Dissembling what I knew too well, 66 66 My love, my life," said I, explain She sigh'd: she smiled: and to the flowers "Ah me, the blooming pride of May, "At morn poor Stella danced and sung; I saw, and kissed her in her shroud. "Such as she is, who died to-day; Matthew Prior. CI. THE LOVER. Addressed to Congreve. At length, by so much importunity press'd, I am not as cold as a virgin in lead, Nor is Sunday's sermon so strong in my head; That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young. But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy Would value his pleasures, contribute to mine; For I would have the power, but not give the pain. No pedant, yet learned; no rakey-hell gay, But when the long hours of public are past, And that my delight may be solidly fix'd, Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd, Whose kindness can soothe me, whose counsel can guide For such a dear lover as here I describe, No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe; But till this astonishing creature I know, As I long have lived chaste, I will keep myself so. I never will share with the wanton coquet, Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit, I loathe the mere rake, the drest fopling despise: We harden like trees, and like rivers grow cold. Lady Mary W. Montagu. CII. THE merchant, to secure his treasure, My softest verse, my darling lyre That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise ; Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd: I sung, and gazed: I play'd, and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled. Matthew Prior. CIII. ON THE LOSS OF TIME. IF life be time that here is lent, And time on earth be cast away, If doing nought be like to death, The passers-by may pasquilize, CIV. MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED. GIVE me more love, or more disdain ; Give me a storm; if it be love, Disdain, that torrent will devour Thomas Carew. CV. MRS. FRANCES HARRIS' PETITION. Written in the year 1701. To their Excellencies the Lord Justices of Ireland. The humble petition of Frances Harris, who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries. Humbly sheweth, That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's chamber, because I was cold, And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, besides farthings, in money and gold: So, because I had been buying things for my lady last night, I keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next my smock. So, when I went to put up my purse, as luck would have it, my smock was unript, And instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipt: So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light: “Lawk, madam,” says Mary, “how d'ye do?” “Indeed,” says I, never worse: 66 But pray, Mary, can you tell what I've done with my purse?" "Lawk, help me!” said Mary, "I never stirred out of this place: "Nay," said I, “I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain case.' So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm: However, she stole away my garters, that might do myself no harm. So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very well think, But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink. So I was a-dream'd, methought, that I went and search'd the folks round, And in a corner of Mrs. Dukes's box, tied in a rag the money was found. So next morning we told Whittle, and he fell a-swearing: Then my dame Wadger came: and she, you know, is thick of hearing: 'Dame," said I, as loud as I could bawl, "do you know what a loss I have had?" "Nay," said she, 'my Lord Colway's folks are all very sad; For my Lord Dromedary comes a Tuesday without fail." Pugh!" said I, "but that's not the business that I ail." Says Cary, says he, "I've been a servant this five-andtwenty years come spring, And in all the places I lived I never heard of such a thing.” "Yes," says the Steward, "I remember, when I was at my Lady Shrewsbury's. Such a thing as this happen'd, just about the time of gooseberries." So I went to the party suspected, and I found her full of grief, (Now, you must know, of all things in the world I hate a thief,) |