O how sudden the jessamine strove With the lilac to render it gay! Already it calls for my love, To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, From thickets of roses tbat blow! As she may not be fond to resign. I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 't was a barbarous deed. Such tenderness fall from her tongue. And she call'd it the sister of love. Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs? Soft scenes of contentment and ease ? Where I could have pleasingly stray'd, If aught, in her absence, could please. But where does my Phyllida stray? And where are her grots and her bowers? Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle as ours? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine. III. SOLICITUDE. WHY will you my passion reprove? In ringlets he dresses his hair, 'Tis his with mock passion to glow, Repine at her triumphs, and die. The rose is depriv'd of its bloom; "Then the violets die with despite, And the woodbines give up their perfume." Thus glide the soft numbers along, And he fancies no shepherd his peer; IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. She was fair-and my passion begun ; Perhaps it was plain to foresee, It banishes wisdom the while; How fair, and how fickle, they be. The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain: The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me. The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose, The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace which from solitude flows, Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. High transports are shown to the sight, But we're not to find thein our own; Fate never bestow'd such delight, As I with my Phillis had known. O ye woods, spread your branches apace : I would hide with the beasts of the chase; LEVITIES; OR PIECES OF HUMOUR, FLIRT AND PHIL; A DECISION FOR THE LADIES, A Wrr, by learning well refin'd, To Sylvia made pretences; Went-when his glass advis'd him: Her wit, her youth too, claim'd its share, But turn up-heads or tails. STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF AN AGREEABLE LADY, BURIED IN MARRIAGE TO A PERSON UNDESERVING HER. 'T WAS always held, and ever will, By sage mankind, discreeter T'anticipate a lesser ill, Than undergo a greater. When mortals dread diseases, pain, Full gladly pays four parts in eight Our merchants Spain has near undone The bachelor's attended : Such to avoid, he takes a wife And much the case is mended! Chose to attend a monkey here, COLEMIRA, A CULINARY ECLOGUE. Nec tantum Veneris, quantum studiosa culinæ. NIGHT'S sable clouds had half the globe o'erspread, And silence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed: When Love, which gentle sleep can ne'er inspire, Had seated Damon by the kitchen fire. Pensive he lay, extended on the ground; To all his plaints the sleeping curs reply, "Could I," (he cried) 66 express, how bright a grace Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wash'd face; "Ah! who can see, and seeing not admire, "But sure no chamber-damsel can compare, "Oh! how I long, how ardently desire, To view those rosy fingers strike the lyre! "With her! I should not envy George his queen, Though she in royal grandeur deck'd be seen : Whilst rags, just sever'd from my fair-one's gown, In russet pomp and greasy pride hang down. "Ah how it does my drooping heart rejoice, When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice! How would that voice exceed the village bell! Would that but sing, I like thee passing well!' "When from the hearth she bade the pointers go, How soft, how easy did her accents flow! Get out,' she cried: when strangers come to sup, One ne'er can raise those snoring devils up.' "Then, full of wrath, she kick'd each lazy brute, Alas! 1 envied even that salute; 'T was sure misplac'd-Shock said, or seem'd to say, He had as lief I had the kick as they. "If she the mystic bellows take in hand, Who like the fair can that machine command ? O mayst thou ne'er by Eolus be seen, For he would sure demand thee for his queen. "But should the flame this rougher aid refuse; | And only gentler med'cines be of use; With full-brown cheeks she ends the doubtful strife, Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life. "Such arts as these, exalt the drooping fire, But in my breast a fiercer flame inspire: I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er; And swell thy cheeks, and pout thy lips, no more! "With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen, When this proud damsel has more humble been, When with nice airs she hoist the