To a young Gentlewoman

See how this infant bud, so lately borne,
Swelld with the Springs warme breath and dew o'th'morne,
Contracted in its folded leaves doth beare
The richest treasure of the teeming yeare,
By whose young growing beauties conquerd yield
The full-blowne glories of the painted field,
And, thus surpast, do jointly all confesse
Nature hath here done more in doing lesse.
Such is thy early beauty, such appeares
That blooming Sweetnes which thy soft cheek weares;

A PORTLY wood-louse, full of cares,
Transacted eminent affairs
Along a parapet where pears
Unripened fell
And vines embellished the sweet airs
With muscatel.

Day after day beheld him run
His scales a-twinkle in the sun
About his business never done;
Night's slender span he
Spent in the home his wealth had won —
A red-brick cranny.

Thus, as his Sense of Right directed,
He lived both honored and respected,
Cherished his children and protected
His duteous wife,
And naught of diffidence deflected
His useful life.

Porgy, Maria, and Bess,
Robbins, and Peter, and Crown;
Life was a three-stringed harp
Brought from the woods to town.

Marvelous tunes you rang
From passion, and death, and birth,
You who had laughed and wept
On the warm, brown lap of the earth.

Now in your untried hands
An instrument, terrible, new,
Is thrust by a master who frowns,
Demanding strange songs of you.

God of the White and Black,
Grant us great hearts on the way
That we may understand
Until you have learned to play.

Pop bottles pop-bottles
In pop shops;
The pop-bottles Pop bottles
Poor Pop drops.

When Pop drops pop-bottles,
Pop-bottles plop!
Pop-bottle-tops topple!
Pop mops slop!

Stop! Pop'll drop bottle!
Stop, Pop, stop!
When Pop bottles pop-bottles,
Pop-bottles pop!

A poore soule sate sighing by a sicamore tree,
O willow, willow, willow;
His hand on his bosome, his head on his knee,
O willow, willow, willow;
O willow, willow, willow;
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

He sigh'd in his singing, and, after each groane,
"Adue to all pleasure, my true love is gone.

Oh, false is she turned; untrue she doth prove;
She renders me nothing, but hate for my love.

Oh, pitty me" (cride he), "you lovers each one,
Her heart's hard as marble, she rues not my moane."

The Holy Book like the Eighth Sphere, does shine
With thousand lights of truth divine:
So numberless the stars, that to the eye
It makes but all one galaxy: —
Yet Reason must assist too, for in seas
So vast and dangerous as these,
Our course by stars above we cannot know,
Without the compass too below.
Though Reason cannot through Faith's mysteries see,
It sees that there and such they be;
Leads to Heaven's-door, and there does humbly keep,
And there through chinks and key-holes peep.
Though it, like Moses, by a sad command

It's no great matter what men deem,
Whether they count me good or bad:
In their applause and best esteem,
There's no contentment to be had.
Thy steps, Lord, in this dirt I see;
And lest my soul from God should stray,
I'll bear my cross and follow thee:
Let others choose the fairer way.
My face is meeter for the spit;
I am more suitable to shame,
And to the taunts of scornful wit:
It's no great matter for my name.
My Lord hath taught me how to want
A place wherein to put my head:
While he is mine, I'll be content

Poor restless Dove, I pity thee,
And when I hear thy plaintive moan
I'll mourn for thy captivity
And in thy woes forget mine own.

To see thee stand prepared to fly,
And flap those useless wings of thine,
And gaze into the distant sky
Would melt a harder heart than mine.

In vain! In vain! Thou canst not rise--
Thy prison roof confines thee there;
Its slender wires delude thine eyes,
And quench thy longing with despair.

O! thou wert made to wander free
In sunny mead and shady grove,
And far beyond the rolling sea

Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
He made him a coat,
Of an old nanny goat,
What a clever fellow to do so!
With a ring a ting tang,
And a ring a ting tang,
Poor old Robinson Crusoe!

Poor old lady, she swallowed a fly.
I don't know why she swallowed a fly.
Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a spider.
It squirmed and wriggled and turned inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
I don't know why she swallowed a fly.
Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a bird.
How absurd! She swallowed a bird.
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider,
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
I don't know why she swallowed a fly.