Their charms were his, but, woe to me!
Their constancy was mine.
"For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain ;
And while his passion touched my heart,
I triumphed in his pain.
"Till quite dejected with my scorn
He left me to my pride,
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.
"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
"And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I."
"Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried,
And clasped her to his breast:
The wondering fair one turned to chide,—
'Twas Edwin's self that pressed.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear;
My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restored to love and thee.
"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign:
And shall we never, never part,
My life my all that's mine?
"No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true,
The sigh that rends thy constant heart
Shall break thy Edwin's too."
Written and spoken by the Poet LABERIUS, a Roman Knight whom CESAR forced upon the Stage.-Preserved by MACROBIUS
WHAT! no way left to shun the inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half alive, oppressed with many a year,
What, in the name of dotage, drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
No force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unawed by power and unappalled by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear :
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more;
For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom Heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclined to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame:
No more my titles shall my children tell;
The old buffoon will fit my name as well :
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.
THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. A TALE
SECLUDED from domestic strife,
Jack Book-worm led a college life ;
A fellowship at twenty-five
Made him the happiest man alive;
He drank his glass, and cracked his joke,
And freshmen wondered as he spoke.
Such pleasures, unalloyed with care,
Could any accident impair?
Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix
Our swain, arrived at thirty-six?
O! had the archer ne'er come down
To ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop.
O, had her eyes forgot to blaze!
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze;
O! But let exclamations cease,
Her
presence banished all his peace. So with decorum all things carried;
Miss frowned and blushed, and then was-married.
Need we expose to vulgar sight
The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallowed ground,
Or draw the curtains closed around?
Let it suffice, that each had charms :
He clasped a goddess in his arms;
And though she felt his usage rough,
Yet in a man 'twas well enough.
The honey-moon like lightning flew;
The second brought its transports too;
A third, a fourth, were not amiss;
The fifth was friendship mixed with bliss:
But, when a twelvemonth passed away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that decked her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace:
But still the worst remained behind,
That very face had robbed her mind.
Skilled in no other arts was she,
But dressing, patching, repartee;
And, just as humour rose or fell,
By turns a slattern or a belle.
'Tis true she dressed with modern grace,
Half naked at a ball or race;
But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greasy night-caps wrapped her head.
Could so much beauty condescend
To be a dull domestic friend?
Could any curtain lectures bring
To decency so fine a thing?
In short, by night 'twas fits or fretting;
By day 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy
Of powdered coxcombs at her levy:
The 'squire and captain took their stations,
And twenty other near relations :
Jack sucked his pipe and often broke
A sigh in suffocating smoke;
While all their hours were passed between
Insulting repartee or spleen.
Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarser grown;
He fancies every vice she shows
Or thins her lip, or points her nose:
Whenever rage or envy rise,-
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
He knows not how, but so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phiz;
And, though her fops are wondrous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.
Now to perplex the ravelled noose,
As each a different way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife
Promised to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's transient flower-
Lo! the small pox, whose horrid glare
Levelled its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.
The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright;
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes;
In vain she tries her paste and creams,
To smooth her skin or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens;
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And even the captain quit the field.
Poor madam, now condemned to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old :
With modesty her cheeks are dyed;
Humility displaces pride;
For tawdry finery is seen
A person ever neatly clean:
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature every day :
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.
A NEW SIMILE. IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT
LONG had I sought in vain to find
A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite;
Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there
To suit my purpose to a hair :
But let us not proceed too furious,
First please to turn to God Mercurius !
You'll find him pictured at full length
In book the second, page the tenth:
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
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