Upward the eddying concourse throng; Thinking to push, thyself art push'dalong.
(She puts them on and steps before the glass.)Were but the ear - rings only mine! Thus one has quite another air. Whatboots it to be young and fair? It doubtless may be very fine; But then, alas,none cares for you, And praise sounds half like pity too. Gold all doth lure,Gold doth secure All things. Alas, we poor!
Dost mark how round us, with wide spiral curves, He wheels, each circlecloser than before? And, if I err not, he appears to me A line of fire upon histrack to leave.
A favour claims return as this world goes.
Neighbour! your smelling bottle!
On holidays and Sundays naught know I more inviting Than chatting aboutwar and war's alarms, When folk in Turkey, up in arms, Far off, are 'gainsteach other fighting. We at the window stand, our glasses drain, And watchadown the stream the painted vessels gliding Then joyful we at eve comehome again, And peaceful times we bless, peace long - abiding.Third Burgher