Others I see, as noble and more true, By no court-badge distinguish'd from the rest: First see I Methuen, of sincerest mind, As Arthur grave, as soft as womankind. What lady's that to whom he gently bends? [eyes: I see two lovely sisters, hand in hand, The fair-hair'd Martha, and Teresa brown; Madge Bellenden, the tallest of the land; And smiling Mary, soft and fair as down. See next the decent Scudamore advance, With her perhaps Miss Howe came there by chance But now behold the female band retire, And the shrill music of their voice is still'd! Methinks I see famed Buckingham admire That in Troy's ruin thou hadst not been kill'd. Sheffield, who knows to strike the living lyre With hand judicious, like thy Homer skill'd; Bathurst, impetuous, hastens to the coast, Whom you and I strive who shall love the most. See generous Burlington, with goodly Bruce (But Bruce comes wafted in a soft sedan); Dan Prior next, beloved by every Muse, And friendly Congreve, unreproachful man! (Oxford by Cunningham hath sent excuse); See hearty Watkins comes with cup and can; Ah why, sweet St. John, cannot I thee find! Or else to see thee here I well surmised: The mouth of justice, oracle of law! Another Simon is beside him found, Another Simon, like as straw to straw. How Lansdown smiles, with lasting laurel crown'd! What mitred prelate there commands our awe? See Rochester approving nods his head, And ranks one modern with the mighty dead. Carleton and Chandos thy arrival grace; Hanmer, whose eloquence th' unbias'd sways; Harley, whose goodness opens in his face, And shows his heart the seat where virtue stays. Ned Blount advances next with busy pace, In haste, but sauntering, hearty in his ways: [ins. I see the friendly Carylls come by dozens, Arbuthnot there I see, in physic's art, As Galen learn'd or famed Hippocrate; Whose company drives sorrow from the heart, Kneller amid the triumph bears his part, Who could (were mankind lost) a new create ; What can th' extent of his vast soul confine? A painter, critic, engineer, divine! Thee Jervas hails, robust and debonair, Now have [we] conquer'd Homer, friends, he cries: Darteneuf, grave joker, joyous Ford is there, And wondering Maine so fat, with laughing eyes (Gay, Maine, and Cheney, boon companions dear, Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of size), Yea Dennis, Gildon (hearing thou hast riches), And honest, hatless Cromwell, with red breeches. Oh Wanley, whence com'st thou with shorten'd hair, And visage from thy shelves with dust besprent? "Forsooth (quoth he) from placing Homer there. For ancients to compyle is myne entente: Of ancients only hath Lord Harley care; But hither me hath my meeke lady sent: In manuscript of Greeke rede we thilke same, But book yprint best plesyth myn gude dame." Yonder I see, among th' expecting crowd, Evans with laugh jocose, and tragic Young; High-buskin'd Booth, grave Mawbert, wandering Frowde, And Titcomb's belly waddles slow along, Yea Steele and Tickell mingle in the throng: See hearty Morley takes thee by the hand; But who can count the leaves, the stars, the sand! Lo Stoner, Fenton, Caldwell, Ward, and Broome! Lo thousands more; but I want rhyme and room! How loved! how honour'd thou! yet be not vain: And what rewards his grateful country pay? None, none were paid; why then all this for me? These honours, Homer, had been just to thee. THOMAS TICKELL. COLIN AND LUCY. 1686-1740. OF Leinster, famed for maidens fair, Till luckless love and pining care Her coral lips, and damask cheeks, Oh! have you seen a lily pale, By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains Of vengeance due to broken vows, Three times, all in the dead of night, And, shrieking at her window thrice, Too well the lovelorn maiden knew And thus, in dying words, bespoke "I hear a voice you cannot hear, Was I to blame, because his bride "Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows, Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, But know, fond maid, and know, false man, "Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear, This bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay, I in my winding-sheet." She spoke, she died, her corse was borne The bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay, She in her winding sheet. Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts? Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, At once his bosom swell: The damps of death bedew'd his brow, From the vain bride, ah, bride no more! When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, |