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THE MISTAKE... TO A LADY WITH A BASKET OF FRUIT. 313 Yet, for all this parade,
Of pow'r to tempt your gentle breast to share You are but a dull blade,
With me the peaceful cot, and rural fare: And your lines are all scragged and raw;
A diff'rent fate should crown the blest device, And though you've hack'd, and have hew'd, And change my desert to a paradise.
And have squeez'd, and have stew'd, Your forc'd-meat is n't all worth a straw.
Onward it mov'd with graceful port,
And soon o'ertook my speed;
Then thrice I lifted up my hands,
And thrice I check'd my steed.
“ Who art thou, passenger," it cry'd, I have had such a fright, I shall never recover,
“ Fiom yonder mirth retir'd ?
Benighted, and be-mir'd.”
And yonder gay and gallant scene
“ But I have seen such sights to day, Those looks are as harmless as mine are, my child.
As make my heart full glad, And as for his sword there, so bright and so nice, Although it is but dark, 't is true, I'll be sworn 't will hurt nothing besides frogs and
And eke-my road is bad. mice. Nay, prithee do n't hang so about me, let loose,
“ For I have seen lords, knights, and 'squires, I tell thee he dares not say-bo to a goose.
Of great and high renown, In short there is not a more innocent fowl,
To choose a knight for this fair shire, Why, instead of a hawke, look ye child, 't is an
All met at Warwick town. owl."
“ A wight of skill to ken our laws,
Of courage to defend,
Before a private end.
1 Was lord Willoughby de Broke. This is a ONCE of forbidden fruit the mortal taste
mistake, as that nobletnan had neither the name Chang'd beauteous Eden to a dreary waste. nor the estate of Mr. Peytoe. The late lord, inHere you may freely eat, secure the while deed, his godson and heir, had both. This poem From latent poison, or insidious guile.
refers to Mr. Peytoe, who lived at Chesterton, where Yet O! could I but happily infuse
the scene lies, and formerly represented the Some secret charm into the sav'ry juice,
And such they found, if right I guess
But since you carelessly refuse, Of gentle blood he came;
And to my pen the task assign; Of morals firm, of manners mild,
0! let your genius guide my Muse, And Craven 2 is his name.
And every vulgar thought refine.
Teach me to read fair Nature's hook,
Wide opening in each flow'ry plain ;
On all the glories of her reign.
To hail her, seated on her throne,
By awful woods encompass'd round,
Though with a wreath of rushes crown'd.
When just proportion in each part,
So where through ev'ry learned page
TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ES2.
ON RECEIVING A GILT POCKET-BOOK.
AN ELEGY ON MAN.
WRITTEN JANUARY 1752.
These spotless leaves, this neat array,
Might well invite your charming quill,
Hon. William Craven, of Wykin; he was afterwards lord Craven.
3 The late sir Charles Mordaunt, bart.
Behold Earth's lord, imperial man,
In ripen'd vigour gay;
And all within survey.
ON RECEIVING A LITTLE IVORY BOX FROM A LADY. Behold his plans of future life,
Times too there be, when friendly sleep's His care, his hope, his love,
Soft charms the senses bind, Relations dear of child and wife,
Yet fancy then her vigils keeps, The dome, the lawn, the grove.
And ranges unconfin'd. Now see within his active mind,
And reason holds her sep'rate sway, More gen'rous passions share,
Though all the senses wake, Friend, neighbour, country, all his kind,
And forms in mem'ry's storehouse play, By turns engage his care.
Of no material make.
Yet stay till some few suns are past,
Fach forms a silken tomb,
To meet his final doom.
Yet from this silent mansion too
Anon you see him rise,
But tenant of the skies.
And what forbids that man should share,
Some more auspicious day, To range at large in open air,
As light and free as they?
Little box of matchless grace!
Let me clothe the lovely stranger,
Thou art not of a sort, or number,
1 Vide Butler’s Analogy.
Like the dew at early dawn,
When as himself might his quietus make Like the moon-light on the lawn,
With a bare inkhorn? Who would fardles bear? Lucid rows of pearls should dwell,
To groan and sweat under a load of wit ? Pleas'd as in their native shell;
But that the tread of steep Parnassus' hill, Or the brilliant's sparkling rays,
That undiscover'd country, with whose bays Should emit a starry blaze.
Few travellers return, puzzles the will, And if the fair, whose magic skill
And makes us rather bear to live unknown, Wrought thee passive to her will,
Than run the hazard to be known and damn'd. Deign to regard thy poet's love,
Thus critics do make cowards of us all. Nor his aspiring suit reprove,
And thus the healthful face of many a poem Her form should crown the fair design,
Is sickly'd o'er with a pale manuscript ;
And enterprises of great fire and spirit,
SET TO MUSIC BY MR. DIBDIN.
The tuneful choir in amorous strains
WRITTEN FOR THE JUBILEE AT STRATFORD The tender suit approves.
