THE SHRUBS OF PARNASSUS, &c.
[]COLIN, A Paſtoral, on the death, and in imitation of Mr. JOHN CUNNINGHAM.
An honeſt man's the nobleſt work of GOD. POPE.
I.
GIVE ear, O! ye ſwains, to my lay,
Since COLIN, alas! is no more;
Let's languiſh and pine all the day,
In ſorrow his loſs to deplore;
For he was the pride of the plain,
The garden, the grove, and the field;
But "loſt is the PASTORAL ſtrain,"
Since he no more beauties can yield.
II.
Ye warblers that bill on each ſpray,
Ye lambkins that ramble alone;
Come round and attend to the lay;
Then "bleat and your maſter bemoan."
[2] For a tend'r good ſhepherd was he,
So true and ſo kind to his truſt;
With mildneſs he liv'd, and with glee—
A picture of all that was juſt.
III.
His manner how ſoft and ſerene!
Tranquillity dwelt in his air;
No mortal like him e'er was ſeen;
No mortal with him could compare.
For he was ſo gentle and kind,
That birds cluſter'd round in a throng,
And all in full harmony join'd
Whenever he echo'd his ſong.
IV.
But COLIN from us far borne;
No longer he ſings thro' the grove;
No longer beneath the gay thorn *
He pours forth his ſonnets of love.
Then farewel, O! favourite bard,
Adieu! my dear COLIN, adieu!
Thy merit I e'er ſhall regard,
To thy fame I will ever be true.
SONG.
[3]I.
THAT little rogue Cupid, I vow,
Is playing ſuch tricks with my heart,
I flutter—I cannot tell how,
Yet feel the ſharp pangs of his dart!
What cruel ungenerous ſwain
Could ſend this fond urchin to me?
Whoſe heart was a ſtranger to pain,
And e'er rov'd as free as a bee.
II.
But now my poor ſenſes are gone;
My ſpirits are fled from me quite;
And I'm a poor maiden forlorn,
No reſt can I take day or night.
How happy, ah! once ſure was I!
So chearful I 'roſe in the morn,
But now am addicted to ſigh
For him that I treated with ſcorn.
III.
Young CORYDON muſt be the ſwain—
None like him appears to my view;
He caught my fond heart on the plain—
Ah! ſhepherd, I'm wretched for you!
O! come, then, dear youth, and be kind;
No longer diſdainful I'll be,
But harbour content in my mind,
And think upon no one but thee.
SONG.
[4]I.
COME haſte thee my PHILLIS I pray,
And let us repair to the grove;
Where nightingale's chearful and gay;
All tune their ſweet accent of love,
So ſoft is the ſound of their ſong
'Twill ſurely delight you my fair;
Then haſte thee dear charmer along.
And ſtrait to the grove let's repair.
II.
For ſomething I have to impart,
That labours quite hard in my breaſt;
So ardent and firm is the ſmart,
It robs me of peace and of reſt.
'Tis love, that dear paſſion, I ſwear
By all that is honeſt and true;
And thou art the ſource of my care,
I ſigh and I languiſh for you.
III
Then come deareſt PHILLIS, I pray,
And eaſe all your DORILAND'S pain;
Ah! let him be joyful and gay,
Nor longer implore you in vain.
But let honeſt freedom invite,
For virtue's the path I purſue!
And may happineſs ev'r unite
With thoſe that are conſtant and true.
THE HAPPY SHEPHERD.
[5]I.
HOW happy a Shepherd am I,
with LAURA, the pride of my heart;
I'll never once languiſh or ſigh,
For know, ſhe has cu [...]'d all my ſmart.
She vows that ſhe will be my wife
By all that is honeſt and fair;
Then I'll be her husband for life,
And never know ſorrow nor care.
II.
Brother ſhepherds that toil on the plain,
By me take example, I pray,
Throw off all your ſorrow and pain,
And ever be chearful and gay.
Then nymphs that are modeſt and ſhy,
For once hear young DAMON'S advice;
The reaſon I tell you, for why,
As happy you'll be in a trice.
III.
Give each of your hands to your ſwain,
Then drive away faction and ſtrife;
Bid adieu to all anguiſh and pain!
And be happy th' reſt of your life.
Such is DAMON'S advice, my kind fair;
Then take it moſt freely, I pray;
So fly from all ſorrow and care,
Henceforward be merry and gay.
THE HAPPY SHEPHERDESS.
[6]I.
SINCE JOCKEY of late is ſo kind,
My poor panting heart is at reſt,
Such peace and contentment I find,
No maiden's ſo happy and bleſt.
For ſweetly my days paſs away,
With joy I attend on my ſheep;
And though they ſhould happen to ſtray.
I'll never once offer to weep.
II.
Such bliſs do I find from my ſwain,
For he is ſo bonny and gay;
He meets me each night on the plain,
And calls me the flower of MAY.
He took me laſt week to the fair,
And gave me a top-knot beſide,
Then kiſ'd me, and call'd me his care,
And vow'd that I ſhould be his bride.
III.
Then tell me, ye maidens, I pray,
How can I my JOCKEY deny,
Who chearfully ſings thro' the day,
And charms me whenever he's nigh.
On the banks of the ſoft flowing TWEED,
Whenever we happen to meet,
So pleaſing he plays on his reed—
No ſhepherd like JOCKEY'S ſo ſweet.
DAMON AND DOLLY.
A SONG.
[7]I.
ONE Midſummer morn, as I ſtray'd thro' the grove,
Young DOLLY I met by the way;
I told her, her charms had ſubdu'd me with love,
And caus'd her a while for to ſtay.
II
Silly DAMON, ſhe cry'd, what would you be at?
Your fooling give over, I pray,
For all your fond wooing, your cooing and chat
No longer ſhall make me delay.
III.
Then I preſs'd her hand cloſe, ſaying, Can you deny
A favour ſo trifling as this?
But ſtill ſhe rejected and cry'd out, Oh fye!
When I ſtole, unperceiv'd, a ſweet kiſs.
IV.
With rapture I gaz'd on her delicate charms,
(For I could not reſiſt it, I vow)
Then claſping her eagerly in my fond arms—
Said ſhe, I muſt go to my cow.
[]V.
Then ſtrait o'er the plain together we went,
'Till come to cool river's ſide,
Where we ſat ourſelves down till I gain'd her conſent
For ever to be my true bride.
VI.
Adieu, then, ye troubles and plagues of this life!
With DOLLY, I ſure ſhall be bleſt;
Kind Providence means for to make her my wife,
And lull all our cares into reſt.
THE SORROWFUL SHEPHERD.
In imitation of SHENSTONE; written at ſixteen years old.
[9]I.
AH! whither, alas! ſhall I fly?
What clime ſhall I ſeek for relief?
Since PHILLIS no longer is nigh,
O! how ſhall I ſmother my grief.
The ſweeteſt, the faireſt, is ſhe—
So neatly ſhe trips o'er the plain;
But now ſhe ne'er ſmiles upon me,
She's faithleſs—and falſe to her ſwain.
