Good People come buy
The Fruit that I cry,
That now is in Season, tho' Winter is nigh;
'Twill do you all good
And sweeten your Blood,
I'm sure it will please when you've once understood
'tis an Orange .

It's Cordial Juice,
Does much Vigour produce,
I may well recommend it to every Mans use,

Good-night; ensured release,
Imperishable peace,
Have these for yours,
While sea abides, and land,
And earth's foundations stand,
And heaven endures.

When earth's foundations flee,
Nor sky nor land nor sea
At all is found,
Content you, let them burn:
It is not your concern;
Sleep on, sleep sound.

(The Beggar's Address to His Bag)

Good neighbors, dear, be cautious,
And covet no man's pounds or pence.
Ambition's greedy maw shun,
And tread the path of innocence!
Dread crooked ways and cheating,
And be not like those hounds of Hell,
Like prowling wolves awaiting,
Which once upon my footsteps fell.

An allalu mo wauleen,
My little bag I treasured it;

Good my King, in your garden close,
— (Hark to the thrush's trilling)
Why so sad when the maiden rose
— Love at your feet is spilling?
— — Golden the air and honey-sweet,
— — Sapphire the sky, it is not meet
— — Sorrowful faces should flowers greet,
— (Hark to the thrush's trilling).

All alone walks the King to-day.
— (Hark to the thrush's trilling)
Far from his throne he steals away
— Loneness and quiet willing.
— — Roses and tulips and lilies fair
— — Smile for his pleasure everywhere,

As another sleeps
this quiet is not the calm

of home. Here I worry
slumber shields him

from his longing to be
done, to leave—

we were both amazed
how bodies went on

wanting for so long.
And now his breathing

fills me with terror,
I am afraid to cough

or disturb the restful
sloughing. When will it

be enough, just
passion exhausted,

when will I be free
to sleep, to listen to a

body breathe without
second-guessing it?

Used by permission of the author.

Good morning, fox of the cave,
Every tame fowl's arch-foeman,
Your ripple I recognize,
Welcome to fertile country.
Describe, in the fair meadow,
Your life, bold soft-bellied beast.

Fair and clean, you are noted,
And shapely in every part:
You were dyed with dark colour,
Red and gold that will not fade;
Your narrow nose is savage,
Your teeth, they are marvellous,
Strange pincers, swiftly gripping,
And able to crunch through bones;
And your eye's glowering look
You turn like an old traitor.

Good morning to you and good morning to you;
Come pull on your stocking and put on your shoe;
There are bees, there are birds, there are flowers in the sun —

Good morning to you and good morning to you;
Come out of your beds, there is plenty to do.
Come out with a shout and a laugh and a run —
Good morning, good morning to every one.

Thomas an' John

THOMAS

Good morn t'ye, John. How b'ye? how b'ye?
Zoo you be gwain to market, I do zee.
Why, you be quite a-lwoaded wi' your geese.

JOHN

Ees, Thomas, ees.
Why, I'm a-getten rid ov ev'ry goose
An' goslen I've a-got: an' what is woose,
I fear that I must zell my little cow.

THOMAS

How zoo, then, John? Why, what's the matter now?

Good Master, you and I were born
In " Teacup days " of hoop and hood,
And when the silver cue hung down,
And toasts were drunk, and wine was good;

When kin of mine (a jolly brood)
From sideboards looked, and knew full well
What courage they had given the beau,
How generous made the blushing belle.

Ah me! what gossip could I prate
Of days when doors were locked at dinners!
Believe me, I have kissed the lips
Of many pretty saints — or sinners.

Lip service have I done, alack!
I don't repent, but come what may,

Good ladies, you that have your pleasure in exile,
Step in your foot, come take a place, and mourn with me awhile;

And such as by their lords do set but little price,
Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance come on the dice.

But you whom love hath bound, by order of desire,
To love your lords, whose good deserts none other would require,

Come you yet once again, and set your foot by mine,
Whose woeful plight, and sorrows great no tongue may well define.

My lord and love, alas, in whom consists my wealth,