Note 411 — Chapter XXIV · SWORD-PLAY AND OTHER SPORTS. GARDEN, ETC.

If in the Soil you guide the crooked Share, Your early Breakfast is my Constant Care. And when with even Hand you strow the Grain, I fright the thievish Rooks from off the Plain. In misling Days when I my Threasher heard, With Nappy Beer I to the Barn repair'd; Lost in the Musick of the whirling Flail, To gaze on thee I left the smoaking Pail; In Harvest, when the Sun was mounted high, My Leather Bottle did thy Drought supply; When e'er you mow'd I followed with the Rake, And have full oft been Sun burnt for thy Sake; When in the Welkin gath'ring Show'rs were seen, I lagg'd the last with Colin on the Green; And when at Eve returning with thy Carr, Awaiting heard the gingling Bells from far; Strait on the Fire the sooty Pot I plac't, To warm thy Broth I burnt my Hands for Haste. When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an Oaf, I slic'd the Luncheon from the Barly Loaf, With crumbled Bread I thicken'd well thy Mess, Ah, love me more, or love thy Pottage less![411]