II.
With STREPHON ſhe's gone far away—
With him is contented and bleſt,
Whilſt I am diſtracted all day,
And ruin'd for want of my reſt.
No heed can I take of my ſheep,
They ramble and roam as they pleaſe,
For I can do nothing but weep
'Till PHILLIS my ſorrow doth eaſe.
III.
Dear nymph hear thy ſhepherd complain,
Return and ſubdue all my care!
No longer torment me with pain,
For conſtant I am, I declare.
Thy charms ever ſhall be my pride,
Thy ſmiles I will ever admire;
Then deign you to be but my bride,
And ſatisfy all my deſire.
ON SPRING AND SHEPHERDS BLISS.
Written at fifteen years old.
[10]I.
HOW ſweet the 'freſhing gales of ſpring,
Each bluſhing morn how gay,
The tuneful lark begins to ſing,
As ſoon as dawn of day.
II.
Then next AURORA'S golden ray,
Comes glancing o'er the plains,
To hail the warbler's plaintive lay,
And rouſe the ſturdy ſwains.
III.
Who from their cots to toil repair,
Regardleſs of all ſtrife,
Unknowing and unknown to care,
Is ſure the ſhepherds life,
IV.
He toils, he carols all the day,
At eve then home he bends,
Charm'd with birds on every ſpray;
As to his cottage tends.
V.
His cottage teems with infants dear,
That's wholeſome, clean and neat,
His wife, his bed, his all is there,
To make his joys compleat.
[11]VI.
With theſe he ſits a welcome gueſt,
So happy and ſo gay,
'Till twilight point the hour of reſt,
Then they its call obey.
THE LINNET.
Written at thirteen years old.
I.
AS paſſing by a wood and grove,
I heard a linnet ſing,
Whoſe ſweetly plaintive voice of love,
Proclaim'd the chearful ſpring.
II.
His pretty accent ſeem'd to flow,
As if he knew no pain,
His downy throat he tun'd ſo ſweet,
It echo'd o'er the plain.
III.
Ah! happy warbler I reply'd,
Contented thus to be,
'Tis only harmony and love;
Can be compar'd to thee.
[12]IV.
Thus perch'd upon the ſpray ye ſtand,
The monarch of the ſhade,
And ever ſip embroſial ſweets,
That glows from ev'ry glade.
V.
Did man poſſeſs but half thy bliſs,
How joyful might he be,
But man was never form'd for this,
'Tis only joys for thee.
VI.
Then farewel pretty bird I ſaid,
Purſue thy plaintive tale,
And let thy tuneful accent ſpread;
All o'er the fragrant vale.
AN EXTEMPORE.
[]I.
AS wand'ring in a rural ſhade,
My ſoul quite rapt in thought,
I chanc'd to meet the lovely maid,
Who my fond heart had caught.
II.
I gaz'd I view'd her with delight,
And told my love-ſick tale,
But ah! the maid was in a fright,
And bid me quit the vale.
III.
But I more tenderly reply'd,
How can I leave the grove,
Whilſt here ſuch matchleſs charms reſide▪
That I adore and love.
IV.
But all in vain I told my tale,
In vain I ſtrove to pleaſe,
For all my ſighs, could not prevail;
Nor this fair maid appeaſe.
V.
Some other ſwain there was in view,
She ſaid, ſhe lik'd the beſt,
And vow'd to him ſhe would prove true;
With him her heart ſhould reſt.
[14]VI.
Then ſtrait I left the cruel fair,
And fled along the plain,
Regardleſs of her flirting air,
And all her cold diſdain.
VII.
And now ſome other nymph I'll find,
Endow'd with lovely charms,
And try if ſhe will prove more kind,
And take me to her arms.
VIII▪
Adieu! farewell, then fickle maid,
Adieu! for ever more,
No more I'll ſtrive to ſeek thy aid;
No more thy ſmiles implore.
TO FLAVIA.
Written on Birling-Hill in Kent, at fourteen years old.
[]I.
LOVELY FLAVIA, liſt I pray,
To yon warbler on the ſpray,
Hear my fair his matin tale,
Charming as the vernal gale.
II.
View▪ the fields all ſmiling round,
See the flow'rets deck the ground,
And the pretty lambkins play,
While the ewes are gone aſtray.
III.
See the ſhepherd penſive ſit,
Making of a home ſpun net,
With his bottle by his ſide,
And his little dog call'd Tide.
IV.
How contented is his ſtate,
He envy's not the rich and great,
Free from ſorrows, free from pain,
Is the ſhepherd on the plain.
V.
Except his DAPHNE proves unkind,
Then diſcontented is his mind,
'Till ſhe reſolves to prove more true,
Then all his cares ſhe doth ſubdue.
CORYDON'S COMPLAINT, TO LUCINDA.
Written at fifteen years old.
[16]I.
WHY LUCINDA will you ſtray,
From your ever conſtant ſwain,
Who with anguiſh all the day,
Sits repining on the plain.
II.
Turn fair maid, and view me here,
Penſive ſitting on the ground,
Drooping, dying, with diſpair,
Gazing on the fields around.
III.
When I view the paſture mead,
How the lambkins ſkip and play,
Shepherd's tune their oaten reed,
And each bird his plaintive lay.
IV.
But what t' CORYDON are theſe,
When LUCINDA is not near,
Nought my ſight can ever pleaſe,
Nor ſweet ſounds will charm mine ear.
V.
Liſten fair one to my grief,
Take compaſſion on your ſwain,
View him pleading for relief,
Ceaſe for ever all his pain.
SONG.
[17]I.
GENTLE is my dear FLORELLA,
Kind and tender to her ſwain,
Brighter ſure then e'er was STELLA,
Sweeteſt nymph of all the plain.
II.
Soft and pure are ſure her kiſſes,
Fragrance breathes thro' all her charms,
She's the ſource of endleſs bliſſes,
When I claſp her in my arms.
III.
STELLA, thinks, that ſhe's more pleaſing,
O! the vain ambitious fair;
She her ſwain is always teazing,
But FLORELLA, ſoothes my care.
IV.
All her ways are ſo inviting,
Ever giving freſh delights,
Never pleas'd but when delighting,
Crowns with peace my days and nights.
THE WISH.
A SONG.
Written at fifteen years old.
[18]I.
"WAS I a ſhepherd's maid to keep"
Some ſheep upon the plain,
I now had never known to weep,
Nor felt ambition's pain.
II.
But pure contentment ſhould enjoy,
(Unheedful of the great)
Nor thus my hopes at once deſtroy,
By pride's deſtructive ſtate.
III.
Auſpicious ſtars—ſubdue my care,
And guide me in thy ways,
Nor thus let vanity enſnare,
But happy make my days.
IV.
Teach me humility and love,
And ever give me peace;
O! may I learn no more to rove,
But from theſe foibles ceaſe.
DAMON AND LAURA.
A DIALOGUE.
[19]DAMON.
