And brutal drovers pen the unwilling folds.
Save that where sheltered, or from wind or shower,
The lock’d out ’prentice, or frail nymph complain,
Of such as, wandering near their secret bower,
Molest them, sensible in sleep, to pain,
Beneath those ragged tents—that boarded shade,
Which late display’d its stores in tempting heaps;
There, children, dogs, cakes, oysters, all are laid,
There guardian of the whole, the master sleeps.
The busy call of care-begetting morn,