Page:Grand history on curious subjects, both entertaining and pleasant.pdf/18

 In Augut lat you was a worm Crawling on the green kale.

And then before December next, Will be a beau no more; Your brimtone candles I depie, Nor do your wrath deplore.

Thus I have een a beggar’s on, Grow up into a beau, And flutter in the public treets, With gaudy dres and how.

Thus I have een a porter’s head Run full againt this beau, And lay his beauhip on the gronnd, A pectacle of woe.

PON yon heather hill o high, The hepherd’s flock doth go, Both night and day they there do tay, Thro winter’s frot and snow.

The hepherd ries from his bed, Himelf doth ready make, Gets