ONE day it happened that a cunning clown Was by an imp observed, without the town, To turn the earth, which seemed to be accurst, Since ev'ry trench was painful as the first. This youthful devil was a titled lord; In manners simple:--naught to be abhorred; He might, so ignorant, be duped at ease; As yet he'd scarcely ventured to displease: Said he, I'd have thee know, I was not born, Like clods to labour, dig nor sow the corn; A devil thou in me beholdest here, Of noble race: to toil I ne'er appear.
THOU know'st full well, these fields to us belong: The islanders, it seems, had acted wrong; And, for their crimes, the pope withdrew his cares; Our subjects now you live, the law declares; And therefore, fellow, I've undoubted right, To take the produce of this field, at sight; But I am kind, and clearly will decide The year concluded, we'll the fruits divided. What crop, pray tell me, dost thou mean to sow? The clod replied, my lord, what best will grow I think is Tousell; grain of hardy fame; The imp rejoined, I never heard its name; What is it. Tousell, say'st thou?--I agree, If good return, 'twill be the same to me; Work fellow, work; make haste, the ground prepare; To dig and delve should be the rabble's care; Don't think that I will ever lend a hand, Or give the slightest aid to till the land; I've told thee I'm a gentleman by birth, Designed for ease: not doomed to turn the earth. Howe'er I'll now the diff'rent parts allot, And thus divide the produce of the plot:-- What shall above the heritage arise, I'll leave to thee; 'twill very well suffice; But what is in the soil shall be my share; To this attend, see ev'ry thing is fair.
THIS beardless corn when ripe, with joy was reaped, And then the stubble by the roots was heaped, To satisfy the lordly devil's claim, Who thought the seed and root were just the same, And that the ear and stalk were useless parts, Which nothing made if carried to the marts: The labourer his produce housed with care; The other to the market brought his ware, Where ridicule and laughter he received; 'Twas nothing worth, which much his bosom grieved.
QUITE mortified, the devil quickly went; To seek our clod, and mark his discontent: The fellow had discreetly sold the corn, In straw, unthrashed, and off the money borne, Which he, with ev'ry wily care, concealed; The imp was duped, and nothing was revealed. Said he, thou rascal?--pretty tricks thou'st played; It seems that cheating is thy daily trade; But I'm a noble devil of the court, Who tricking never knew, save by report. What grain dost mean to sow th' ensuing year? The labourer replied, I think it clear, Instead of grain, 'twill better be to chop, And take a carrot, or a turnip crop; You then, my lord, will surely plenty find; And radishes, if you are so inclined.