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TO THE SPADE OF A FRIEND, (am Agriculturist.) Composed while we were labouring together in his Pleasure-Ground.
Spade! with which Wilkinson hath till'd his Lands,
Rare Master has it been thy lot to know;
Health, quiet, meekness, ardour, hope secure,
Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing
Who shall inherit Thee when Death hath laid
If he be One that feels, with skill to part
With Thee he will not dread a toilsome day,
His thrift thy usefulness will never scorn;
AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE, Upon the RESTORATION of LORD CLIFFORD, the SHEPHERD, to the Estates and Honours of his Ancestors.
High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,
"From Town to Town, from Tower to Tower,
She lifts her head for endless spring,
For everlasting blossoming 1
Both Roses flourish, Red and White.
In love and sisterly delight
The two that were at strife are blended,
And all old sorrows now are ended.—
Joy! joy to both! but most to her
Who is the Flower of Lancaster L
Behold her how She smiles to day
On this great throng, this bright array I
Fair greeting doth she send to all
From every corner of the Hall;
But, chiefly, from above the Board
Where sits in state our rightful Lord,
A Clifford to his own restored.
They came with banner, spear, and shield; And it was proved in Bosworth-field.