It ne'er was apparell'd with art, On words it could never rely; That fashion's gay daughters approve, The tinfel that foily may weave. When I talk'd, I have feen her recline With an afpect fo penfively fweet; Tho' I fpoke what the shepherds opine, A fop were aham'd to repeat. She is foft as the dew-drops that fail From the lip of the fweet-fcented pea; Perhaps, when the fmil'd upon all, I have thought that the fmil'd upon me. But why of her charms should I tell? Ah, me! whom her charms have undone! Yet I love the reflection too well, The painful reflection to fhun. Ye fouls of more delicate kind, Who feaft not on pleafure alone, Ye know, tho' I cannot exprefs, That I have not the fkill to complain. I lean on my hand with a figh, My friends the foft fadness condemn; Yet, methinks, the' I cannot tell why, I should hate to be merry like them. When I walk'd in the pride of the dawn, Methought all the region look'd bright: Has fweetnefs forfaken the lawn? For, methinks, I grow fad at the fight. When I stood by the ftream, I have thought There was mirth in the gurgling foft found; But now 'tis a forrowful note, And the banks are all gloomy around! I have laugh'd at the jeft of a friend; Now they laugh and I know not the caufe, Tho' I feem with my looks to attend, How filly! I ask what it was. They fing the fweet fong of the May, They fing it with mirth and with glee; That gleams thro' the quivering fhade; By gloom and by filence array'd! When fhall I in it's peaceable womb To watch o'er the fate of the fair. With rapture more favour'd to warm; Perhaps, if with forrow opprefs'd, Her forrow with patience to arm. Then! then! in the tendereft part May I whisper, Poor Colin was true; And mark if a heave of her heart The thought of her Colin purfue. SONG 781. BANISH'D by your fevere command, I make an awful, fad retreat, To fome more hofpitable land; But fhail I then my fair forget? No, there I'll charm the lift'ning throng, With repetitions of your name; My paffion tell in plaintive fong, And fadly penfive foothe my fame. With inbred fighs, the grateful fwains My tale will beg me to renew; Sweetly appeas'd, beguile their pains, Transported when I speak of you. But fhould fome curious youth demand, Why from my beauteous theme 1 ftray? With what confufion theuld I ftand! What wou'd my charmer have me fay? SONG 782. Occafioned by a young Gentleman's declining to write, after having read the Works of POPE and SWIFT. AMINTOR, how canft thou refuse To grant me fo fmall a request;. I vow, tho' their numbers are fweet, Would't thou fing of the plain or the grove, With raptures would readily aid. 'Tis but to be clofer purfu'd; Will nought thy ambition fuffice, If ftill thou refolve to defpife All but the fuperlative place; Yet think how the criticks in town Misjudge of poetical fire; From the tkies should Apollo come down, They'd carp at his heavenly lyre. If the blind Grecian poet they praise, 'Tis to fhew you their skill in the tongue, Defpifing Pope's beautiful lays, And fwearing his verfion is wrong: But had not that bard of renown Their ignorance Geign'd to inform, Of Homer no more they'd have known, Than if he had never been born. For me, I difdain to regard What these trifling cenfurers fay; If fuch a e deny'd their reward, Hope I to fpeed better than they? Let my friends but approve of my ftrains, Vouchfafing a smile on my fong; Then I'm overpaid for my pains, Nor value an ill-natur'd tongue. SONG 783. WHAT exquifite pleasure! This fweet treasure From me they shall never In thee, in thee, My charmer I fee: I'll figh, and carefs thee, I'll kiss thee, and prefs thee, Thus, thus, to my bofum, for ever and ever. SONG 784. THE FORSAKEN MAID. YOUNG Chloe, once the giyeft maid There to lament her pain. The laughing Cupids left her eyes, Her tuneful voice was drown'd in fighs, The little birds fung from on high, Nor