis vain to strive-justice, I know,
And our ill stars, will have it so-
But let my tears your wrath assuage,
And show some deference for age:
I from a distant village came,
Am old, God knows, and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.'
Our shepherd, like the Phrygian swain,
When circled round on Ida's plain
With goddesses, he stood suspended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty,
But paid the compliment to beauty.
TO BE PERFORMED BY DR. BRETTLE, AND A CHORUS OF HALES-OWEN CITIZENS.
The instrumental part a Viol d'Amour.
AIR, BY THE DOCTOR.
AWAKE! I say, awake, good people!
And be for once alive and gay;
Come, let's be merry; stir the tipple;
How can you sleep whilst I do play?
How can you sleep, &c.
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