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"—Pleasure is spread through the earthIn stray gifts to be claim'd by whoever shall find."
By their floating Mill,Which lies dead and still,Behold yon Prisoners three!The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames;The Platform is small, but there's room for them all;And they're dancing merrily.
From the shore come the notesTo their Mill where it floats,To their House and their Mill tether'd fast;To the small wooden ⟨isle⟩ where their work to beguileThey from morning to even take whatever is given;—And many a blithe day they have past.
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