The Village and The Newspaper

by George Crabbe

Because the Muses never knew their pains:

They boast their peasant’s pipes; but peasants now

Resign their pipes and plod behind the plough;

And few, amid the rural tribe, have time

To number syllables and play with rhyme;

Save honest DUCK, what son of verse could share

The poet’s rapture and the peasant’s care?

Or the great labours of the field degrade,

With the new peril of a poorer trade?

From this chief cause these idle praises spring,