Feacie, some say, doth wash her clothes i' th' lie
That sharply trickles from her either eye.
The laundresses, they envy her good-luck,
Who can with so small charges drive the buck.
What needs she fire and ashes to consume,
Who can scour linens with her own salt rheum?
Upon A Cheap Laundress. Epig
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: fire, good, small, wash, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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