Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chafe thee, I'm truly forry man's dominion Which makes thee ftartle I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beaftie, thou maunl ive! A diamen-icker in a thrave 'S a ima' request; I'll get a bleffing wi' the lave, Thy wee bit boufie, too, in ruin! An' bleak December's wind, enfuin, Thou faw the field laid bare and waste, That wee bit heap o' leaves an' fibble To thole the winter's fleety dribble, But, Moufie, thou art no thy lane, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, Still thou art bleft, compar'd wi' me! I guess an' fear. § 163. To a Mountain Daily, on turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786. BURNS. WEE, modeft, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; To fpare thee now is past my pow'r, Alas! its no thy neebor fweet Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Scarce rear'd above the parent-carth The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, Adorns the hiftie ftibble-field, There in thy fcanty mantle clad, But now the bare up tears thy bed, Such is the fate of artlefs maid, And guilelefs truft, Such is the fate of fimple bard, Such fate to fuffering Worth is giv'n, Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, } Who, driven with ungovernable fire, Or void of art, beyond these bounds afpire, Gigantic forms and monstrous births alone Produce, which Nature shock'd difdains to own. By true reflection I would fee my face, Why brings the fool a magnifying glafs? "But poetry in fiction takes delight, "And, mounting in bold figures out of fight, "Leaves Truth behind in her audacious flight: "Fables and metaphors, that always lye, "And rash hyperboles that foar fo high, "And ev'ry ornament of verfe muft die." Mistake me not: no figures I exclude, And but forbid intemperance, not food. Who would with care fome happy fiction frame, So mimics truth, it looks the very fame; Not rais'd to force, or feign'd in Nature's fcorn, But meant to grace, illuftrate, and adorn, Important truths ftill let your fables hold, And moral myfteries with art unfold: Ladies and beaus to please, is all the task; But the fharp critic will inftruction ask. As veils tranfparent cover, but not hide, Such metaphors appear, when right applied; When through the phrafe we plainly fee the fenfe, Truth with fuch obvious meanings will difpenfe. The reader what in reafon 's due believes, Nor can we call that falfe which not deceives: Hyperboles, fo daring and fo bold, Difdaining bounds, are yet by rules controul'd; Above the clouds, but yet within our sight, They mount with Truth, and make a tow'ring Prefenting things impoffible to view, [flight: They wander through incredible to true. Falfehoods thus mix'd like metals are refin'd; And Truth, like filver, leaves the drofs behind. Thus Poetry has ample space to foar, Nor needs forbidden regions to explore; Such vaunts as his, who can with patience read, Who thus defcribes his hero when he 's dead"In heat of action flain, yet fcorns to fail, "But ftill maintains the war, and fights at-All?" The noify culverin, o'er-charg'd, lets fly, And bursts, unaiming, in the rended fky; Such frantic flights are like a madman's dream, And Nature futters in the wild extreme, The captive cannibal, oppreft with chains, Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, difdains; Of nature fierce, untameable, and proud, He bids defiance to the gaping crowd; And spent at last, and speechless, as he lies, With fiery glances mocks their rage, and dies. This is the utmoft ftretch that Nature can, And all beyond is fulfome, falfe, and vain. The Roman wit, who impioufly divides His hero and his gods to different fides, I would condemn, but that, in fpite of fenfe, Th' admiring world ftill ftands in his defence: The gods permitting traitors to fucceed, Become not parties in an impious deed; And, by the tyrant's murder, we may find That Cato and the gods were of a mind. Thus forcing truth with fuch prepoft rous praife, Our characters we leffen when we 'd raife; Like caftles built by magic art in air, Our king return'd, and banish'd peace reftor'd, $165. To Mr. Spence, prefixed to the Effay on Pope's Odyfey. PITT. 'TIS 'IS done—reftor'd by thy immortal pen, The critic's noble name revives again; Once more that great, that injur'd name we fee Shine forth alike in Addifon and thee. Like curs, our critics haunt the poet's feaft, Vex'd to be charm'd, and pleas'd against their will, Like bold Longinus of immortal fame, To point out faults, yet never to offend; To play the critic, yet preferve the friend; A life well spent, that never loft a day; An eafy fpirit, innocently gay; A ftrict integrity, devoid of art; The fweeteft manners, and fincereft heart; A foul, where depth of fenfe and fancy meet; A judgment brighten'd by the beams of witWere ever yours: be what you were before, Be fill yourself; the world can ask no more. $166. The Enquiry. Written in the laft Century. AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd, Love and my fighs thus intertalk'd: Tell me, faid I, in deep distress, • Where may I find my thepherdefs?' "Thou fool, faid Love, know'st thou not this? "In ev'ry thing that's good, she is; "In yonder tulip go and feck, "There thou may ft find her lip, her cheek; "In yon enamell'd panfy by, "There thou fhalt have her curious eye; With that I ftopp'd. Said Love, "These be, I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the callender Quoth Miftrefs Gilpin, That 's well faid; Which is both bright and clear. That, though on pleasure she was bent, The morning came, the chaife was brought, To drive up to the door, left all Should fay that he was proud. So three doors off the chaife was stay'd, Six