AH! deareſt LAURA, eaſe my pain,
Ceaſe your DAMON'S anguiſh;
Let me no longer ſue in vain,
No long'r let me languiſh.
LAURA.
Yes, DAMON, I will eaſe your pain,
Since I do cauſe your ſmart;
Then take, at once, my gentle ſwain,
My hand and faithful heart.
DAMON.
Then ſtrait to church let us repair,
And join both hearts in one,
We'll bid adieu to future care,
And taſte of joys alone.
BOTH.
Then we th' happieſt pair will be
That e'er our ſtate poſſeſt;
Happier far than monarchs, we,
Let them be e'er ſo bleſt.
A SONNET.
[20]I.
LITTLE CUPID! ſtrike a dart
Stedfaſt at fair DAPHNE'S heart;
Make her glow with fond deſire;
Fill her ſoul with am'rous fire.
II.
Charm her with thy ſoft perſuaſion;
Make her melt at DAMON'S name;
Give, O! give, one kind occaſion
To reward my ardent flame.
III.
Strive to make us bleſt for ever,
In a peaceful, humble ſtate,
Let ambition move us never,
It is for the rich and great.
IV.
Give us only decent ſubſtance,
With a little cleanly cot,
There to live without reluctance,
May this ever be our lot.
SONG.
[21]I.
YE gods! how happy once was I?
No mortal e'er ſo bleſt,
'Till cruel JENNY caught my heart,
And rob'd me of my reſt.
II.
A form ſo lovely and divine,
I could not but admire;
But ah! the ſweet, the cruel ſhe
Has ſet my ſoul on fire.
III.
Come then, thou ſoft endearing fair,
And hear thy ſlave complain;
Unlock his mind, ſubdue his care,
And take away the chain.
SOLILOQUY ON A SPRING MORNING.
By a Friend.
[]I.
HOW freſh the air! How fair each ſcene!
How full of ſweets each field!
What balmy odours breathe around!
What lays the warblers yield!
II.
With what enchantment I review
AURORA'S early ray,
That calls up nature's offspring all
To hail the fragrant MAY.
III.
Tranſported o'er the mead I walk,
Or croſs the verdant lawn,
Purſue the winding ſtreamlet's courſe,
And mark the vernal dawn.
IV.
Devote my ſong to Him on high,
From whom thoſe beauties ſpring,
And with extatic raptures cry,
My GOD is nature's king!
SAWNEY.
A SCOTCH SONG.
Set to muſic by Mr. French.
[]I.
SURE SAWNEY is the blytheſt ſwain
Of all around the TWEED,
He tends the ſheep upon the plain,
And tunes his oaten reed.
He tends, &c.
II.
He calls me his dear life and care,
And his own MOGGY too;
He vows by all that's good and fair,
To me he will prove true.
He vows, &c.
III.
So SAWNEY is a worthy ſwain,
And I'll be SAWNEY'S wife,
Then bid adieu to care and pain,
And ſo be bleſt for life.
Then bid, &c.
SONNATA.
[]I.
SWEET CLARISSA of the Green,
Lovely as the CYPRIAN queen,
Ever blooming, young and gay,
Charming as the fragrant MAY.
II.
Young LIONEL'S conſtant care,
Thou art ſure, my charming fair;
All his joys in thee abound,
All his life in thee is found.
III.
Then to church let us be gone,
There unite both hearts in one;
So, CLARISSA, do not ſtay,
But to church let's haſte away.
TO DELIA.
[25]I.
MY Muſe inſpire me to impart,
In humble ardent ſtrain,
To tell the anguiſh of my heart,
To her that caus'd my pain.
II.
DELIA is the lovely maid;
Alas! thou charming fair,
Behold fond DAMON ſeeks thy aid,
To eaſe his pain and care.
III.
For thou alone can give relief,
Or anguiſh moſt ſevere,
Thy rapt'rous charms are all my grief,
Until you prove ſincere.
SONG.
Intended to be ſung under JESSICA'S window, in the Merchant of Venice, by LORENZO.
[26]LIST! O liſt! My JESSEY, fair,
To LORENZO'S call I pray,
Ceaſe, ah! ceaſe, thy lover's care,
Gentle JESSEY, come away!
Then to ſome ſequeſter'd ſhade
Let us fly, my charming maid;
There with honeſty enjoy
Such ſweet bliſs as ne'er can cloy;
Then, my fair, no longer ſtay,
Gentle JESSEY—haſte away.
SONNET.
By a Friend.
[27]I.
CUPID, god of ſoft deſire!
Aim, at TELLA'S breaſt, a dart;
Kindle there thy am'rous fire,
Such as glows round STREPHON'S heart.
II.
When I ſigh, oh! make her languiſh!
When my boſom's calm'd with peace,
Far be from her ev'ry anguiſh,
Joy ſit ſmiling on her ſace.
III.
Thus each bliſs and care dividing,
Bleſt and happy with our lot,
Nought of pomp or ſtate reſiding
In our peaceful humble cot.
SONG.
Deſigned for an Opera.
[28]I.
BLOW ſoft, ye winds! ye Zephyrs blow!
Ye cryſtal ſtreams, ah! gently flow!
Ye fragrant gales perfume around,
While beauty decks the verdant ground.
II.
For here CLARINDA'S lull'd to reſt,
(The darling pride of all the plain)
But ah! ſhe ſcorns to make me bleſt;
With ſcorn ſhe ſhuns her conſtant ſwain.
III.
Waft to her ears, kind CUPID, pray,
A ſoft and tender ſigh from me;
O! bid her riſe whilſt here I ſtay,
And ſet her faithful captive free.
THE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN.
A SONG.
Written at fourteen years old.
[29]WITH hunting what ſports can compare,
So great are the pleaſures it yields,
How ſweet to purſue the briſk hare,
O'er vallies, green meadows and fields.
Then rouſe, all dull mortals, and make no delay,
To glorious hunting take horſe and away.
CHORUS.
Then rouſe, &c.
For noble and manly's the game,
'Tis wholeſome and pleaſant likewiſe;
Of ſports 'tis the foremoſt in fame;
Then hunting we ever will prize.
For we follow, follow, follow, and we fly
O'er hedges and ditches, with hounds in full cry.
CHORUS.
For we follow, &c.
At eve we return from the chace,
Quite chearful, contented and gay,
When eating and drinking takes place,
To regale o'er th' ſports of the day.
So join chorus, brave boys, for on hunting's our ſong,
Where glorious pleaſure and paſtime belong.
FULL CHORUS.
So join chorus, &c.
SONG.
[30]I.
ONE day o'er the green as I tript it along,
A gentle young ſhepherd paſs'd by,
He tuned his pipe, and ſo ſweet was his ſong,
He made my poor heart for to ſigh.
II.
He called me back to ſit by him a while;
The ſwain I could ſcarcely deny,
So ſweetly he look'd! and he gave me a ſmile
Which caus'd me ſtill more for to ſigh.
III.
