Then weeks and weeks rolled slowly by,
And nothing strange had met the eye.
The birds had ris'n every morn,
And frightened been from off the corn.
The bees had sipped the flow'ry juice,
Preparing it for private use.
The sheep had parted with their fleece;
They held it on uncertain lease.
The fruit had all been plucked, or fell,
And made more ill than tongue can tell.