Were her tresses angel gold, If a stranger may be bold, Unrebuked, unafraid,
To convert then to a brayde, And, with little more a-do, Work them into bracelets too; If the mine be grown so free, What care I how rich it be?
Were her hands as rich a prize As her hair, or precious eyes; If she laid them out to take Kisses, for good manners sake; And let ev'ry lover skip From her hand unto her lip; If she seem not chaste to me, What care I how chaste she be?
No: she must be perfect snow In effect, as well as show; - Warming but as snow-balls do, Not like fire, by Lurning too; But when she by change hath got To her heart a second Lot, Then, if others share with me, Farewel her, whate'er she be!
Occasioned by the foregoing.
PAINT, paint no more, no more with blots,
Or chequer so thy face with spots,
That I must view thee, as men strive
To see eclipses, through a sieve;
Be thou but pleasing unto me,
What care I what else thou be?
Be thou fatter than a hog,
A butcher's doublet, or his dog;
be thy cheeks butter, thy nose grease;
fay we make brewis on thy face;
et if thou do not melt to me,
What care I how fat thou be?
Be thy nose like fiery coals, Ir a grater, full of holes, et it turn up, or else hook in, nd so be clasp'd unto thy chin; et, if it turn not unto me, What care I how crook'd it be?
Though reading, thou must look so close, s thou wert reading with thy nose; rom thine eves let hith run more han broken boil, or plaguy sore; et, if they do not look on me, That care I how foul they be? Canst thou outscold a butter wench, ra fresh lawyer at the bench?
anst thou the noise of thunder drown,
our all the beer about the town?
et, if thou wilt not speak to me,
What care I how loud thou be?
Be thy mouth like jaws of death,
hat they who kiss, must kiss thy teeth;
And hold by th' handle of thy chin,
est their foot slip, and they fall in ;
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.com.ag/books/content?id=8HGvg79t_MgC&hl=de&output=html_text&pg=PA851&img=1&zoom=3&q=%22to+the+varying+hour%3B+Far+other+aims+his+heart+had+learn+%27d+to+prize,+More%22&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0Pj70Z9YRm8T6u4kAiwwjwx8qAYA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=429,142,501,413)
RESOLV'D to visit a far distant friend,
A porter to the Bull-and-Gate I send,
And bid the slave at all events engage
Some place or other in the Chester stage.
The slave returns-'tis done as soon as said-
Your honour's sure when once the money's
paid;
My brother whip, impatient of delay,
Puts-to at three, and swears he cannot sta
(Four dismal hours ere the break of day).
Rous'd from sound sleep, thrice call'd, at length
I rise,
[eyes;
Yawning, stretch out my arms, half close my
By steps and lanthorn enter the machine,
And take my place, how cordially! between
Two aged matrons of excessive bulk,
To mend the matter too, of meaner folk:
While in like mode jamm'd in on th`other side
A bullying captain and a fair-one ride;
Foolish as fair, and in whose lap a bɔy—
Our plague eternal, but her only joy;
At last, the glorious number to complete,
Steps in my landlord for that bodkin seat:
When soon, by ev'ry hillock, rut, and stone,
Into each other's face by turns we're thrown;
This grannam scolds, that coughs, and captain
The fair-one screams, and has a thousand fears; While our plump landlord, train'd in other lore, And master Dicky, on his mother's lap, Slumbers at case, nor yet asham'd to snore; Squalling brings up at once three meals of pap. Sweet company! next time, I do protest. Sir, I'll walk to Dublin, ere I ride to Chester.
Mr Garrick being asked by a Nobleman if he
did not intend to sit in Parliament ? gave lam
an Answer in the following Lines:
MORE than content with what my talents gain,
Of public favour though a little vain,
Yet not so vain my mind, so madly bent,
To wish to play the fool in Parliament;
In each dramatic unity to err,
Mistaking time, and place, and character:
Were it my fate to quit the mimic art,
I'd strut and fret" no more in any part;
No
No more in public scenes would I engage,
Or wear the cap and mask on any stage.
The Thought; or, a Song of Similies.
I've thought; the fair Narcissa cries,
What is it like, Sir?
