For death-what do I fay? Yes, death If cruel Cynthia flights my faith, No more with feftive garlands bound, No more my feet fhall prefs the ground To fome dark cave I'll fly; That rankles in my mind. If fleep perhaps my eye-lids clofe, I think I prefs with kiffes pure, And you're my bride, I think I'm fure, Take pity then, O gentleft maid! JEMMY DAWSON, But curfe on party's hateful ftrife, O had he never seen that day! Which gives the brave the keenelt wound. How pale was then his true-love's cheek, When Jemmy's fentence reach'd her ear! For never yet did Alpine nows So pale, or yet so chill appear. And bring relief to Jemmy's woes ; Should learn to lifp the giver's name. He fhall not want one constant friend O then her mourning coach was call'd, She had not lov'd her favourite more. Which she had fondly lov'd fo long; Which in her praise had sweetly fung., And fever'd was that beauteous neck, A Ballad, written about the time of his And mangled was that beauteous breast, Execution, in the year :745. NOME liften to my mournful tale, Nor will you fcorn to heave a figh, Nor need you blufh to shed a tear. And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, Do thou a penfive ear incline; For thou canft weep at every woe; And pity every plaint-but mine. Young Dawfon was a gallant boy, A brighter never trod the plain; And well he lov'd one charming maid, And dearly was he lov'd again. One tender maid, the lev'd him dear Of gentle blood the damfel came; And faultlefs was her beauteous form, And spotlefs was her virgin fame. On which her love-fick head repos'd: And ravish'd was that conftant heart, She did to every heart prefer ; For though it could its King forget, 'I was true and loyal still to her. Amid these unrelenting flames, She bore this conftant heart to fee; But when 'twas moulder'd into duft, Yet, yet, fhe cry'd, I follow thee. My death, my death alone can fhew The pure, the lafting love 1 bore; Accept. O heaven! of woes like ours, And let us, let us weep no more. The difmal fcene was o'er and past, The lover's mournful hear fe retir'd; The maid drew back her languid head, And, fighing forth his name, expir'd. Though Though justice ever must prevail, The tear my Kitty fheds is due : For feldom fhall fhe hear a tale So fad, fo tender, yet so true. A Paftoral BALLAD, in Four Parts. 1743. "Arbufta humilesque myrice." VIRG. YE I. ABSENCE. E fhepherds fo chearful and gay, Whofe flocks never carelessly roam; Should Corydon's happen to stray, Oh! call the poor wanderers home. Allow me to mufe and to figh, Nor talk of the change that ye find; None once was fo watchful I; I have left my dear Phillis behind. Now I know what it is, to have strove With the torture of doubt and defire; What it is to admire and to love, And to leave her we love and admire. Ah, lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each evening repel; Alas! I am faint and forlorn : -I have bade my dear Phillis farewel. Since Phillis vouchfaf'd me a look, I never once dreamt of my vine: May I loose both my pipe and my crook, If I knew of a kid that was mine. I priz'd every hour that went by, Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; But now they are paft, and 1 figh; And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. But why do I languish in vain; Why wander thus penfively here? The pride of the valley, is flown I could wander with pleasure, alone. When forc'd the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart! Yet I thought-but it might not be fo 'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gaz'd, as I flowly withdrew; My path I could hardly difcern; I thought that she bade me return. Is happy, nor heard to repine. M II. HOPE. Y banks they are furnish'd with bees. Whofe murmur invites one to fleep; My grottos are shaded with trees, And my hills are white over with sheep. I feldom have met with a lofs, Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all border'd with mofs, Where the hare-bells and violets grow. Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound: Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a fweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold ; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold. One would think she might like to retire To the bower I have labour'd to rear; Not a fhrub that I heard her admire, But I hafted and planted it there. O how fudden the jeffamine ftrove With the lilac to render it gay! Already it calls for my love, To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, As he may not be fond to refign. I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed : But let me that plunder forbear, She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed. Who could rob a poor bird of its young; And the call'd it the fifter of love. Unmov d, when her Corydon fighs! Soft fcenes of contentment and eafe! And where are her grots and her bowers? The WH HY will you my paffion reprove ? Come and join in my amorous lays; That will fing but a fong in her praife. And his crook is beftudded around; "Tis his in fmooth tales to unfold, More fweet than the jeffamine s flower! What