Tixall Poetry.
299
Unies it be
The fond credulity
Of silly fish, which worldlings like, still look
Upon the baite, and never on the hooke:
Nor envy, unies among
The birds, for praise of their sweet song.
The fond credulity
Of silly fish, which worldlings like, still look
Upon the baite, and never on the hooke:
Nor envy, unies among
The birds, for praise of their sweet song.
Go, let the diving negro seeke
For gemmes in some forlorne creeke;
We pearles do scorne,
Save what the dewy morne
Congeals upon each spire of grass,
Which careles sheapheards beat downe as they passe:
And gold nere here appeares
But what the yellow Ceres beares.
For gemmes in some forlorne creeke;
We pearles do scorne,
Save what the dewy morne
Congeals upon each spire of grass,
Which careles sheapheards beat downe as they passe:
And gold nere here appeares
But what the yellow Ceres beares.
Sweet silent groves, O may you be
For ever mirth's blest nursery.
May pure contents
For ever pitch their tents
Upon these meads, these downs, these rocks, these mountains;
And peace still slumber by these purling fountains;
For ever mirth's blest nursery.
May pure contents
For ever pitch their tents
Upon these meads, these downs, these rocks, these mountains;
And peace still slumber by these purling fountains;