Then ſtrait he came to me and proffer'd a kiſs,
At which I ſeem'd modeſt and ſhy;
Yet I vow in my heart I was pleaſed at this,
Tho' he made me to flutter and ſigh.
IV.
He told me he lov'd me, and ſomething beſide,
Which I muſt not repeat by th' bye,
For fear the young ſhepherd my conduct ſhould chide,
And make me for ever to ſigh.
[31]V.
He promis'd to take me next week to the fair,
And many fine things he will buy,
Both roſes and ribbons to ſtick in my hair,
Then who'll be ſo ſhewy as I.
IV.
And if that the ſwain ſhould make me his wife,
To pleaſe him all means I will try;
I'll ever be faithful and conſtant for life,
And virt'ous until that I die.
STREPHON AND PHOEBE.
A CANTATA.
Intended for the Public Gardens.
[]Enter Strephon and Phoebe with wands in their hands.
STREPHON.
RECITATIVE.
HAIL, lovely PHOEBE! charming maid!
Why fly me thus?
[She avoids him.
Ah! why ſo 'fraid?
Let me enjoy thy youthful charms,
And claſp thee ever in thoſe arms.
[Holding out his arms to her.
PHOEBE.
AIR.
Away thou falſe ſwain,
No longer in vain,
Thus teaze and perplex me I pray;
For all your intreating
Your whining and weeping,
Shall never induce me to ſtay.
For all, &c.
STREPHON.
[33]AIR.
Alas! cruel maid,
O! let me perſuade,
Nor treat me with ſlight and diſdain;
Did you know my ſmart,
You'd give me your heart,
Nor keep me in anguiſh and pain.
Did you know, &c.
PHOEBE.
RECITATIVE.
Begone, falſe youth, ſly hence and leave me,
You only court for to deceive me;
But thus on me you'll never prevail,
For I'll ne'er liſt'n to thy flatt'ring tale.
STREPHON.
AIR.
On honour fair maid
My paſſion is laid,
For I mean not to deceive ye;
So prithee don't ſtand,
For here is my hand
And heart both willing to wed ye.
So prithee, &c.
PHOEBE.
[34]AIR.
Since you make proffer
Of ſuch an offer,
Here is my hand and heart likewiſe;
For now I believe
You will not deceive,
And virtue and honour I prize.
For now, &c.
DUET.
Thence we'll to church, and join both hearts,
And bid adieu to former care;
So baniſh from our minds all ſmarts,
And ever be the happy pair.
Thence we'll, &c.
CHORUS
OF SHEPHERDS AND SHEPHERDESSES.
May health and wealth both crown your wiſhes,
When the nuptial knot is tied;
May peace and plenty—endleſs riches,
Ever in your reach reſide.
DUET II.
May health and wealth both crown our wiſhes,
When the nuptial knot is tied;
May peace and plenty—endleſs riches,
Ever in our reach reſide.
CHORUS.
May health, &c.
[Exeunt.
DAMON AND AMANDA.
A CANTATA.
[36]RECITATIVE.
AS fair AMANDA penſive lay,
In a ſhady green retreat,
Young DAMON chanc'd to come that way,
Tuning of his lute moſt ſweet.
"Hark, hark!" ſhe cry'd, "what's this I hear?
"Sure PARADISE is round me;
"Or ſome bewitching charmer's near,
"With muſic to confound me."
AIR.
"Tune on, tune on, whoe'er thou art,
"While I the heav'nly joys impart."
('Twas thus the ſweet AMANDA cry'd.)
Mean time the ſwain, inſpir'd, ſtood mute,
Then eagerly threw down his lute,
And thus, in vocal lays, reply'd.
AIR.
"Oh! thou, whoſe lovely charms out-ſhine
"The ſun's enamour'd ray,
"Would gracious heav'n but make thee mine,
"(Thou ſweeteſt flow'r of MAY!)
[37] "Not all the outward gems or ſhew,
"Bedeck'd with pride or art,
"Should make me from my fair-one go,
"So conſtant is my heart."
RECITATIVE.
Then ſtrait AMANDA, turning round,
View'd DAMON kneeling on the ground,
At which ſhe ſtarted with ſurprize,
While he exclaim'd, "Sweet maid, ariſe,
"For ah! I come to ſooth your care.
"Then deign to ſet your captive free;
"Behold I come for to declare,
"A flame that only burns for thee."
Then to each other's arms they ſprung,
And thus the youthful lovers ſung.
DUET.
"Oh! DAMON, how ſhall I impart
"The joy this meeting gives my heart;
"Some angel ſure, or friend to reſt,
"Has ſent you here to make me bleſt."
"Oh! ſweet AMANDA, deareſt maid,
"Thou doſt my heart and ſoul invade;
"For all my bliſs I own in thee,
"Then may we ever happy be."
DELIA.
A CANTATA.
Written at fifteen years old.
[38]SCENE, a Grove. DELIA ſitting penſive on a bench.
RECITATIVE.
YE myrtle groves and ſhady bowers,
Sequeſter'd vales and vernal flowers;
What bliſs ſhould I receive from thee,
Could'ſt thou reſtore but eaſe to me.
[Soft muſic plays.
AIR.
Gentle god of fond deſire,
Take a hapleſs maiden's part,
Some relief to me inſpire,
To ſubdue my conſtant heart.
[Riſes and comes forward.
RECITATIVE.
Cruel tyrant of my breaſt,
Sole diſturber of my reſt,
Turn, ah! turn, and eaſe my pain,
Nor let thy DELIA ſue in vain.
[39]
AIR.
But on man there's no depending,
For their vows are ſoon forgot;
Then what torments—never ending,
Is the gen'rous maiden's lot.
Yet DAMON urge not my requeſt,
Eaſe at once my raging pain;
Ah! make thy faithful DELIA bleſt,
Take her to thy arms again.
THE FORSAKEN MAID.
A CANTATA.
Written at thirteen years old.
[]RECITATIVE
AH! whither ſhall I fly to find relief?
Is there no cure for wretchedneſs and grief?
My deareſt THOMAS—he has prov'd untrue,
And what, alas! muſt hapleſs SALLY do?
Fool that I was to truſt perfidious man,
Whoſe falſe diſembling love our hearts trapan;
Ah! then they leave us in a wretched ſtate.
Ye nymphs take warning ere it is too late.
AIR.
How ſevere is my affliction,
Thus to wander in diſpair;
Gods! give ear to my direction;
Ceaſe, ye pow'rs, a maiden's care.
Did the youth know how I languiſh,
He would ſure give me relief;
Turn again and eaſe my anguiſh,
Succour my diſtreſs and grief. 2
THE SANDMAN.
A CANTATA.
Written at fourteen years old.
Set to muſic by Mr. THOMAS SMART.
[41]RECITATIVE.
I AM a poor lad, and mean's my calling,
From morn till night I am a bawling;
Thro' ſtreets, thro' lanes and ſquares I paſs;
My treaſure all on one poor aſs.
My conſtant theme where'er I go;
Is, "Maids do want ſand? Sand ho!"
