ArrKNDix. 



Trueman, they know, can tell no lies. 

 Now Pageant shows upon the scene, 

 Lawyer and Medlar intervene. 

 Close handy little Barmaid waits. 

 Gossip her wondrous tale relates, 

 How Tuneful, Sonnet, Truelove, sings ! 

 With Ranter's voice the welkin rings, 

 Till over Nazing, bending south, 

 The music swells from every mouth. 



But come, oh come, ye heavenly Nine, 

 Come, aid this lowly lay of mine ! 

 How shall I tune this falt'ring lyre, 

 So faintly burns my youthful fire ? 

 With gathering years, and tresses grey. 

 Such theme unequal to essay. 

 How not provoke some gallant's jibe, 

 Daring our Amazons describe ? 



To her the place of honour yield. 



Whose gracious smile adorns our field, 



Who not unmindful of her Guild,' 



To thread her way 'cross countr\- skilled. 



Cuts out the work for man)- a mile, 



A pattern in the smartest style ; 



Her high-bred chestnut, proud so fair 



A burden on his back to bear. 



Rules with light touch and gentle hand 



The loveliest lady in the land. 



That she should dwell in neighb'ring shire, 

 Essex with envy nmst inspire, 

 Whose generous openhanded lord 

 Scorning to heap a useless hoard. 



y/ 



Lady Brooke's Needlework Guild. 



