THE TABLES TURNED; AN EVENING SCENE, ON THE SAME SUBJECT.

Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks,

Why all this toil and trouble?

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,

Or surely youll grow double.

The sun above the mountains head,

A freshening lustre mellow,

Through all the long green ?elds has spread,

His ?rst sweet evening yellow.

Books! tis a dull and endless strife,

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music; on my life

Theres more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

And he is no mean preacher;

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