AIR.
Tho' I'm a poor ſandman, I care not a jot
For all the fine folks in the nation:
While I can get money to buy a full pot,
I'm the happieſt man in my ſtation.
I'm the happieſt man in my ſtation.
What's riches or treaſure,
Or all the gay pleaſure,
Where happineſs does not unite?
'Tis nought but a juggle;
A mere hubble bubble
Of pain and perplexity quite.
Of pain and perplexity quite.
[42]
RECITATIVE.
Now my ſong's done, a tale I'll tell,
Which ſure will pleaſe you all full well.
One day, as paſſing thro' the ſtreet,
I black-ey'd SUSAN chanc'd to meet.
Ah! deareſt SAM, to me ſhe cry'd,
When ſhall I be thy own true bride?
Faith SUE, quoth I, I rather tarry,
For hang me if I think to marry.
She call'd me then ungrateful wretch,
And ſaid the devil would me fetch;
But for all this I did not care,
I drove away and left her there!
AIR.
For who in their wits would be plagu'd with a wife!
To be teaz'd and tormented for ever;
They'll rid you as faſt as they can of your life;
And are not contented,—no, never,
No, no!
And are not contented—no, never.
They're ſuch a diſaſter,
They ſtick like a plaiſter
That's faſten'd upon a man's back;
And what is ſtill worſe,
Ah! that is the curſe,
They have ſuch a confounded clack!
[] Clack, clack, clack, oh! lack, oh! lack!
They have ſuch a confounded clack!
Then ſince this is the caſe of having a wife,
Let me ever, ye gods! live a ſingle life,
Live a ſingle life, live a ſingle life! 3
ELEGY.
Written at Colcheſter.
Addreſſed to Miſs K—N.
[]—Scribere juſſit amor.
OVID, Epiſt. iv. v. 10.
I.
I Aſk'd the muſe that rules the ſounding lyre,
To wreathe my temples with one ſprig of bays;
Some lofty ſubject to my ſoul inſpire,
Some lofty ſubject in heroic lays.
II.
But VENUS came, the ſoft enchanting fair,
I ſaw her glancing from her native ſky,
Looſe flow'd her ſhining treſſes in the air,
And love's own luſtre trembled from her eye.
III.
She bade me chuſe a leſs ambitious ſtrain,
And ſhew'd the image of a ſmiling maid;
Let DELIA'S praiſes echo to the plain,
To ev'ry murm'ring ſtream and ev'ry ſhade.
IV.
O! ruthleſs godeſs! am I doom'd to bow
Again to love's ſoft empire and to thee?
Wilt thou no reſpite to my pangs allow,
No deſtin'd moment muſt this heart be free?
[45]V.
Yet not for this I paſs'd the ſounding main,
Yet not for this I ſought a diſtant ſhore;
Thy captive then, exulting, left his chain,
And ſcorn'd that pow'r which gods and men adore.
VI.
But well thou haſt aveng'd thy ſlighted pride,
I feel thee now reſiſtleſs in my veins;
In vain would ſcience ſoothe and wiſdom hide,
Thy triumphs, goddeſs, and thy ſuppliants pains.
VII.
Thee, DELIA, thee, by ev'ry murm'ring ſtream,
Or thicket rude, unpreſt by human feet,
I ſing, unheeded, to the pale moon's gleam,
Thee, DELIA, thee, the echoing rocks repeat.
VIII.
Come, then, too fatal and too lovely fair!
Come ſeek theſe groves, and eaſe a wretch's toil;
One look from thee can mitigate deſpair,
And bid all nature with thy lover ſmile.
IX.
Nor thou deſpiſe the ſhepherd's artleſs tale;
He leads fair truth and innocence along;
Becauſe ſhe ſings in ſome ſequeſter'd vale,
Are there no charms in Philomela's ſong.
X.
O! might thy lover hope to win thy praiſe,
His ſoul ſhould kindle with a nobler flame;
This hand ſhould ſeize the blood-beſprinkled bays
Which conqueſt ſnatches from the ſhrines of fame.
[46]XI.
Place me where raging ſlaughter's crimſon wheels
O'er gaſping ranks of bleeding warriors roar,
And if my ſoul one thought of danger feels,
O never, DELIA, may I ſee thee more.
XII.
Nor deem, becauſe I loiter in the ſhade,
I bear a breaſt unequal in the deed;
I hear the blaſts of terror undiſmay'd,
Tho' pleas'd I liſten to the rural reed.
XIII.
For I was nurs'd in virtue's rigid lore,
Nor will the goddeſs diſavow my claim;
She bade my ſteps the arduous path explore,
Where ſacred honour points the way to fame.
XIV.
But now far other cares diſtract my ſoul,
Joyleſs the lawrel wreaths of fame I ſee;
In vain her animating thunders roll,
If with her blaſts ſhe mix no notes of thee.
XV.
Then liſten, DELIA, to a ſwain undone,
Ah! hear a ſlave condemn'd—thy chains to wear,
So may thy days in peace glide gently on,
Unmix'd with grief, unſullied with a tear.
XVI.
For ah! in vain thy gentle tear would ſlow,
To ſee thy lover preſs an early tomb;
Then let thy pity mitigate his woe,
Ere ſickneſs wither and deſpair conſume.
[47]XVII.
Wretch that I am! ah! rather let me bind
Hope's dear deluſive chaplet to my brows,
Let fancy paint thee to my wounded mind,
All ſweetly ſmiling on thy lover's vows.
XVIII.
O! how I long, by arching ſhades o'erhung,
Where breezes ſport and fountains murmur bland,
To hear the tuneful accents of thy tongue,
To preſs the glowing ſoftneſs of thy hand.
XIX.
O! how I long to lead thee to the bowers
Where FLORA ſcatters all her thouſand dies,
To braid thy gloſſy hair with dewy flowers,
And catch the mild effulgence of thy eyes.
XX.
Thus with ideal bliſs I fondly try,
Beneath the woodbine ſhade to ſoothe my pains,
But ah! too ſoon the lovely phantoms fly,
And ſtern reality alone remains.
XXI.
She burſts with thunders arm'd upon my dreams,
She tears me ſtrugling from the woodbine ſhade,
She points to other groves and other ſtreams,
But ah! ſhe points me to no heav'nly maid.
XXII.
I come the mournful victim of deſpair,
Adieu, my DELIA, and my hopes of reſt!
So flies the wounded deer the hunter's ſnare,
Yet bears the arrow in his bleeding breaſt.
ELEGY.
Addreſſed to the Lady to whom this book is dedicated.
Virtus nobillor auro.
[48]I.
OH! great APOLLO, mighty prince of verſe,
Do thou aſſiſt a feeble mortal's lays;
Whoſe poor attempt in ſong is to rehearſe
And celebrate a lovely maiden's praiſe.
II.
Her ſparkling eyes out-ſhine the di'mond's light
Or brighter SOL'S refulgent noon-tide ray;
When they are clos'd, with me 'tis endleſs night;
While open, I enjoy eternal day.
