Miscelhneous Poe m s,

But yet, methinks, I feel it true ;

And truly yours is budding too . -

Nay, now I cannot stir my Foot;

It feels as if ’twere taking Root—Description would but tire my Muse;In short, they both were turn’d to E<ws,Old Goodman Dobson of the Green,Remembers he the Trees has seen:

He’ll talk of them from Noon ’till Night,And goes with Folks : to fee the Sight.On Sundays, after Ev’ning Pray’r,

He gathers all the Pariih there ;

Points out the Place, of either fro,

Here Baucis, there Philemon grew :’Till once a Parson of our Town,

To mend his Barn, cut Baucis down :

At which, ’tis hard to be believ’d,

How much the other Tree was griev’d,Grew scrubby, dy’d a-Top, was stunted ;So the next Parson stubb’d and burnt it,