LOSEL’S FARM.
FROM “THE SAD SHEPHERD.”
An hundred udders for the pail I have
That give me milk and curds that make me cheese
To cloy the markets! Twenty swarm of bees,
Which all the summer hum about the hive
And bring me wax and honey in bilive.
An aged oak, the king of all the field,
With a broad beech, there grows before my door,
That mickle mast unto the farm doth yield.