harken'd to their notes. A purling stream ran murm'ring by, Sad echo, who flood lift'ning nigh, Her flutt'ring heart, now more at rest, Ye warbling choirs, your mufic ceafe! Thou bubbling brook! a moment's peace, Ah! cruel Strephon, faithlefs youth! I range the groves through ev'ry part, Your dear idea's there. Each tender whifper that I hear, And think 'tis Strephon's voice. The farmer's daughter baulk'd her cows, And milk-maids charms, and aukward ways, But when I turn'd, and look'd again, I fpy'd Mifs Jenny in the train, D d Of graceful mien, and high-born race, Yet humble as the village lafs; Like fome defert which crowns the feast, And makes amends for all the reft. In orchard fo the faunt'ring youth Surveys the fruit with gaping mouth, Where many an apple meets his tafte, Which he rejects with fputt'ring hafte. But when he views the Cath'rine pear, Of tempting form, and colours rare; The lufcious bait to reach he skips, And longs to have it at his lips. SONG 787. CUPID, thou waggish, artful boy, Thus to precipitate my fate. She at each vifit feems more coy, You Urchin! faeering at my mean, Half promife blifs, and half deny. The wound you gave, admits no cure, Till time has thaw'd her frozen heart, Jenny can life or death enfure, Jenny! my foul's far dearer part. With equal force once twang the bow, Transfix the charmer, let her bleed; The feeds of love fecurely fow, And clear the foil of ev'ry weed. Were I, thro' fome fierce tyrant's hate, Condemn'd to racks, the fmiling fair Cou'd blunt the keeneft dart of fate, And from the dying chace despair. If pray'rs and tears are still in vain, Think not (proud chit) I dread your pow'r; Know, that to truckle I difdain, Or fhrink, tho' all thy thunders roar. If I muft die, the ftroke begin, For I'm a man unus'd to fear; By Jenny's hand wreck all thy fpleen, SONG 788. ON A PIPE OF TOBACCO. PRETTY tube of mighty power, Who, when again the night returns, WHEN Placinda's beauties appear, With two fuch foes as thefe Must have look'd for a total defeat. LOVE NO NOUN-SUÉSTANTIVE. WHAT tho' my love has got no pelf, With a form fitted to blefs my arms. Thus inclination drives me to, THE ponderous cloud was black and low, And fail'd majestically flow, Red lightning fcorch'd the ground; And torrents pour around. Before the opening fkies; Till from the weft a gale arofe, The feather'd race their throats essay, Afham'd, that thofe of leaft efteem Straight, like the little grateful throng, Addrefs'd my voice to Heaven. RETIREMENT. Written by Mr. J WRENCH. IMMORTAL powers, convey me where Where nature's beauties deck the ground, Delia's prefence will improve Venus, to complete my joy, WHILE thefe clofe walls thy beauties hide, My love which nothing can outvie, Ye waters, bear it as ye flow. And tho' (by adverfe friends confin'd) And Neptune fue for her embrace. Small need ye fhou'd her accents bear, Or to my view her form impart, Whofe voice dwells ever on my ear, Whofe image ever in my heart. SONG 796. THE COUNTRY WEDDING. A LL you that e'er tafted of Swatfal-Hall beer, Or ever cry'd roaft-meat for having been there; To crown your good chear, pray accept of a catch, Now Harry and Betty have ftruck up a match. Derry down, down; down, derry down. As things may fall out which nobody would guefs, So it happens that Harry should fall in with Befs: May they prove to each other a mutual relief! To their plenty of carrots, I wish 'em much beef. Derry down, &c. She had a great talent at roaft-meal and boil'd, And feldom it was that her pudding was spoil'd; Renown'd, too, for dunipling, and dripping-pan fop, At handling a dish-clout, and twirling a mop. Derry down, &c. To kitchen-fluff only her thoughts did afpire, Yet wit fhe'd enough to keep out of the fire; And tho' in fome things the were thort of the fox, 'Tis faid, fhe has twenty good pounds in her box. Derry down, &c. |