uzz-balls, that's too good
For a man in needihood;
But the meal of milldust can
Well content a craving man.
Any orts the elves refuse
Well will serve the beggar's use.
But if this may seem too much
For an alms, then give me such
Little bits that nestle there
In the prisoner's panier.
So a blessing light upon
You and mighty Oberon:
That your plenty last till when
I return your alms again.

_Mickle_, much.
_Souce_, salt-pickle.
_Huckson_, huckle-bone.
_Chit_, sprout.
_Orts_, scraps of food.
_Prisoner's panier_, the basket which poor prisoners used to hang out
of the gaol windows for alms in money or kind.

639. AN END DECREED.

Let's be jocund while we may,
All things have an ending day;
And when once the work is done,
_Fates revolve no flax they've spun_.

_Revolve_, _i.e._, bring back.

640. UPON A CHILD.

Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies;
Pray be silent, and not stir
Th' easy earth that covers her.

641. PAINTING SOMETIMES PERMITTED.

If Nature do deny
Colours, let Art supply.

642. FAREWELL FROST, OR WELCOME THE SPRING.

Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appear
Re-cloth'd in fresh and verdant diaper.
Thaw'd are the snows, and now the lusty spring
Gives to each mead a neat enamelling.
The palms put forth their gems, and every tree
Now swaggers in her leafy gallantry.
The while the Daulian minstrel sweetly sings,
With warbling notes, her Terean sufferings.
What gentle winds perspire! As if here
Never had been the northern plunderer
To strip the trees and fields, to their distress,
Leaving them to a pitied nakedness.
And look how when a frantic storm doth tear
A stubborn oak, or holm, long growing there,
But lull'd to calmness, then succeeds a breeze
That scarcely stirs the nodding leaves of trees:
So when this war, which tempest-like doth spoil
Our salt, our corn, our honey, wine and oil,
Falls to a temper, and doth mildly cast
His inconsiderate frenzy off, at last,
The gentle dove may, when these turmoils cease,
Bring in her bill, once more, the branch of peace.

_Gems_, buds.
_Daulian minstrel_, the nightingale Philomela.
_Terean sufferings_, _i.e._, at the hands of Tereus.

643. THE HAG.

The hag is astride
This night for to ride