fantastic toe;
       And in thy right hand lead with thee
       The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
       And, if I give thee honour due,
       Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
       To live with her, and live with thee,
       In unreproved pleasures free;
       To hear the Lark begin his flight,
       And singing startle the dull night,
       From his watch-tower in the skies,
       Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
       Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
       And at my window bid good-morrow,
       Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
       Or the twisted eglantine: 
       While the cock, with lively din,
       Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
       And to the stack, or the barn-door,
       Stoutly struts his dames before: 
       Oft listening how the hounds and horn
       Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
       From the side of some hoar hill,
       Through the high wood echoing shrill. 
          Sometime walking, not unseen,
       By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
       Right against the eastern gate,
       Where the great sun begins his state,
       Rob’d in flames, and amber light,
       The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
       While the ploughman, near at hand,
       Whistles o’er the furrow’d land,
       And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
       And the mower whets his scythe,
       And every shepherd tells his tale,
       Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
          Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
       While the landscape round it measures;
       Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
       Where the nibbling flocks do stray
       Mountains, on whose barren breast,
       The labouring clouds do often rest;
       Meadows trim with daisies pied,
       Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
       Towers and battlements it sees
       Bosom’d high in tufted trees,
       Where perhaps some beauty lies,
       The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 
          Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes
       From betwixt two aged oaks,
       Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
       Are at their savoury dinner set
       Of herbs, and other country messes,
       Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
       And then in haste her bower she leaves,
       With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
       Or, if the earlier season lead,
       To the tann’d haycock in the mead. 
          Sometimes with secure delight
       The upland hamlets will invite,
       When the merry bells ring round,
       And the jocund rebecks sound
       To many a youth and many a maid,
       Dancing in the checker’d shade;
       And young and old come forth to play
       On a sun-shine holy-day,
       Till the live-long day-light fail: 
       Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,