September (excerpt)Anon the fields are wearing clear
And glad sounds hum in labours ear
When children halloo ‘here they come’
And run to meet the harvest home
Stuck thick with boughs and thronged with boys
Who mingle loud a merry noise
Glad that the harvests end is nigh
And weary labour nearly bye
Where when they meet the stack thronged yard
Cross bunns or pence their shouts reward
Then comes the harvest supper night
Which rustics welcome with delight
When merry game and tiresome tale
And songs increasing with the ale
Their mingled up roar interpose
To crown the harvests happy close
While rural mirth that there abides
Laughs till she almost cracks her sides
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