THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE AN Oyster, cast upon the shore, Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell For ever in my native shell; Ordain'd to move when others please, I envy that unfeeling shrub, And with asperity replied. When, cry the botanists, and stare, Did plants call'd sensitive grow there? No matter when-a poet's muse is To make them grow just where she chooses. You shapeless nothing in a dish, You that are but almost a fish, VOL. VII. P I scorn your coarse insinuation, And when I bend, retire, and shrink, And your Whatever evil it endures, Deserves not, if so soon offended, Much to be pitied or commended. You, in your grotto-work enclosed, And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, Who reckon every touch a blemish, If all the plants, that can be found Should droop and wither where they grow, His censure reach'd them as he dealt it, And each by shrinking show'd he felt it. THE SHRUBBERY. WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. Oн, happy shades-to me unblest! This glassy stream, that spreading pine, Those alders, quivering to the breeze, Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, And please, if any thing could please. But fix'd unalterable Care Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness every where, And slights the season and the scene. THE POET'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT. TO MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON. MARIA! I have every good For thee wish'd many a time, Both sad, and in a cheerful mood, But never yet in rhyme.. To wish thee fairer is no need, More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed From temper-flaws unsightly. What favour then not yet possess'd In wedded love already blest, To thy whole heart's desire? None here is happy but in part: There dwells some wish in every heart, That wish on some fair future day, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may,) PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A FABLE. I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau* 'Tis clear, that they were always able Must have a most uncommon skull. In many an orchard, copse, and grove, And with much twitter and much chatter Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bullfinch, who could boast * It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses? |