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From the dear man unwilling she must sever,
She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
for that's the
to heav'n. Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; Whose game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds, Then gives a smacking buss, and cries,— No
words !' Or with his hound comes hollowing from the stable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table ; Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse, And loves you best of all things—but his horse.
In some fair ev’ning, on your elbow laid, You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade; In pensive thoughts recall the fancy'd scene, See Coronations rise on ev'ry green; Before you pass th' imaginary sights Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd
While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
So when your Slave, at some dear idle time, (Not plagu'd with headachs, or the want of rhyme) Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew, And while he seems to study, thinks of you; Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise, Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs, rush upon my sight; Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow, Look sour, and hum a Tune, as you may now.
ON A YOUNG LADY'S GOING TO TOWN
IN THE SPRING.
NE night unhappy Celadon,
Beneath a friendly myrtle's shade, With folded arms and eyes cast down,
Gently repos’d his love-sick head: Whilst Thirsis, sporting on the neighbouring plain, Thus heard the discontented youth complain :
“Ask not the cause why sickly flowers
Faintly recline their drooping heads; As fearful of approaching showers,
They strive to hide them in their beds, Grieving with Celadon they downward grow, And feel with him a sympathy of woe.
“ Chloris will go; the cruel fair,
Regardless of her dying swain, Leaves him to languish, to despair,
And murmur out in sighs his pain. The fugitive to fair Augusta flies, To make new slaves, and gain new victories.” So restless monarchs, though possess'd
Of all that we call state or power, Fancy themselves but meanly blest,
Vainly ambitious still of more. Round the wide world impatiently they roam, Not satisfy'd with private sway at home.
DAMON AND CUPID.
HE sun was now withdrawn,
The shepherds home were sped ;
Her silver mantle spread;
And saunter'd in the grove.
And give me love for love ?
When Love, devoid of cares,
Lodg'd nymphs and swains by pairs ;
Flies every sprightly lass;
In shades, or on the grass."
The winged boy draws near,
And thus the swain reproves :
My game lay in the groves ;
To scatter round my arrows :
And maidens love like sparrows.
“Then, swain, if me you need,
Straight lay your sheep-hook down;
And haste away to town.
None ask where Cupid dwells :
THE BRIDE IN THE COUNTRY.
Y the side of a half-rotten wood
Melantha sate silently down, Convinc'd that her scheme was not
good, And vex'd to be absent from town. Whilst pitied by no living soul,
To herself she was forc'd to reply. And the sparrow, as grave as an owl,
Sate list’ning and pecking hard by.
“Alas! silly maid that I was ;”
Thus sadly complaining, she cry'd; “When first I forsook that dear place,
It had been better far I had died !
How gayly. I passed the long days,
In a round of continu'd delights ! Park, visits, assemblies, and plays,
And a dance to enliven the nights.
“How simple was I to believe
Delusive poetical dreams!
Of meadows and murmuring streams. Bleak mountains, and cold starving rocks,
Are the wretched result of my pains; The swains greater brutes than their flocks,
And the nymphs as polite as the swains.
“What tho' I have got my dear Phil ;
I see him all night and all day ; I find I must not have my will,
And I've cursedly sworn to obey! Fond damsel, thy pow'r is lost,
As now I experience too late ; Whatever a lover
“And thou, my old woman, so dear,
My all that is left of relief, Whatever I suffer, forbear
Forbear to dissuade me from grief; ?Tis in vain, as you say, to repine,
At ills which cannot be redress’d; But, in sorrows so poignant as mine,
To be patient, alas! is a jest.
“ If, farther to soothe my distress,
Your tender compassion is led, Come hither and help to undress,
And decently put me to bed.