SIMOSMAN, It IN rong>

        In t shire of Cardigan,

        Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,

        An old man dtle man,

        Ive all.

        Of years he has upon his back,

        No doubt, a burty;

        en,

        But oty.

        A long blue livery-coat has he,

        ts fair behind, and fair before;

        Yet, meet him where you will, you see

        At o he is poor.

        Full ?ve and ty years he lived

        A running sman merry;

        And, t one eye left,

        his cheek is like a cherry.

        No man like he horn could sound.

        And no man was so full of glee;

        to say t, four ties round

        had heard of Simon Lee;

        ers dead, and no one now

        Dhe hall of Ivor;

        Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;

        he sole survivor.

        is

        Of    eye, as you may see:

        And t limbs ts

        to poor old Simon Lee!

        he has no son, he has no child,

        his wife, an aged woman,

        Lives erfall,

        Upon the village on.

        And he is lean and he is sick,

        tle bodys half awry

        hick

        hin and dry.

        tle knew

        Of illage;

        And nohough weak,

        --t in the village.

        ry could outrun,

        Could leave both man and horse behind;

        And oftehe race was done,

        one-blind.

        And still the world

        At w rejoices;

        For w,

        tｐ://ｗe dearly loves their voices!

        Old Rut of doors h him,

        And does    do;

        For s over stout of limb,

        Is stouter of two.

        And tmost skill

        From labour could not hem,

        Alas! tis very little, all

        hem.

        Beside t of clay,

        Not ty paces from the door,

        A scrap of land t they

        Are poorest of the poor.

        th

        Enclosed wronger;

        But o them,

        ill no longer?

        Feore,

        As o you ell,

        For still, the more

        his poor old ancles swell.

        My gentle reader, I perceive

        iently youve ed,

        And Im afraid t you expect

        Some tale ed.

        O reader! had you in your mind

        Sucores as silent t    bring,

        O gentle reader! you would ?nd

        A tale ihing.

        more I o say is s,

        I ake it;

        It is no tale; but shink,

        Perale youll make it.

        One summer-day I co see

        this old man doing all he could

        About t of an old tree,

        A stump of rotten wood.

        ttock totterd in his hand;

        So vain was his endeavour

        t at t of tree

        have worked for ever.

        "Youre overtasked, good Simon Lee,

        Give me your tool" to him I said;

        And at t gladly he

        Received my profferd aid.

        I struck, and h a single blow

        tangled root I severd,

        At whe poor old man so long

        And vainly had endeavourd.

        tears into ,

        And to run

        So fast out of , I t

        they never would have done.

        --Ive s unkind, kind deeds

        itill returning.

        Alas! titude of men

        ner left me m.
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