III.
No roſe or lilly, with her heav'nly face,
Will I endeavour vainly to compare;
Superior red and white her cheeks doth grace,
Than the moſt blooming flowers ever wear.
IV.
The beauties of her matchleſs ſhape and mein,
Thro' the cold breaſt of age darts am'rous fire;
Brighter than HELEN, or the CYPRIAN queen,
Is lovely B—, the whole of my deſire.
[49]V.
Now to ſublimer heights▪ my muſe, ariſe,
Inſpire more lofty numbers now to tell
The intellectuals of the maid I prize,
The hidden charms which in her boſom dwell.
VI.
No ſudden ruſh of unſubſtantial joys
The ſettled peace of her calm mind moleſt;
No heavy weight of grief too much annoys
The ſweet tranquillity reigning in her breaſt.
VII.
Her ſpotleſs ſoul, from ill, ne'er knew a ſtain,
But is with ſtricteſt honour amply ſtor'd;
Virtue and truth, with their angelic train,
Compleat the nymph by all mankind ador'd.
VIII.
Would the indulgent pow'rs of heav'n decree
This fund of endleſs bliſſes for my wife,
No kings in happineſs ſhould vie with me;
Oh! how delightfully would paſs my life.
IX.
My pleaſures ſhe ſhould ſhare—and all my woe
I'd ſoothe on the ſoft boſom of my love;
And when death came to ſtrike the fatal blow,
Paſs from a heav'n on earth to one above.
VERSES
To Miſs BETSEY N—N.
Omnia vincit amor.
[50]I.
WHILE others reſt in balmy ſleep,
And baniſh ev'ry care,
Into my mind thy beauties creep,
My ſweet angelic fair.
II.
Then ſtrait they drive each languid joy,
There wound each quiet thought;
My heart's the ſeat of beauties boy,
With all his armour fraught.
III.
Believe me, BETSY, lovely fair,
Believe thy captive ſwain,
Thy charms alone engroſs my care,
Alone can give me pain.
IV.
When round my neck with winning grace,
Thy ſnowy arms are thrown;
By heav'n, the dear, the kind embrace,
Bears all my reaſon down.
[51]V.
Gods! when from thy vermillion lips,
▪Where all the graces meet)
Reclin'd upon thy breaſt I ſip
Ambroſial heav'nly ſweets.
VI.
What fancy can conceive the bliſs,
What language can expreſs
Th' extatic joy, the rap'trous kiſs,
The glowing warm careſs.
AN EXTEMPORE.
Addreſſed to a young lady that was going to be married to a paſtry-cook, lately in buſineſs for himſelf.
O tempora! O mores!
[52]I.
OH! ſye Miſs J-NES *, how can you think
To wed a paſtry-cook?
For tho' he's got a little chink,
He ſcarce can read a book.
II.
A downright pigmy ſure is he,
In ſtature very low.
Yet, by the bye, he may pleaſe thee
When rolling of his dough.
III.
But ah! dear Miſs, where is your taſte?
Tho' do not be too vain;
But yet I think a maid ſo chaſte
Would ſhun ſo poor a ſwain.
[53]IV.
Altho' he's maſter for himſelf,
And keeps a little ſhop,
Whereby he hopes of getting pelf
By ſelling tarts and ſlop.
V.
Excuſe theſe lines my lovely fair,
For they are meant in jeſt;
Then deign to ſoothe the author's care,
And ſet his heart at reſt.
VERSES
To Miſs POLLY H—V—D, on the charms of her voice.
[54]—O dea certè.
VIRG. Aen. i. v. 332.
I.
THY tuneful pipe, fair H—V—D, flows
Like Daulia's *in the ſhade;
My heart with ardent rapture glows
At thy ſweet ſerenade.
II.
Ah! melody to thee belong,
In thee it does reſide;
The ſweet effluvia of thy tongue
Shall ever be my pride.
III.
EUTERPE'S child, fair maid, thou art,
And ſure my only care;
Thy voice it ſtrikes like CUPID'S dart!
My charming, lovely fair.
[55]IV.
Then ſill thy lover's heart with bliſs,
With thy enchanting ſtrain;
Ah! all I aſk of thee is this,
Thou pride of ev'ry ſwain.
V.
Then doubly tune thy plaintive tale,
And rid me of all ſtrife;
O! let me on thy charms regale,
And make me bleſt for life.
VERSES
Received from a young Lady for preſenting her with BELL'S edition of SHAKESPEARE.
[56]GIVE me but WALLER'S pen, his eaſe of rhyme,
Or elſe aſſiſt me all ye beauteous nine;
For much I wiſh, however plain 'tis dreſt,
My thoughts in ſimple elegance expreſt;
Truth needs no diſguiſe—no outward ſhew,
'Tis from the heart that ſentiment doth flow;
All this you know, and better can explain,
But, female like, you ſee I muſt be vain.
I'll ſay no more—you will not criticiſe—
Your heart is honeſt, and your head is wiſe;
And gen'rous friendſhip can my faults excuſe,
Oft as you will th' following lines peruſe;
Let them my grateful thanks of tribute pay,
For ſenſe and ſentiment's convey'd in play;
And for morality—that better part,
May ev'ry ſentence ſearch into my heart;
That while I read I may the better grow,
And thank that friend who did the gift beſtow.
EPISTLE
To Miſs W—N, in anſwer to the foregoing.
[57] [...]am qui [...]quid agit, queque veſtigia [...]ctit,
Componit ſurtim, ſubſequitur que decor.
TIBUL. Eleg. ii. l. 4. ver. 8.
YE ſacred nine with eaſe conduct my ſong,
And let my numbers ſmoothly glide along,
To anſwer W—N'S ſweetly plaintive ſtrain,
Which ſlows like Daulia's pipe upon the plain;
With ev'ry ſenſe true gratitude is join'd,
In all the taſte of elegance refin'd;
Ah! could my feeble pen but write like thee,
What joy, what rapture would then glow in me;
But feeble as it is—do, pray, excuſe,
And take compaſſion on my tender muſe;
For ſhe is young and ſtubborn you muſt know,
And no harmonious ſounds from her will ſlow;
Accept then, madam, theſe unpoliſh'd lays,
That's wrote to celebrate your verſes praiſe;
But ah! they claim much better praiſe than mine,
The words are flowing—and the language fine,
[58] I'll ſay no more, for fear you ſhould complain▪
And think my ſimple praiſes ſomewhat vain;
Tho' flattery's a thing I moſt deteſt,
Plain dealing, madam, ſurely is the beſt;
And ſuch, by experience, I've found to bear
The greateſt ſway amongſt the prudent fair;
Tho' flattery to ſome gives much delight,
But to the prudent 'tis diſguſting quite;
And ſure to you it muſt obnoxious be,
Or to any endu'd with ſenſe like thee;
For thou haſt prudence, learning and good ſkill,
Senſe moſt refin'd, and wit at your own will;
Where'er you go, by ev'ry one careſs'd,
For gaudy pomp ne'er harbours in thy breaſt;
Nought but good-nature, gentility and eaſe,
In ſhort, your company is ſure to pleaſe;
Whether thou art amongſt the rich and great,
Or whether 'mongſt thoſe of an humbler ſtate;
In theſe extremes thou juſtly art admir'd,
But ah! my feeble muſe at length grows tir'd;
For ſhe, a ſluggiſh jade, with all her arts,
Can never paint nor celebrate thy parts;
Thy virtues are extravagantly great,
Beyond a pen like mine for to relate;
And of the little gift beſtow'd on thee,
May it improve—and your inſtructor be.