UPON AVON, With cheerful hop from spray to spray
CELEBRATED BY MR. GARRICK IN HONOUR OF SHAKSPEARE,
SISTERS of the tuneful train,
'T is Fancy calls you; follow me Its various charms and produce share,
To celebrate the jubilee. For ever kind and true.
On Avon's banks, where Shakspeare's bust Their sprightly notes from ev'ry shade
Points out and guards his sleeping dust; Their mutual loves proclaim;
The sons of scenic mirth agree Till winter's chilling blasts invade,
To celebrate the jubilee. And damp th’enlivening flame.
Come, daughters, come, and bring with you Then all the jocund scene declines,
Th' aerial sprites and fairy crew, Nor woods nor meads delight;
And the sister Graces three, The drooping tribe in secret pines,
To celebrate the jubilee. And mourns th' unwelcome sight.
Hang around the sculpturd tomb Go, blissful warblers ! timely wise,
The 'broider'd vest, the nodding plume, Th' instructive moral tell !
And the mask of comic glee, Nor thou their meaning lays despise,
To celebrate the jubilee.
From Birnham wood, and Bosworth field,
With drums and martial symphony,
To celebrate the jubilee.
In mournful numbers now relate
With frantic deeds of jealousy,
With their harmless merry plot,
To celebrate the jubilee.
To celebrate the jubilee.
He ceas'd his song-tbe plumy dame
Heard with delight the love-sick strain,
Nor long conceal'd the mutual flame,
Nor long repress'd his am'rous pain.
He led her to the nuptial bow'r,
And perch'd with triumph by her side; His beams had pierc'd the stubborn soil,
What gilded roof could boast that hour 'The melting streams began to flow,
A fonder mate, or happier bride? And ploughmen urg'd their annual toil.
Next morn he wak'd her with a song, 'T was then, amidst the vocal throng,
“ Behold,” he said, “the new-born day, Whom Nature wak'd to mirth and love,
The lark his mattin-peal has rung, A blackbird rais'd his am'rous song,
Arise, my love, and come away." And thus it echo'd through the grove.
Together through the fields they stray'd, “ O fairest of the feather'd train !
And to the murm'ring riv'let's side, For whom I sing, for whom I burn,
Renew'd their vows, and hopp'd, and play'd Attend with pity to my strain,
With artless joy, and decent pride. And grant my love a kind return.
When, O! with grief my Muse relates “ For see, the wintry storms are flown,
What dire misfortune clos'd the tale, And zephyrs gently fan the air;
Sent by an order from the Fates, Let us the genial influence own,
A gunner met them in the vale. Let us the vernal pastime share.
Alarm'd, the lover cried, “ My dear, “ The raven plumes his jetty wing,
Haste, haste away, from danger fly; To please his croaking paramour,
Here, gunner, point thy thander here, The larks responsive carols sing,
O spare my love, and let me die." And tell their passion as they soar:
At him the gunner took his aim, “ But does the raven's sable wing
Too sure the volley'd thunder flew ! Excel the glossy jet of mine?
O had he chose some other game, Or can the lark more sweetly sing,
Or shot--as he was wont to do! Than we, who strength with softness join?
Divided pair! forgive the wrong, « O let me then thy steps attend !
While I with tears your fate rehearse, I'll point new treasures to thy sight:
l'll join the widow's plaintive song, Whether the grove thy wish befriend,
And save the lover in my verse.
AN ELEGY. Or on the flow'ry margin play.
TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ. “ I'll lead thee to the thickest brake, Impervious to the schoolboy's eye;
......... Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes For thee the plaster'd nest I'll make,
Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros. And to thy downy bosom fly.
To you, whose groves protect the feather'd choirs, “ When, prompted by a mother's care,
Who lend their artless notes a willing ear, Thy warmth shall form th' imprison'd young ; To you, whom pity moves, and taste inspires, The pleasing task I'll gladly share,
The Doric strain belongs, O Shenstone hear. Or cheer thy labours with a song.
'T was gentle spring, when all the plumy race, “ To bring thee food I'll range the fields,
By Nature taught, in nuptial leagues combine, And cull the best of ev'ry kind,
goldfinch joy'd to meet the warm embrace, Whatever Nature's bounty yields,
And with her mate in love's delights to join. And love's assiduous care can find.
All in a garden, on a currant bush, " And when my lovely mate would stray,
With wondrous art they built their airy seat; To taste the summer sweets at large,
In the next orchard liv'd a friendly thrush, I'll wait at home the live-long day,
Nor distant far a woodlark's soft retreat. And fondly tend our little charge.
Here bless'd with ease, and in each other bless'd, " Then prove with me the sweets of love,
With early songs they wak'd the neighb’ring With me divide the cares of life,
groves, No bush shall boast in all the grove,
Till time matur'd their joys, and crown'd their nest A mate so fond, so bless'd a wife.”
With infant pledges of their faithful loves.