76 MEMOIR OF 



Where winds, perhaps, our woods may sometimes shake, 

 But blustering care can tempest never make, 



Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 



Saving of fountains that glide by us. 



Here's no fantastic masque dt dance, 

 But of our kids that frisk and prance ; 



Nor wars are seen, 



Unless upon the green 



Two harmless lambs are butting one another, 

 Which done, both bleating run each to his mother j 



And wounds are never found, 



Save what the ploughshare gives the ground. 



