daily more arrogant he grows; And for the town, what doth he do for it? Are
not things worse from day to day? To more restraints we must submit; And
Kind gentleman and ladies fair, So rosy - cheek'd and trimly dress'd, Be
pleas'd to listen to my prayer, Relieve and pity the distress'd. Let me not
vainly sing my lay! His heart's most glad whose hand is free. Now when all
men keep holiday, Should be a harvest - day to me.
On holidays and Sundays naught know I more inviting Than chatting about
war and war's alarms, When folk in Turkey, up in arms, Far off, are 'gainst