The monarch leads the queen: The dauncing past, the board was laid, But, now to please the fairy king, Some wind and tumble like an ape, Till one at last, that Robin hight, And full against the beam he flung, From thence, 'Reverse my charm,' he cries, 'And let it fairly now suffice The gambol has been shown. Here ended all the phantom play; Then screaming all at once they fly, Poor Edwin falls to floor; But soon as Dan Apollo rose, Which made him want success With lusty livelyhed he talks, The story told, Sir Topaz moved, At close of eve he leaves his home, As there he bides, it so befell, Up spring the tapers as before, But certes sorely sunk with woe, When Oberon cries A man is near, With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth! Entreats them pity grant; For als he been a mister wight Betray'd by wandering in the night To tread the circled haunt; 'Ah Losell, vile,' at once they roar; Thy cause to come we know: Are free to work thee woe.' Then Will, who bears the wispy fire The revel now proceeds apace, They sit, they drink, and eat; By this the stars began to wink, For never spell by fairie laid With strong enchantment bound a glade, Beyond the length of night. Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, the welkin rose the day, Till up Then deem'd the dole was o'er: But wot ye well his harder lot? His seely back the bunch had got This tale a Sibyl-nurse ared; And when the tale was done, "Thus some are born, my son,' she cries, And some are born with none. But virtue can itself advance Virtue can gain the odds of fate, And from itself shake off the weight PARNELL. WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS. A SONG. WHEN the black-letter'd list to the gods was presented (The list of what Fate for each mortal intends,) At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, And slipp'd in three blessings, wife, children, and friends. In vain surly Pluto maintain'd he was cheated, For earth becomes heaven with wife, children, and friends. If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested, Though valour still glows in his life's waning embers, The death-wounded tar, who his colours defends, Drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers How bless'd was his home with wife, children, and friends. The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story, Though spice-breathing gales o'er his caravan hover, Though round him Arabia's whole fragrance ascends, The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover The bower where he sat with wife, children, and friends. The day-spring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow, Alone on itself for enjoyment depends; But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow No warmth from the smiles of wife, children, and friends. Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish The laurel which o'er her dead favourite bends; O'er me wave the willow! and long may it flourish, Bedew'd with the tears of wife, children, and friends. SONNET. SPENCER. How sweet to rove, from summer sunbeams veil'd, In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide; |