And the rich summer dinner-tables laid.
Dear lovely bowers of indolence and ease,
Seats of my youth when every card could please,
How often have I done thy park so green
Where humble iron chairs endeared the scene;
How often have I paused the throng to tell,
Th’ unnoticed clerk, the cultivated swell,
The never-failing talk, the riders’ skill,
The indecent duke that topt the neighbouring hill,
The moving row with spots beneath the shade