[59] Such is my wiſh and ſuch has been my aim,
But pardon if I ſay—your ſmiles to claim;
"Smiles, forſooth!" (methinks I hear you ſay)
"Where could he quote this? ſurely from ſome play;
"Impudence and inſolence t' th' laſt degree!
"Why did the monſter ſend his books to me?
"Strange faſhion this; or ſure he's loſt to ſhame;
"'Tis all a farce—he wants to blaſt my fame."
No, madam, no; let virtue have its price,
The books were only ſent to break the ice;
Honour and honeſty ever is my guide,
And would each Britain make it but his pride,
England would flouriſh, noiſe and tumult ceaſe,
And all might live—in ſweet tranquillity and peace.
W. H.
For BRITAIN'S cauſe—however I'll remain,
Then if deſerving—name me for your ſwain.
PROLOGUE.
Spoken on a young Gentleman's firſt appearance on the ſtage, in the character of GEORGE BARNWELL.
[60]Maxima debetur pueris reverentia.
JUV. Sat. 14, v. 47.
BEFORE this awful court—to-night appears
A youth of tragic parts—yet full of fears;
Baſhful and young, he ventures on the ſtage,
Hoping your kind attention to engage;
BARNWELL'S the theme, wherein he means to ſhew
That youth's misfortunes and exceſſive woe;
By which he hopes to draw a tender tear
From you, kind auditors, who're ſitting here,
But ah! he fears that ſome ſtern wag will ſay,
"That ſtripling ſure can never BARNWELL play;
"He has not courage, wants a bolder face
"To act young BARNWELL—with a decent grace."
But ſoft [pauſes] I think he told me, if I'm right,
He dreamt a dream moſt wonderful laſt night;
[61] He thought that he was acting on the ſtage,
And, in an inſtant, burſt into a rage,
On hearing of a critic—in the pit,
Exclaim againſt him—with his nauſeous wit;
But preſently he thought he was appeas'd,
By gen'rous friendſhip—which to him encreas'd;
'Twas Lady DOROTHY that ſtood his friend,
And with this critic did herſelf contend.
For ſhe, quite vex'd, he thought, roſe up at laſt,
And cry'd, "Sir critic, you condemn too faſt;
"For know that I'm a judge, and ſure can tell,
"That he's the very thing for young BARNWELL;
"Behold his figure, action, voice and mein,
"Gods! was there ever ſuch a BARNWELL ſeen?
"By heavens for the lad I'm all on ſire!
"For his ſucceſs my heart glows with deſire;
"Then, t'oblige me, critic, I prithee ſtop,
"And o'er your cenſures—let the curtain drop."
On theſe imagin'd things the youth relies,
For your indulgence in this enterprize;
And he his utmoſt efforts means to try,
For reaſons many—and I'll tell you why!
Firſt, then, your praiſes, which he hopes t'obtain;
Secondly, for honor, if he's not too vain;
And laſtly, for pleaſure—and ſome little gain.
[] Thus I conclude, for I no more muſt ſay,
[Pulling out his watch.
Our time is paſt *—we muſt begin the play;
[Warning bell rings.
And hark! the prompter calls—I muſt away!
AN EXTEMORE.
Addreſſed to Mrs. GREVILLE, on ſeeing her in the Iriſh Widow.
[]WHEN firſt I view'd thy lovely form, fair lady,
'Twas in character of widow Brady;
Where, I confeſs, you ſtruck me with ſurprize,
You caught my heart, and raviſh'd both my eyes.
Ah! cruel GREVILLE! thus to wound a youth,
Whoſe heart for you has hoarded up it's truth;
Then pray reſtore his injur'd ſight again,
Nor let him thus bemoan his loſs in vain;
O! did you know the anguiſh of his heart,
Some unfeign'd kindneſs you would ſure impart;
Nor let a tender ſoul thus humbly ſue,
Ah! deareſt madam, for the charms of you.
O! give your ſmiles, and ever eaſe the pain
Of your ſubmiſſive—and expiring ſwain.
Adieu!
LINES To a deceitful Friend.
[64]—Abſentem qui rodit amicum;
Qui non deſendit alio culpante; ſolutos
Qui captat riſus hominum, famamque dicacis;
Fingere qui non viſa poteſt; commiſſa tacere
Qui nequit; hic niger eſt: hunc tu, Romane, caveto.
HOR. Sat. iv. l. 1. v. 81.
Imitated by SELF—
ACCURS'D be he who wears a double face,
For ſuch a man is void of ev'ry grace;
He'll promiſe friendſhip when his heart's averſe,
'Till prov'd a traitor—with a traitor's curſe;
Then friends and friendſhip he at once defies,
'Till death o'ertakes him—then moſt wretched dies.
On Mrs. YATES'S firſt appearance in the character of MANDANE, in CYRUS.
Written at twelve years of age.
[65]YE nine harmonious maids, attune my lyre,
To paint the poet's—and the player's fire;
In YATES the excellence of both we view,
Juſt to herſelf—and to her author true;
MANDANE is my theme—ah! that's the part,
Wherein ſhe reigns the monarch of the heart;
Her graceful action! piercing eyes and voice!
Ye Gods! how lucky was the author's choice!
To chuſe ſuch ſterling merit for his queen,
And paint delight in ev'ry ardent ſcene;
Such ſkill combin'd—with ſcarce a ſingle clauſe,
Deſerves ſucceſs—and ev'ry hand's applauſe.
On ſeeing Mr. and Mrs. BARRY in the characters of OTHELLO and DESDEMONA.
[66]THOU great in action—in a juſt degree▪
OTHELLO, BARRY—SHAKESPEARE meant for thee,
For thee alone—he wiſely drew the part,
To charm the ſoul and melt the frozen heart;
In lovely DESDEMONA'S tender ſtrain,
Thy conſort there does equal honor claim;
She ſhines tranſcendently thro' all the part,
The throng ſhe charms—and rends the critic's heart;
O! may ſuch merit—ever grace the ſtage,
And reſt diſtinguiſh'd—in its latter age.
AN EPIGRAM, On the character of JUNO, in the burletta of the Golden-Pippin.
Written extempore.
[67]WHEN 'HARA *took his pen to write,
The part of JUNO, with his might;
He ſure had C-TL-Y in his eye;
For nature is, in all the part,
Deck'd out with matchleſs ſkill and art,
Tho' in burleſqued poetry.
