Teignmouth: "Some Doggerel," Sent In A Letter To B. R. Haydon

I.     Here all the summer could I stay,     For there's Bishop's teign     And King's teign     And Coomb at the clear Teign head     Where close by the stream     You may have your cream     All spread upon barley bread. II.     There's Arch Brook     And there's Larch Brook     Both turning many a mill,     And cooling the drouth     Of the salmon's mouth     And fattening his silver gill. III.     There is Wild wood,     A Mild hood     To the sheep on the lea o' the down,     Where the golden furze,     With its green, thin spurs,     Doth catch at the maiden's gown. IV.     There is Newton Marsh     With its spear grass harsh     A pleasant summer level     Where the maidens sweet     Of the Market Street     Do meet in the dusk to revel. V.     There's the Barton rich     With dyke and ditch     And hedge for the thrush to live in,     And the hollow tree     For the buzzing bee     And a bank for the wasp to hive in. VI.     And O, and O     The daisies blow     And the primroses are waken'd,     And violets white     Sit in silver plight,     And the green bud's as long as the spike end. VII.     Then who would go     Into dark Soho,     And chatter with dack'd-hair'd critics,     When he can stay     For the new-mown hay,     And startle the dappled Prickets?