OME hither and listen, whoever Of passing for witty and clever Without being voted satirical! He'd better be apt with his pen, Than well-dressed and well-booted and gloved, Who likes to be liked by the men, By the women who loves to be loved: And Fashion full often has paid Her good word in return for a gay word, And hither, you sweet schoolroom beauties, We'll teach you your dear little duties At ball-room, and concert, and rout: With whom you may go down to supper, And where you may venture to please; B And what you should say about Tupper, And what of the cattle disease; You Pitts of the future, we'll get you Three pages of Hansard by heart. That's brilliant and not very blue, We'll greet it by piping "Tu-whit," And mark it by hooting "Tu-whoo." GEORGE OTTO TREVELYAN. THE CONTRAST. N London I never know what I'd be at, Enraptured with this, and enchanted with that; I'm wild with the sweets of variety's plan, And Life seems a blessing too happy for man. But the Country, Lord help me! sets all matters right; So calm and composing from morning to night; Oh! it settles the spirits when nothing is seen But an ass on a common, a goose on a green. In town if it rain, why it damps not our hope, The eye has her choice, and the fancy her scope; What harm though it pour whole nights or whole days? It spoils not our prospects, or stops not our ways. In the country what bliss, when it rains in the fields, To live on the transports that shuttlecock yields; In London if folks ill together are put, In the country you're nail'd, like a pale in the park, To some stick of a neighbour that's cramm'd in the ark; And 'tis odd, if you're hurt, or in fits tumble down, You reach death ere the doctor can reach you from town. In London how easy we visit and meet, our treat; Our morning's a round of good humour'd delight, And we rattle, in comfort, to pleasure at night. In the country, how sprightly! our visits we make Through ten miles of mud, for Formality's sake ; With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a fog, And no thought in our head but a ditch or a bog. In London the spirits are cheerful and light, But how gay in the country! what summer delight In town we've no use for the skies overhead, In the country these planets delightfully glare But 'tis in the country alone we can find Indeed, I must own, 'tis a pleasure complete I have heard tho', that love in a cottage is sweet, When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet: That's to come-for as yet I, alas! am a swain Who require, I own it, more links to my chain. Your magpies and stock-doves may flirt among trees, And chatter their transports in groves, if they please: But a house is much more to my taste than a tree, In the country, if Cupid should find a man out, cure. I know love's a devil, too subtle to spy, That shoots through the soul, from the beam of an eye; But in London these devils so quick fly about, In town let me live then, in town let me die, EPISTLE TO MISS BLOUNT ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN AFTER THE CORONATION (1715). S some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care, Drags from the Town to wholesome Just when she learns to roll a melting eye, |