That when the gard'ner knocks for you away,

It grieves you so to leave the pleasures in it,

That you could wish that you had never seen it.

From Britannia's Pastorals.

An Angler

Now as an angler melancholy standing

Upon a green bank yielding room for landing,

A wriggling yellow worm thrust on his hook,

Now in the midst he throws, then in a nook:

Here pulls his line, there throws it in again,