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When Westwall Downes I gan to tread,
Where cleanely wynds the greene did sweepe,
Methought a landskipp there was spread,
Here a bush and there a sheepe:
The pleated wrinkles of the face
Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace,
As shadowings in Imag'ry
Which both deceive and please the eye.
The sheep sometymes did tread the maze
By often wynding in and in,
And sometymes round about they trace
Which mylkmaydes call a Fairie ring:
Such semicircles have they runne,
Such lynes across so trymly spunne
That sheppeards learne whenere they please
A new Geometry with ease.
The slender food upon the downe
Is allwayes even, allwayes bare,
Which neither spring nor winter's frowne
Can ought improve or ought impayre:
Such is the barren Eunuches chynne,
Which thus doth evermore begynne
With tender downes to be orecast
Which never comes to haire at last.
Here and there twoe hilly crests
Amiddst them hugg a pleasant greene,
And these are like twoe swelling breasts
That close a tender fall betweene.
Here would I sleepe, or read, or pray
From early morn till flight of day:
But harke! a sheepe-bell calls mee upp,
Like Oxford colledge bells, to supp.
Sir William Strode
Read poems about / on: food, winter, spring
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