Don’t tell me of buds and blossoms,1
Or with rose and vi’let wheedle ;2
Nosegays grow for other bosoms3
Churchwarden and Beadle.4
What have you to do with streams ?5
What with sunny skies, or garish6
Cuckoo-song, or pensive dreams ?—7
Nature’s not your Parish !8
What right have such as you to dun9
For sun or moonbeams, warm or bright ?10
Before you talk about the sun,11
Pay for window-light !12
Talk of passions—amorous fancies !—13
While your betters’ flames miscarry14
If you love your Dolls and Nancys,15
Don’t we make you marry ?16
Talk of wintry chill and storm17
Fragrant winds, that blanch your bones !18
You poor can always keep you warm19
An’t there breaking stones ?20
Suppose you don’t enjoy the spring,21
Roses fair and vi’lets meek,22
You cannot look for everything23
On eighteen-pence a week !24
With seasons what have you to do ?25
If corn doth thrive, or wheat is harmed ?26
What’s weather to the cropless ? You27
Don’t farm—but you are farmed !28
Why everlasting murmurs hurled29
With hardship for the text ?—30
If such as you don’t like this world,31
We’ll pass you to the next.32