Come, and trip it, as you go, And in thy right hand lead with thee While the cock, with lively din, And every shepherd tells his tale, Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, While the landscape round it measures; Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Bosomed high in tufted trees, Till the live-long day-light fail: Tells how the drudging goblin sweat When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn, That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; And crop-full out of door he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, Where throngs of knights and barons bold, |