Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/75

 Tempting the clothier ; that the hosier seeks ; The long bright lock is apt for airy stuffs ; But often it deceives the artist's care, Breaking unuseful in the steely comb : For this long spungy wool no more increase Receives while winter petrifies the fields : The growth of Autumn stops ; and what tho' Spring Succeeds with rosy finger, and spins on The texture ? yet in vain she strives to link The silver twine to that of Autumn's hand. Be then the swain advis'd to shield his flocks From winter's dead'ning frosts and whelming snows ; Let the loud tempest rattle on the roof, While they, secure within, warm cribs enjoy, And swell their Fleeces, equal to the worth Of cloath'd Apulian, by soft warmth improv'd ; Or let them inward heat and vigour find By food of cole or turnip, hardy plants. Besides, the lock of one continued growth Imbibes a clearer and more equal dye. But lightest wool is theirs who poorly toil Thro' a dull round in unimproving farms Of common fields. Inclose, inclose, ye Swains ! Why will you joy in common field, where pitch, Noxious to wood, must stain your motley flock, To mark your property ? the mark dilates, Enters the flake depreciated, defil'd, Unfit for beauteous tint. Besides, in fields Promiscuous held all culture languishes ; The glebe, exhausted, thin supply receives ; Dull waters rest upon the rushy flats And barren furrows : none the rising grove There plants for late posterity, nor hedge To shield the flock, nor copse for cheering fire ; And in the distant village every hearth