E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain
Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain,
Oft have I seen the war of winds contend,
And prone on earth th' infuriate storm descend,
Waste far and wide, and by the roots uptorn,
The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne,
As light straw and rapid stubble fly
In dark'ning whirlwinds round the wintry sky.
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Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How read more
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team a-field!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
He who owns the soil, owns up to the sky.
[Lat., Cujus est solum, ejus est usque ad coelum.]
He who owns the soil, owns up to the sky.
[Lat., Cujus est solum, ejus est usque ad coelum.]
Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand,
And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand.
Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand,
And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand.
The diligent farmer plants trees, of which he himself will never
see the fruit.
[Lat., Abores serit diligens read more
The diligent farmer plants trees, of which he himself will never
see the fruit.
[Lat., Abores serit diligens agricola, quarum adspiciet baccam
ipse numquam.]
Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day read more
Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day that hous'd their annual grain,
With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.
Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
He was a very inferior farmer when he first begun . . . and he is
now fast rising read more
He was a very inferior farmer when he first begun . . . and he is
now fast rising from affluence to poverty.
Ill husbandry lieth
In prison for debt:
Good husbandry spieth
Where profit get.
read more
Ill husbandry lieth
In prison for debt:
Good husbandry spieth
Where profit get.
- Thomas Tusser,
Ye rigid Ploughman! bear in mind
Your labor is for future hours.
Advance! spare not! nor look read more
Ye rigid Ploughman! bear in mind
Your labor is for future hours.
Advance! spare not! nor look behind!
Plough deep and straight with all your powers!
