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22 The fragrant orchard, once the Summers pride, Where oft, by moonshine, on the daisied greene, In jovial daunce, or tripping side by side, Pomona and her buxom nymphs were seene; Or where the clear canal stretchd out atweene, Deffly their locks with blossomes would they brede; Or, resting by the primrose hillocks sheene, Beneath the apple boughs and walnut shade, They sung their loves the while the fruitage gaily spread:

The fragrant orchard at her dire command In all the pride of blossome strewd the plain; The hillocks gently rising through the land Must now no trace of Natures steps retain; The clear canal, the mirrour of the swain, And bluish lake no more adorn the greene, Two durty watering ponds alone remain; And where the moss-floord filbert bowres had beene, Is now a turnip fielde and cow yarde nothing cleane.