precious fouls, and all agog To dath through thick and thin. The ftones did rattle underneath When, turning round his head, he saw So down he came; for lofs of time, Yet lofs of pence, full well he knew, 'Twas long before the customers § 167. The Diverting History of John Gilpin: When Betty fcreaming came down stairs, Jhewing bow he went farther than he intended, and came fafe home again. JOHN GILPIN was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he COW PER. Of famous London town. John Gilpin's spouse faid to her dear, Though wedded we have been Thefe twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen. To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair Unto the Beil at Edmonton, All in a chaife and pair. My fifter and my fifter's child, Myfelf and children three, Will fill the chaise, so you must ride On horfeback after we. He foon replied, I do admire Of womankind but one; And you are the, my dearest dear, "The wine is left behind !" In which I bear my trusty fword Had two ftone bottles found, And keep it fafe and found. Each bottle had a curling ear, Then over all, that he might be. His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, Now fee him mounted once again Upon his nimble freed, But But finding foon a fimoother road So ftooping down, as needs he muft He grafp'd the mane with both his hands, His horfe, who never in that fort Had handled been before, Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, As hath been faid or fung. The dogs did bark, the children fcream'd, And now as he went bowing down Down ran the wine into the road, Which made his horfe's flanks to smoke But ftill he feem'd to carry weight, And there he threw the wash about On both fides of the way, Juft like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild goofe at play. At Edmonton his loving wife From balcony efpied Her tender husband, wond'ring much Stop, ftop, John Gilpin ! here's the house→ The dinner waits, and we are tir'd: But yet his horfe was not a whit For why his owner had a house So like an arrow fwift he flew, Till at his friend's the callender's The callender, amaz'd to fee His neighbour in fuch trim, What news! what news! your tidings tell, Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, I came because your horfe would come & When straight he came with hat and wig, A hat not much the worfe for wear, He held them up, and in his turn Thus fhew'd his ready wit: Said John, It is my wedding day; And all the world would ftare, If wife fhould dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Warc. So turning to his horfe he faid, I am in hafte to dine: 'Twas for your pleafure you came here, You fhall go back for mine. Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast ! For which he paid full dear; For while he fpake a braying afs Did fing moft loud and clear; Had heard a lion roar ; She pull'd out half a crown; That drove them to the Bell, The youth did ride, and foon did meet And made him fafter run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went poft-boy at his heels, With poft-boy fcamp'ring in the rear, And now the turnpike gates again And fo he did, and won it too, 8168. An Evening Contemplation in a College; in Imitation of Gray's Elegy in a County Church-yard, DUNCOMBE. TH HE curfew tolls the hour of clofing gates, With jaring found the porter turns the key; Then in his dreary manfion flumb'ring waits, And flowly, sternly, quits it, though for me. Now fhine the fpires beneath the paly moon, Or copious bowls infpire a jovial strain; Within thofe walls, where thro' the glimmering fhade Appear the pamphlets in a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow bed till morning laid, The peaceful fellows of the college fleep. The tinkling bell proclaiming early pray'rs, The noify fervants rattling o'er their head, The calls of bufinefs, and domeftic cares, Ne'er route thefe Aleepers from their downy bed. No chattering females crowd their focial fire, No dread have they of difcord and of ftrife; Unknown the names of husband and of fire, Unfelt the plagues of matrimonial life. Oft have they bafk'd beneath the funny walls, Oft have the benches bow'd beneath their weight, How jocund are their looks when dinner calls! How smoke the cutlets on their crowded plate! O! let not temperance, too disdainful, hear How long their feasts, how long their dinners last: Nor let the fair, with a contemptuous fneer, On thefe unmarried men reflections caft! The fplendid fortune and the beauteous face (Themfelves confefs it, and their fires bemoan) Too foon are caught by fcarlet and by lace; Thefe fons of fcience fhine in black alone. Forgive, ye fair, th' involuntary fault, If thefe no feats of gaiety difplay, Where through proud Ranelagh's wide-echoing vault Melodious Frafi trills her quavering lay. Say, is the fword well fuited to the band? Does broider'd coat agree with fable gown? Can Mechlin laces thade a churchman's hand? Or learning's votaries ape the beaus of town? Perhaps in thefe time-tottering walls refide Some who were once the darling of the fair, Some who of old could taftes and fashions guide, Control the manager, and awe the player. But Science now has fill'd their vacant mind With Rome's rich fpoils, and truth's exalted views, Fir'd them with tranfports of a nobler kind, And bade them flight all females-but the mufe: Full many a lark, high towering to the fky, Unheard, unheeded. greets th'approach of light; Full many a fter, unfeen by mortal eye, [night. With twinkling luftre glimmers through the Some future Herring, who, with dauntless breast, Rebellion's torrent fhall like him oppose, Some mute, unconscious Hardwicke hiere may reft, Some Pelkam, dreadful to his country's foes. From |