However, there are a few old roads that may be trodden with
profit, as if they led somewhere now that they are nearly
discontinued. There is the Old Marlborough Road, which does not
go to Marlborough now, me- thinks, unless that is Marlborough
where it carries me. I am the bolder to speak of it here, because
I presume that there are one or two such roads in every town.



THE OLD MARLBOROUGH ROAD

Where they once dug for money,
But never found any;
Where sometimes Martial Miles
Singly files,
And Elijah Wood,
I fear for no good:
No other man,
Save Elisha Dugan--
O man of wild habits,
Partridges and rabbits
Who hast no cares
Only to set snares,
Who liv'st all alone,
Close to the bone
And where life is sweetest
Constantly eatest.
When the spring stirs my blood
With the instinct to travel,