are pinks in a morn, to compare? What is eglantine, after a fhower? Then the lily no longer is white; Then the rofc is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with defpight, And the wood-bines give up their perfume," Thus glide the foft numbers along, And he fancies no fhepherd his peer; IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. E fhepherds, give ear to my lay, And take no more heed of my sheep: They have nothing to do but to ftray; I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove; She e was fair-and my paffion begun; Ye that witness the woes I endure; mid nymphs of an higher degree; The glance that undid my repofe The flower, and the fhrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me. The fweets of a dew-fprinkled rose, The found of a murmuring ftream, The peace which from folitude flows, Henceforth fhall be Corydon's theme. High tranfperts are fewn to the fight; But we are not to find them our own; Tate never beflow'd fuch delight, As I with my Phyllis had known. O ye woods, fpread your branches apace; I would hide with the beafts of the clafe; LEVITIES LEVITIES; OR PIECES of HUMOUR. Poor Gratia in her twentieth year, A FLIRT and PHIL; A Decifion for the Ladies. WIT, by learning well refin'd, Young fprightly Flirt, of blooming mien, Went-when his his glafs advis'd him; Sylvia had wit, had spirits too: Sufpended held the fcales: Her wit, her youth too, claim'd its share. STANZAS To the memory of an agreeable Lady, buried in marriage to a perfon undeferving her. WAS always held, and ever will, "Ty fage mankind, difereeter, T'anticipate a leffer ill, Than undergo a greater. When mortals dread diseases, pain, And languifbing conditions; Rather than lose his whole estate, Our merchants Spain has near undone COLEMIRA. A Culinary ECLOGUE. "Nec tantum Veneris, quantum ftudiofa culinæ." N' [IGHT's fable clouds had half the world o'erfpread, And filence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed: When love, which gentle fleep can ne'er infpire, Had feated Damon by the kitchen fire. Penfive he lay, extended on the ground; The little lares kept their vigils round; The fawning cats compaffionate his cafe, And pur around, and gently lick his face : To all his plain's the fleeping curs reply, And with hoarfe fnorings imitate a figh. Such gloomy fcenes with lovers' minds agree, And folitude to them is best society. Could I (he cried) exprefs, how bright a grace Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wafh'd face; Thou wouldft, Colemira, grant what I implore, And yield me love, or wafh thy face no more. Ah! who can fee, and feeing not admire, Whene'er the fets the pot upon the fire! Her hands out-fhine the fire, and redder things; Her eyes are blacker than the pots fhe brings. But fure no chamber-damfel can compare, When in meridian luftre fhines my fair, When warm'd with dinner's toil, in pearly tills, Adown her goodly cheek the fweat diftills. Oh how I long, how ardently defire, To view thofe rofy fingers ftrike the lyre! For late, when bees to change their climes began, How did I fee them thrum the frying-pan ! With her! I should not envy George his queen, Though the in royal grandeur deck'd be feen: While rags, juft fever'd from my fair one's gown, In ruffet pomp and greafy pride hang down. Ah! now it does my drooping heart rejoice, When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice! How would that voice exceed the village bell; Would that but fing," I like thee paffing well! When from the hearth fhe bade the pointers go, How foft! how eafy did her accents flow! **Get out, fhe cry'd, when frangers come to fup, "One ne'er can raife thefe fnoring devils up." Then, full of wrath, fhe kick'd each lazy brute, Alas! I envy'd even that falute; 'I'was fure mi plac`d-Shock faid, or fee n'd to fay, He had as lief, I had the kick, as they. A a If If the the mystic bellows take in hand, But fhould the flame this rougher aid refuse, With full-blown cheeks the ends the doubtful ftrife, Fon.ents the infant flame, and puffs it into life. Such arts as thefe, exalt the drooping fire, With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen, Look, with what charming grace! what win- The artful charmer rubs the candleflicks! But thou my fair! who never wouldst approve, ton Perhaps art dreaming of-a breast of mutton. Thus faid, and wept the fad defponding fwain, Revealing to the fable walls his pain: But nymphs are free with thofe they fhould de ny; To hole, they love, more exquisitely coy! voice And he prey d on the food of the mind, Sir; His breakfast half the morning, He confiantly attended; His dinner fcarce was ended! He fpar'd not ev'n heroics, On which we poets pride us; He made the maps to flutter; Was to him a difh of tea; And a kingdom, bread and butter. Of logic to compofe him A trap, in hafte and anger, Was bought, you need not doubt on't He could not, I think, get out on't. The fact I'll not belye it-- Mind bocks, when he has other diet. And dragg'd them away together: Had then-a dozen or more in. Nor deem a man to wrong ye, Was the greater politician. Is c car from thefe mishaps, Sir; |