His Grange, Or Private Wealth
Poem by Robert Herrick
To tell how night draws hence, I've none,
I have to sing how day draws on:
A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent,
That little, Fates me gave or lent.
I keep, which, creeking day by day,
She goes her long white egg to lay:
I have, which, with a jealous ear,
Her tongue, to tell what danger's near.
I keep, tame, with my morsels fed,
An orphan left him, lately dead:
I keep, that plays about my house,
With eating many a miching mouse:
A Trasy I do keep, whereby
The more my rural privacy:
But toys, to give my heart some ease:--
None is, slight things do lightly please.
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