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Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop. Written and spoken by the Poet Laberius, a Ro-Jo had her eyes forgot to blaze!
man Knight, whom Cæsar forced upon the Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze! stoge, Preserved by Macrobius.*
—but let exclamations cease, What! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
Her presence banish'd all his peace. And save from infamy my sinking age!
So with decorum all things carried; Scarce half alive, opprest with many a year,
Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was married
Yet in a man 'twas well enough.
The honey-moon like lightning flew,
The second brought its transports too; Here then at once I welcome every shame,
A third, a fourth, were not amiss, And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss: No more my titles shall my children tell,
But, when a twelvemonth pass'd away, The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
That very face had robb'd her mind.
Skill'd in no other arts was she,
But dressing, patching, repartee;
And, just as humour rose or fell,
By turns a slattern or a belle. Secluded from domestic strife
Tis true she dress'd with modern grace, Jack Book-worm led a college life;
Half naked at a ball or race; A fellowship at twenty-five
But when at home, at board or bed, Made him the happiest man alive;
Five greasy night-caps wrapp'd her head. He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke,
Could so much beauty condescend And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.
To be a dull domestic friend? Such pleasures, unallay'd with care,
Could any curtain lectures bring Could any accident impair?
To decency so fine a thing? Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix
In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting; Our swain, arrived at thirty-six?
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting. O had the archer ne'er come down
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy To ravage in a country town!
Of powdered coxcombs at her levee;
The 'squire and captain took their stations, • This translation was first printed in one of our author's And twenty other near relations : earliest works. “The Present State of Learning in Europe," Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke 12mo. 1759; but was omitted in the second edition, which ap. A sigh in suffocating smoke; peared in 1774.
* This and the following pocm were published by Dr. Gold. While all their hours were past between smith in his volume of Essays, which appeared in 1765. Insulting repartee or spleen.
Thus as her faults each day were known,
Now, to perplex the ravellid noose,
The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Poor madam now condemn'd to hack
But let us not proceed too furious,
Imprimis, Pray observe his hat,
In the next place, his feet peruse,
Lastly, vouchsafe t' observe his hand,
Now to apply, begin we then ;-
And here my simile almost tript,
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 niet with something there To suit my purpose to a hair.
things as trifles at best) told me with his usual goodDESCRIPTION
humour, the next time I saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakspeare
into a ballad of his own. He then read me his litAUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER. lle Cento, if I may so call it, and I highly approv
ed it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarcely WHERE the Red Lion staring o'er the way,
worth printing; and, were it not for the busy disInvites each passing stranger that can pay;
position of some of your correspondents, the pubWhere Calvert's butt, and Parson's black cham- lic should never have known that he owes me the pagne,
hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendRegale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane; There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
ship and learning for communications of a much
more important nature. The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
I am, Sir, A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
Yours, etc. That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
"TORN, gentle Hermit of the dale, With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored,
And guide my lonely way, And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney
To where yon taper cheers the vale board;
With hospitable ray.
"For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem length’ning as I go."
"Forbear, my son,” the Hermit cries,
To tempt the dangerous gloom;
To lure thee to thy doom.
he St. James's Chronicle, appeared in that pa- "Here to the houseless child of want per in June, 1767.
My dvor is
And though my portion is but scant, SIR,
I give it with good will. As there is nothing I dislike so much as newspaper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit “Then turn to-night, and freely share me to be as concise as possible in informing a cor- Whate'er my cell bestows, respondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's My rushy couch and frugal fare, Travels because I thought the book was a good My blessing and repose. one, and I think so still. I said, I was told by the
“No flocks that range the valley free, bookseller that it was then first published; but in
To slaughter I condemn; that, it seems, I was misinformed, and my reading
Taught by that Power that pities me, was not extensive enough to set me right.
I learn to pity them: Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad I published some time ago, “But from the mountain's grassy side from one* by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not A guiltless feast I bring; think there is any great resemblance between the A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, two pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad And water from the spring. is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy some
“Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; years ago; and he (as we both considered these
All earth-born cares are wrong; The Friar of Orders Gray. "Reliq. of Anc. Poetry," vol.
Man wants but little here below, L book 2 No. 18.
Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell:
And follows to the cell.
The lonely mansion lay,
And strangers led astray.
Required a master's care;
Received the harmless pair.
To take their evening rest,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:
And gaily prcss'd, and smiled; And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled.
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The crackling faggot flies.
To soothe the stranger's woe;
And tears began to flow.
With answering care opprest; "And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried,
“The sorrows of thy breast?
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or unregarded love?
Are trifling and decay; And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.
A charm that lulls to sleep;
But leaves the wretch to weep?
The modern fair one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.
Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view:
As bright, as transient too.
Alternate spread alarms:
A maid in all her charms.
A wretch forlorn," she cried; “Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrudo
Where Heaven and you reside. “But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way. "My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was mark'd as mino,
He had but only me. " To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came; Who praised me for imparted charms,
And felt, or feign'd a flame. “Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove; Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.
"In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
"And when, beside me in the dale,
He carroll'd lays of love, His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove. « The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of Heaven refined, Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.
“The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his, but, woe to mol
Their constancy was mine. "For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain; And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd 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.
"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex,” he said; But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
They swore the man would die.
That show'd the rogues they lied:
The dog it was that 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 l.” "Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried,
And clasp'd her to his brcast: l'he wondering fair one turn'd to chile
'Twas Edwin's self that press'd. “Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Restored to love and thee.
And every care resign:
My life—my all that's mine?
We'll live and love so true;
Shall break thy Edwin's too."
STANZAS ON WOMAN.
And finds too late that men betray,
What art can wash her guilt away?
To hide her shame from every eye,
And wring his bosom—is to die.
A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH.
I AM sensible that the friendship between us can Give ear unto my song,
acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a dediAnd if you find it wondrous short, It can not hold you long.
cation; and perhaps it demands an excuse thus to
prefix your name to my attempts, which you de. In Islington there was a man,
cline giving with your own. But as a part of this Of whom the world might say,
poem was formerly written to you from Switzer. That still a goully race he ran,
land, the whole can now, with propriety, be only Whene'er he went to pray.
inscribed to you. It will also throw a light upon A kind and gentle heart he had,
many parts of it, when the reader understands, that To comfort friends and foes;
it is addressed to a man, who, despising fame and The naked every day he clad,
fortune, has retired early to happiness and obscuriWhen he put on his clothes.
ty, with an income of forty pounds a-year. And in that town a dog was found,
I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of
your humble choice. You have entered upon a As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
sacred office, where the harvest is great, and the And curs of low degree.
labourers are but few; while you have left the field
of ambition, where the labourers are many, and the This dog and man at first were friends;
harvest not worth carrying away. But of all kinds But when a pique began,
of ambition, what from the refinement of the times, The dog, to gain some private ends,
from different systems of criticism, and from the Went mad, and bit the man.
divisions of party, that which pursues poetical fame Around from all the neighb'ring streets is the wildest. The wond'ring neighbours ran,
Poetry makes a principal amusement among unAnd swore the dog had lost his wits, polished nations; but in a country verging to the To bite so good a man.
extremes of refinement, painting and music come This, and the following poem, appeared in “The Vicar of in for å share. As these offer the feeble mind a Wakefield," which was published in the year 1765. I less laborious entertainment, they at first rival