Page:Elegiac Sonnets 2.pdf/76

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Still labouring to live, yet reflecting the while, Young William consider'd his lot; 'Twas hard, yet 'twas honest; and one tender smile From Phoebe at night overpaid ev'ry toil, And then all his fatigues were forgot.

By the brook where it glides thro' the copse of Arbeal, When to eat his cold fare he reclined, Then soft from her home his sweet Phoebe would steal, And bring him wood-strawberries to finish his meal, And would sit by his side while he dined.