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Tixall Poetry.
Peace, and a secure mind,
Which all men seeke, we only find.
Which all men seeke, we only find.
Abused mortals, did you know,
Where joy, hart's ease, and comforts grow,
You'd scorne proud towers,
And seeke them in these bowers,
Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake,
But blustering Care can never tempest make;
Nor murmurs ere come nigh us,
Saving of fountains which glide by us.
Where joy, hart's ease, and comforts grow,
You'd scorne proud towers,
And seeke them in these bowers,
Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake,
But blustering Care can never tempest make;
Nor murmurs ere come nigh us,
Saving of fountains which glide by us.
Here's no fantastike maske, or dance,
But of our kids that frisk and prance;
Nor wars are seene,
Unless upon the greene
Two harmles lambs are butting one the other,
Which done, both bleating run each to his mother:
Nor wounds are ever found,
Save what the ploughshare gives the ground.
But of our kids that frisk and prance;
Nor wars are seene,
Unless upon the greene
Two harmles lambs are butting one the other,
Which done, both bleating run each to his mother:
Nor wounds are ever found,
Save what the ploughshare gives the ground.
Here are no false entrapping baites
To hasten too too hasty fates,
To hasten too too hasty fates,
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