a whole breadth of my gown—­
And when gowns are dyed, I needn’t say, it’s
    much better done up in town. 
As for country fare, the first morning I came I
    heard such a shrill piece of work! 
And ever since—­and it’s ten days ago—­we’ve lived
    upon nothing but pork;
One Sunday except, and then I turn’d sick, a
    plague take all countrified cooks! 
Why didn’t they tell me, before I had dined, they
    made pigeon pies of the rooks? 
Then the gooseberry wine, tho’ it’s pleasant when
    up, it doesn’t agree when it’s down,
But it served me right like a gooseberry fool to
    look for champagne out of town! 
To be sure cousin G. meant it all for the best
    when he started this pastoral plan,
And his wife is a worthy domestical soul and she
    teaches me all that she can,
Such as making of cheese, and curing of hams,
    but I’m sure that I never shall learn,
And I’ve fetched more back-ache than butter as
    yet by chumping away at the churn;
But in making hay, tho’ it’s tanning work, I
    found it more easy to make,
But it tries one’s legs, and no great relief when
    you’re tired to sit down on the rake. 
I’d a country dance too at harvest home, with a
    regular country clown,
But, Lord! they don’t hug one round the waist
    and give one such smacks in town! 
Then I’ve tried to make friends with the birds
    and the beasts, but they take to such curious rigs,
I’m always at odds with the turkey-cock, and I
    can’t even please the pigs. 
The very hens pick holes in my hands when I
    grope for the new-laid eggs,
And the gander comes hissing out of the pond
    on purpose to flap at my legs. 
I’ve been bump’d in a ditch by the cow without
    horns, and the old sow trampled me down,
The beasts are as vicious as any wild beasts—­but
    they’re kept in cages in town! 
Another thing is the nasty dogs—­thro’ the village
    I hardly can stir
Since giving a bumpkin a pint of beer just to call
    off a barking cur;
And now you would swear all the dogs in the
    place were set on to hunt me down,
But neither the brutes nor the people I think are
    as civilly bred as in town. 
Last night about twelve I was scared broad awake,
    and all in a tremble of fright,
But instead of a family murder it proved an owl
    that flies screeching at night. 
Then there’s plenty of ricks and stacks all
    about, and I can’t help dreaming of Swing—­
In short, I think that a plastoral life is not the
    most happiest thing;
For besides all the troubles I’ve mentioned before
    as endur’d for rurality’s sake,
I’ve been stung by the bees, and I’ve set among
    ants, and once—­ugh!  I trod on a snake! 
And as to moskitoes they tortured me so, for I’ve
    got a particular skin,
I do think it’s the gnats coming out of the