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 can bring,

    O gentle reader! you would ?nd

    A tale in every thing.

    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.

    quot;Youre overtasked, good Simon Lee,

    Give me your toolquot; 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 returnin