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The bending hermit here a pray'r begun:
“Lord, as in heaven, on earth Thy will be done!"
Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place,
And passed a life of piety and peace.

1721.

JOHN GAY

FROM

THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK

THURSDAY, OR THE SPELL

Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale,
In pensive mood rehearsed her piteous tale.
Her piteous tale the winds in sighs bemoan,
And pining Echo answers groan for groan.

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I rue the day, a rueful day I trow,
The woeful day, a day indeed of woe!
When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove:
A maiden fine bedight he hapt to love;
The maiden fine bedight his love retains,
And for the village he forsakes the plains.
Return, my Lubberkin! these ditties hear!
Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

When first the year I heard the cuckoo sing
And call with welcome note the budding spring,
I straightway set a-running with such haste,
Deb'rah that won the smock scarce ran so fast;
Till, spent for lack of breath, quite weary grown,
Upon a rising bank I sat adown,
Then doffed my shoe, and by my troth, I swear,
Therein I spied this yellow frizzled hair,
As like to Lubberkin's in curl and hue
As if upon his comely pate it grew.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around

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At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought,
But to the field a bag of hempseed brought.
I scattered round the seed on ev'ry side,
And three times in a trembling accent cried,
"This hempseed with my virgin hand I sow;
Who shall my true-love be the crop shall mow.”
I straight looked back, and, if my eyes speak truth,
With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind
Their paramours with mutual chirpings find,
I rearly rose, just at the break of day,
Before the sun had chased the stars away;
A-field I went, amid the morning dew,
To milk my kine (for so should huswives do):
Thee first I spied; and the first swain we see,
In spite of fortune shall our true-love be.
See, Lubberkin, each bird his partner take;
And canst thou then thy sweetheart dear forsake?

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Last May Day fair I searched to find a snail
That might my secret lover's name reveal.
Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found,
For always snails near sweetest fruit abound.
I seized the vermin, home I quickly sped,
And on the hearth the milk-white embers spread:
Slow crawled the snail, and, if I right can spell,
In the soft ashes marked a curious L.
Oh, may this wondrous omen lucky prove!
For L is found in “Lubberkin” and “Love."

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Two hazel-nuts I threw into the flame,
And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name.
This with the loudest bounce me sore amazed,
That in a flame of brightest colour blazed.
As blazed the nut so may thy passion grow,
For 't was thy nut that did so brightly glow.

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With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As peascods once I plucked, I chanced to see
One that was closely filled with three times three;
Which when I cropped I safely home conveyed,
And o'er my door the spell in secret laid.
My wheel I turned, and sung a ballad new,
While from the spindle I the fleeces drew.
The latch moved up, when who should first come in
But in his proper person—Lubberkin!
I broke my yarn, surprised the sight to see,-
Sure sign that he would break his word with me.
Eftsoons I joined it with my wonted slight:
So may again his love with mine unite!

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass :
"Fly, lady-bird, north, south, or east, or west!
Fly where the man is found that I love best!"
He leaves my hand: see, to the west he's flown,
To call my true-love from the faithless town.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This mellow pippin, which I pare around,
My shepherd's name shall flourish on the ground:
I fling th' unbroken paring o'er my head-
Upon the grass a perfect L is read.
Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen
Than what the paring marks upon the green.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This pippin shall another trial make.
See, from the core two kernels brown I take:
This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn,
And Boobyclod on t other side is borne;
But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground
(A certain token that his love's unsound),
While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last-
Oh, were his lips to mine but joined so fast!

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With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree,
I twitched his dangling garter from his knee;
He wist not when the hempen string I drew.
Now mine I quickly doff of inkle blue;
Together fast I tie the garters twain,
And while I knit the knot repeat this strain:
“Three times a true-love's knot I tie secure;
Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure !"

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As I was wont, I trudged last market-day
To town, with new-laid eggs preserved in hay.
I made my market long before 't was night;
My purse grew heavy and my basket light:
Straight to the pothecary's shop I went,
And in love-powder all my money spent.
Behap what will, next Sunday after prayers,
When to the alehouse Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around.

But hold! our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his ears:
O'er yonder stile, see, Lubberkin appears!
He comes, he comes ! Hobnelia 's not bewrayed,
Nor shall she, crowned with willow, die a maid.
He vows, he swears, he 'll give me a green gown:
Oh dear! I fall adown, adown, adown!

1714.

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A BALLAD

'T was when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined.
Wide o'er the rolling billows

She cast a wistful look;
Her head was crowned with willows

That tremble o'er the brook.

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Through winter streets to steer your course aright,
How to walk clean by day and safe by night,
How jostling crowds with prudence to decline,

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