ed every tone might pity win; t not a soul would take them in. Our wandering saints, in woful state, eated at this ungodly rate, ving through all the village past, a small cottage came at last ere dwelt a good old honest yeoman I'd in the neighbourhood Philemon; 10 kindly did these saints invite his poor hut to pass the night; d then the hospitable sire I goody Baucis mend the fire; ile he from out the chimney took litch of bacon off the hook, d freely from the fattest side t out large slices to be fried; en stepp'd aside to fetch them drink I'd a large jug up to the brink, d saw it fairly twice go round; = (what is wonderful!) they found was still replenish'd to the top, if they ne'er had touch'd a drop. e good old couple were amaz’d, d often on each other gaz'd; both were frightened to the heart, d just began to cry, ' What ar't!' en softly turn'd aside to view ether the lights were burning blue. pod folks, you need not be afraid, are but saints,' the hermits said O hurt shall come to you or yours: for that pack of churlish boors, - fit to live on Christian ground, y and their houses shall be drown'd; Dis Thed Το Wh 'M 'Sp Aloft rose every beam and rafter, The kettle to the top was hoist, A wooden jack which had almost I ho But And Nay It fe Des In s Y N us happy in their change of life several years this man and wife. on a day, which prov'd their last, ursing on old stories past, went by chance, amidst their talk, churchyard to take a walk; Baucis hastily cried out, lear, I see your forehead sprout!' et, methinks, I feel it true; |