But as historians do over
About their manners some demur
Checks the free access unto Heaven
And then, of that to speak with leaven
Of circumspection, unto a nether
Region they adhere.
Not holding on to it very tight I fear.
And where there is but little wine or beer.
Far wandering habits also ’tis well known
Led the same blades about from town to town
And this with inns & sotlers too
Familiarly acquainted grew.
Says he’s a rogue & to the next,
’Tis varhma’s ploughman claims the text.
He has a twinkle in his eye
Bespeaks good humour you’ll descry
Of cows & sheep & crops can talk
Quite wonderful & see him walk
With lounging stride across the fields
Just turned afresh to raise the crop that yields.
Ample return for all his labour
That wants no sound of pipe & tabour.
His doubtful speech he hath addressed.
To Waggoner Will beside him lest.
The sage remark quite lost should be.
But how indifferent Will is – see!
Come hither! Woah is more to him.
Than such a speculative whim
Above Clod-hopper sits and like the sod –
He’s brown in colour, also he’s well shod.
A satyr’s head has, buckles in his shoes.
Nurses one foot upon his knee amuse with him
Yourself he’s modern fay.
So gives his garb & decent sylvan he.
Is not stark naked & so proud might be
A foot and not a hoof to own.
But can he put a hat upon his crown?
His horns forbid – say that it slid
From off his pate & fell
Where! he nor I can tell!
There let it lie –
The Politician next, with senatorial pipe.
For argument or his opinion ripe.
A first chop Englishman at that sort of chaff.
To hear him talk, Lord!
How ’t’would make you laugh.
For fairy politics differ so very wide