True it is, the bard was never
Half ſo nat'ral or ſo clever,
If he the part for C-AT-LY drew;
For he with judgment has prefix'd,
Her artful and her vulgar tricks,
And form'd her wond'rous juſt and true.
VERSES
On the death of Mr. MOSSOP, the celebrated tragedian.
[]MOSSOP farewel, my honeſt friend, adieu!
No more is heard the piercing voice of you;
But all is huſh'd—the muſes 'gin to weep,
And, for a time, thou'rt only gone to ſleep;
'Till call'd upon by the Supreme above,
(That God of mercy and eternal love)
Ah! then thy awful trial thou muſt take,
And of thy ſins a juſt confeſſion make;
Then wilt thou know thy everlaſting fate,
Whether a happy or a wretched ſtate.
But O! my friend, my conſtant wiſh is this,
That thou may ever find "Eternal bliſs."
EPITAPH
On a favourite young Lady, lately deceaſed.
Intended to be engraved on her monument.
[69]SOFT as the balm when gentle Zephyr blows,
Fair as the morn, and fragrant as the roſe;
Lovely as cryſtal or the noon-tide ray,
Sweeter than th' lilly or the new mown hay;
Matchleſs in wiſdom, excellent in ſkill,
"Senſe moſt refin'd, and wit at her own will."
Ever moſt glad her willing voice to raiſe
To ſound her bleſt, her dear Redeemer's praiſe.
From ev'ry ill her ſpotleſs ſoul was free,
Lov'd by all friends, but moſt ador'd by me.
Such were the charms of this angelic maid,
'Till call'd by grace to her e'erlaſting ſhade.
W. H.
From heartfelt love ſhall flow a grateful tear,
O! beauteous maid I'll e'er weep o'er thy bier.
EPITAPH
On a late Attorney of the Middle-Temple.
[70]HERE lies JOHN SC-TT,
As great a ſot
As moſt, when he was living;
"And what is worſe,
"Ah! that's the curſe," *
He got his bread by thieving.
He us'd to write,
Both day and night,
To pocket people's treaſure.
He was ſo ſad,
So mortal bad,
His crimes were out of meaſure.
EPITAPH
On a poor poet.
[71]IF you would know it,
Here lies a poor poet,
Who in the regions us'd to dwell:
But now, alas!
'Tis come to paſs,
He's fal'n from heaven down to hell.
Yet he may be
From torment free,
(Tho' that's a thing I really doubt)
For he, poor wit,
His brain had ſplit
In finding of the devil out.
A REBUS.
[72]MY anxious ſoul once lov'd a maid,
I thought moſt charming fair;
Tho' ſhe, alas! ne'er gave me aid,
But urg'd my pain and care.
Ah! cruel girl, thy name I'll tell,
In juſtice to my ſmart,
Which thou haſt ever caus'd full well
From thy ungen'rous heart.
Half of an herb begins her name,
Eſteem'd of perfect uſe;
Ev'ry one of phyſical fame
It's virtues can produce.
Two ſixths of an inſtructing book,
When it's judicious wrote,
And if in it you chance to look,
A ſcience you may quote.
Three fifths of a ſharp piercing wind,
A human being take;
Add all theſe together, you'll find
The fair one's name they'll make.
SOLUTION of the foregoing REBUS,
By an unknown hand.
[73]BETONY's a plant this country produces,
And greatly eſteem'd for it's phyſical uſes;
When books are complete they're call'd a ſyſtem,
(If I meet with any I ſeldom miſs them)
The north wind is moſt cutting ſharp and keen,
The human being man is plainly ſeen;
So it's BETSY NORMAN, 'thout any doubt,
You have ſo much anxiety about.
Now, Mr. HAWKINS, let a friend adviſe,
(If ſhe your care and love doth ſtill deſpiſe)
Regard her as little as ſhe does you,
And query, Sir, if that won't bring her to.
VERSES
Received from a genius in the country, (with whom I had ſome private pique) on peruſing my works in manuſcipt.
[74]MY ſweet BILLY HAWKIN,
What arguſi [...]s talking,
The grammar you put in a fright;
Your own dear conceit
To you may be ſweet,
To me 'tis an antidote quite.
My ANSWER.
MY ſweet pretty doctor of Malling *fair town,
Thou art ſurely ſtark mad or a ſimpleton grown;
For no man in his ſenſes could ever have writ
Such bombaſtical nonſenſe, had he the leaſt wit;
But thy poetry, I doubt, has cracked thy brain,
And made thee, alas! like thy patients, inſane;
Or MIDAS'S fate has again come to paſs,
And thou, my dear doctor, art turn'd to an aſs.
Pray ſend me no more ſuch illiterate ſtuff,
For I think you have made yourſelf fooliſh enough.
LINES
Sent with a preſent to a friend.
[75]THIS trifle accept, (as a favour I aſk it)
But pray don't forget to ſend back the baſket *.
On ſeeing a young Lady that was prodigiouſly vain and affected.
AH! why ſo vain? tho' blooming in thy ſpring,
Thou falſe ador'd and truly wretched thing;
Old age will come, diſeaſe may come before,
For you're as mortal now as if threeſcore.
HOPS.
A SONG, for the year M DCC LXXVI.
Addreſſed to the farmers of Kent.
[76]Tune, As I was a driving my waggon one day.
I.
YE farmers of Kent, who are jolly and gay,
Come liſten a while, and pray mind what I ſay
May this ſeaſon be crowned with plentiful crops,
And off of an acre a load of good hops.
Geho dobbin, &c.
II.
Oh! may they prove fine too—and fetch a great price,
That ye, my brave boys, may get rich in a trice;
For as ye are ever both hearty and free,
Succeſs to ye all for to fill ye with glee.
Geho dobbin, &c.
[77]III.
To crown your repaſt in the hoping this year,
I wiſh that the weather may be fine and clear;
For when it is wet, it is wretched and ſad,
From morning till night in a hop ground to pad.
Oh! ſad hoping! &c.
IV.
Then to ſee th' poor hopers, alas! what a ſight,
'Tis enough t' put modeſty into a fright;
For they are ſo draggl'd and wet to the ſkin,
And ſhew all for nothing, their cloathing's ſo thin.
Oh! poor creatures! &c.
V.
In caſe of this weather let there be no flaw,
Take care to provide them with plenty of ſtraw *,
That when the poor wretches retire to their neſt▪
They may lie in comfort, and all take their reſt.
Oh! poor hopers! &c.
IV.
But above all that's ſaid, pray don't cheat the king,
For if you do that, it is ſure a ſad thing,
As he'll have his duty by hook or by crook!
Beware, oh! beware, leſt you're in the black book.
Oh! ſad doings! &c.
[]VII.
Tho' ye have more honor, at leaſt ſo I truſt,
(I'd have ye be always quite upright and juſt)
For honor and honeſty carries the ſway,
Then from theſe great maxims ne'er venture to ſtray
Oh! rare hoping! &c. 12