fJB?IMEHTAL SONGS. My father dind,--a?irs went wrong, And mother !nst the farm; lqor did she live to grieve it long, Or shelter me from harm; And now distress'd without employ, An orphsn see the farmer's boy O, I can drive the team at ploughs From corn the birds can keep; To he]p at harvesting know Low, And how to tend the sheep: In charity, then, give employ, And save from want, the farmer's boy. THE MILLER. IN a plain ]2almasent cottage, conveniently neat, With I mill and some meadows,---a freehold estate A well meaning miller, by labor supplies, Those blessings that grandeur to great ones deniem? lqo passions to plague him, no cares to torment; His constant companians are health and content; Their lordships in lace may remark, if they will, He's honest though daub'd with the dust of him Ere the lark's early carols salute the new day, He springs from his cottage as jocund as May; He cheerfully whistles, regardless of care, Or sings the last ballad he bought at the fair. While courtiers are toiled in the cobweb of stato? Or bribing elections in hopes to be great; lqo fraud or ambition his besom does fill, Contented he works, if there's grist for his mill On ?unday, bedeck'd in his homnspun array, At church he's the loudest to chant or to pr?y: He sits to a dinr, er of plain .English food, Though simple the pudding, his appetite's good;
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