21
Peace, tim'rous Goddess! quits her old domain,
In sentiment and song content to reign.
Nor are the Nymphs that breathe the rural air,
So fair as Cynthia's, nor so chaste as fair;
These to the Town afford each fresher face,
And the Clown's trull receives the Peer's embrace;
From whom, should chance again convey her down,
The Peer's disease in turn attacks the Clown.
Hear too the 'Squire, or 'squire-like farmer, talk,
How round their regions nightly pilferers walk;
How from their ponds the fish are borne, and all
The rip'ning treasures from their lofty wall;
How meaner rivals in their sports delight,
Just rich enough to claim a doubtful right;
Who take a licence round their fields to stray,
A mongrel race! the Poachers of the day.
And hark! the riots of the Green begin,
That sprang at first from yonder noisy Inn;
What time the weekly pay was vanish'd all,
And the slow Hostess scor'd the threat'ning wall;
What time they ask'd, their friendly feast to close,
A final cup, and that will make them foes;
When blows ensue that break the arm of Toil,
And rustic battle ends the boobies' broil.
Save when to yonder Hall they bend their way,
Where the grave Justice ends the grievous fray;
He who recites, to keep the poor in awe,
The Law's vast volume—for he knows the Law.—
To him with anger or with shame repair
The injur'd Peasant and deluded Fair,
In sentiment and song content to reign.
Nor are the Nymphs that breathe the rural air,
So fair as Cynthia's, nor so chaste as fair;
These to the Town afford each fresher face,
And the Clown's trull receives the Peer's embrace;
From whom, should chance again convey her down,
The Peer's disease in turn attacks the Clown.
Hear too the 'Squire, or 'squire-like farmer, talk,
How round their regions nightly pilferers walk;
How from their ponds the fish are borne, and all
The rip'ning treasures from their lofty wall;
How meaner rivals in their sports delight,
Just rich enough to claim a doubtful right;
Who take a licence round their fields to stray,
A mongrel race! the Poachers of the day.
And hark! the riots of the Green begin,
That sprang at first from yonder noisy Inn;
What time the weekly pay was vanish'd all,
And the slow Hostess scor'd the threat'ning wall;
What time they ask'd, their friendly feast to close,
A final cup, and that will make them foes;
When blows ensue that break the arm of Toil,
And rustic battle ends the boobies' broil.
Save when to yonder Hall they bend their way,
Where the grave Justice ends the grievous fray;
He who recites, to keep the poor in awe,
The Law's vast volume—for he knows the Law.—
To him with anger or with shame repair
The injur'd Peasant and deluded Fair,