pan-cake round, And dropp'd it, hapless fair! upon the ground, "Look, with what charming grace, what winning tricks, The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks! "But thou, my fair! who never wouldst approve, Or hear the tender story of my love; Or mind, how burns my raging breast,-a buttonPerhaps art dreaming of-a breast of mutton." Thus said, and wept the sad desponding swain, Revealing to the sable walls his pain: But nymphs are free with those they should deny; THE RAPE OF THE TRAP. "TWAS in a land of learning, The Muses' favourite city, Such pranks of late Were play'd by a rat, As tempt one to be witty. All in a college study, Where books were in great plenty; This rat would devour More sense in an hour, Than I could write in twenty. Corporeal food, 'tis granted, Serves vermin less refin'd, sir; But this, a rat of taste, All other rats surpass'd, And he prey'd on the food of the mind, sir. His breakfast, half the morning, He constantly attended: And when the bell rung For evening song, His dinner scarce was ended. He spar'd not e'en heroics, In books of geo-graphy, He made the maps to flutter: A river or a sea Was to him a dish of tea; And a kingdom, bread and butter. 1 By Blackmore. But if some mawkish potion Might chance to over-dose him, To check its rage, He took a page Of logic-to compose him. A trap, in haste and anger, Was bought, you need not doubt on't: He could not, I think, get out on't. Mind books, when he has other diet. But more of trap and bait, sir, Why should I sing, or either? Since the rat, who knew the sleight, Came in the dead of night, And dragg'd them away together. Both trap and bait were vanish'd Through a fracture in the flooring: Which, though so trim It now may seem, Had then-a dozen or more in. Then answer this, ye sages, Nor deem a man to wrong ye, Had the rat which thus did seize on The trap, less claim to reason, Than many a scull among ye? Dan Prior's mice, I own it, Were vermin of condition: But this rat, who merely learn'd What rats alone concern'd, Was the greater politician. Is clear from these mishaps, sir; Then trust in cats to catch 'em; May quell the Spanish Don, TO THE VIRTUOSOS. The form of mortal flies is! No slope could e'er retard you; Pursued the glittering stranger; Know what conserves they choose to eat, Can stoop to pimp for amorous flies, Tis you protect their pregnant hour; Yet oh! howe'er your towering view A friend, who, weigh'd with yours, must prize That wrought the death of teasing flies, Let Flavia's eyes more deeply warm, THE EXTENT OF COOKERY. WHEN Tom to Cambridge first was sent, A plain brown bob he wore; Read much, and look'd as though he meant To be a fop no more. See him to Lincoln's Inn repair, His resolution flag; He cherishes a length of hair, And tucks it in a bag. Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards, And soon a judge's rank rewards Adieu, ye bol s ! ye bags, give place! Good Lord! to see the various ways Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive; To forgo the gay fashions and gestures of France, Where the citizen-matron seduces her cuckold; SLENDER'S GHOST. BENEATH a church-yard yew, Decay'd and worn with age, At dusk of eve methought I spied Ye gentle bards, give ear! Who talk of amorous rage, Come learn of me to weep your woes: I never dream'd of flame or dart, No med'cine can assuage! O sweet, O sweet Anne Page! And ye, whose souls are held Like linnets in a cage! Who talk of fetters, links and chains, O sweet, O sweet Anne Page! And you who boast or grieve, What horrid wars we wage! Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye; Yet mean as I do, when I sigh, O sweet, O sweet Anne Page! Hence every fond conceit Of shepherd or of sage; >T is Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way Expresses all you have to say, O sweet, O sweet Anne Page! I ASK'D a friend amidst the throng, "O sir!" says he, "what! ha'n't you seen it? 'Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it. 'T is odd, methinks, you have forgot Your friend, your neighbour, and-what not ! Your old acquaintance Damon !"—" True; But 'faith his equipage is new. "Bless me," said I, "where can it end? What madness has possess'd my friend? Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest, Their stomachs doubtless not the smallest! Can Damon's revenue maintain, Always bestowing more than he was asked, But the most mature and solemn deliberation; With an incredible presence and undauntedness of mind; With an inimitable gravity and œconomy of face; Bidding loud defiance To politeness and the fashion, Dared let a f-t. |