Having written thus much I must now take a nobler stile up : My Invention a Flick, And my genius a pretty smart Fillip. For the Bus'ness in Hand Is indeed neither trifling nor small : As well as the best of them all. And so may your Dear Wife Be the Joy of your Life, And of all our brave Troops the Commandress, What herein I say To the very fair Lady, my Laundress. That to Town I shall Trot (No I Lie, I shall not, For to Town I shall Jog in the stage) For my Father consenteth So bid her prepare And warm well my Bed by the Fire, I shall break her Back bone As sure as I ever come nigh her. I am Jovial and Merry, Have writ till I'm weary, Am become, with a great deal of Talking, hoarse ; Except So farewell-sweet Lad! Is all I shall add, your obedient stalking Horse. G. BERK, Octb 10th, 1755 W. COWPER. OF HIMSELF WILLIAM was once a bashful youth ; That one might say (to say the truth) Some said that it was want of sense, But some a different notion had, Howe'er, it happened, by degrees, In company was more at ease, Nay, now and then would look quite gay, And sometimes said, or tried to say, He eyed the women, and made free So that there was, or seemed to be, The women said, who thought him rough "The creature may do well enough, At length, improved from head to heel, No dancing bear was so genteel, Now that a miracle so strange May not in vain be shown, Let the dear maid who wrought the change E'en claim him for her own. TO DELIA AN APOLOGY FOR NOT SHOWING HER WHAT I HAD WROTE DID not my Muse (what can she less?) Could she by some well-chosen theme At the same place DELIA, the unkindest girl on earth, Refused that instant to comply Trust me, my dear, however odd I sought it merely to defraud The spoiler of his prey. Yet when its sister locks shall fade, Ah then! if haply to my share When you behold it still as sleek, As when it left thy snowy neck,— Then shall my Delia's self declare At Catfield THIS evening, Delia, you and I Yet, well as each performed their part, To sacrifice a little ease; For all such petty flaws as these Are made but to be mended. You knew, dissembler! all the while, That we should gain by this allay When next we met, and laugh away The care we never felt. Happy! when we but seek to endure For friendship, like a severed bone, WRITTEN IN A QUARREL (THE DELIVERY OF IT PREVENTED BY A RECONCILIATION) THINK, Delia, with what cruel haste Our fleeting pleasures move, Be wise, my fair, and gently treat Sure in those eyes I loved so well, No bold offence of mine I knew With kindness bless the present hour, What can we do in absence more Fated to ills beyond redress, THE SYMPTOMS OF LOVE WOULD my Delia know if I love, let her take My last thought at night, and the first when I wake; With my prayers and best wishes preferred for her sake. Let her guess what I muse on, when, rambling alone, I stride o'er the stubble each day with my gun, Never ready to shoot till the covey is flown, |