"'Tis like a chair--'tis like a kev
""Tis like a purge-'tis like a flea-
"Tis like a beggar-like the sun-
""Tis like the Dutch-'tis like the moon-
"Tis like a kilderkin of ale-
A three-lez'd stool, a four-leg'd table,
Were fill'd with books unit for rabble;
Sines, tangents, secants, raus, co-sines,
Subtangents, segments, and all those signs;
Enough to shew the man that made 'em
Was full as mad as he who read 'em :
An almanack of six years standing,
Like your eyes-A cup with ink, and one with sand in;
One corner held his books and chest,
And round the floor were strew'd the rest;
That all things might be like himself,
He'd neither closet, drawer, or shelf;
Here piss-pot, sauce-pot, broken platter,
Appear'd like het'rogeneous matter.
Ta antient days the walls were white,
But who 'gainst damps and snails can fight?
They're now in wreathy ringlets bound,
Some square, some oval, and some round:
The antiquarian there may find
Each hieroglyphic to his mind;
Such faces there might fancy trace,
As never yet knew time or place;
And he who studies maps or plans,
Has all the work done to his hands;
In short, the room, the goods and author,
Appear'd to be one made for t'other.
"Tis like a doctor-like a whale—”
Why are my eyes, Sir, like a SwORD?
For that's the Thought, upon my word.
"Ah! witness every pang I feel,
"The deaths they give the likeness tell.
"A sword is like a chair, you'll find,
"Because 'tis most an end behind.
"'Tis like a key, for twill undo one;
"Tis like a purge, for 'twill run thro' one;
“'Tis like a flea, and reason good,
"Tis often drawing human blood."
Why like a beggar?" You shall hear;
"Tis often carried 'fore the May'r;
"'Tis like the sun, because 'tis gilt,
"Besides it travels in a belt.
“ 'Tis like the Dutch, we plainly see,
"Because that state, whenever we
"A push for our own int'rest make,
"Does instantly our sides forsake."
Epitaph by a Gentleman to the Memory of
Lady.
FAREWEL, my best belov'd, whose heave:
The moon?" Why, when all's said and Genius and virtue, strength with softness
"A sword is very like the moon;
"For if his Majesty (God bless him)
Devotion undebas'd by pride or art,
With meek simplicity, and joy of heart;
Tho' sprightly, gentle; tho' polite, since
"When Country Sheriff comes t'address him, And only of thyself a judge severe;
"Is pleas'd his favours to bestow
"On him, before him kneeling low,
"This o'er his shoulders glitters bright,
“And gives the glory to the Knight (night):
"Tis like a kilderkin, no doubt,
"For 'tis not long in drawing out.
'Tis like a doctor, for who will "Dispute a doctor's power to kill ?” But why a Sword is like a whale
Is no such easy thing to tell.
"But since all Swords are Swords, d'ye see,
Why, let it then a backsword be; "Which, if well us'd, will seldom fail "To raise up somewhat like a whale."
Unblam'd, unequall'd in each sphere of "
The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, w
In thee their patroness the afflicted lost,
Thy friends, their patron, ornamental bo
And I-but ah! can words my loss deci
Or paint th' extremes of transport and des
O thou beyond what verse or speech can
My guide, my friend, my best belov'd, für -
And scarce know the use of a gun.
Let them say what they will, since it n
And exclaim out still louder and louder
But there ne'er was more money expence
Or a greater consumption of powder. [-
From quarter to quarter I shifted my tack;
'Gainst the evils of life a most notable quack;
But, alas! I soon found the defects of my skill,
And my nostrums in practice prov'd treache
rous still;
O-DAY man's dress'd in gold and silver bright,
To-
Wrapp'd in a shroud before to-morrow
night;
From life's certain ills 'twas in vain to seek ease, To-morrow dead, unable to do good;
To-day he's feeding on delicious food,
The remedy oft prov'd another disease ; To-day he's nice, and scorns to feed on crumbs,
What in rapture began often ended in sorrow, To-morrow he's himself a dish for worms;
And the pleasure to-day brought reflection to-To-day he's honour'd, and in vast esteem,
[seen, To-morrow not a beggar values him;
When each action was o'er, and its errors were To-day he rises from the velvet bed,
Then I view'd with surprise the strange thing To-morrow lies in one that's made of lead;
I had been;
To-day his house, tho' large, he thinks but
small,
My body and mind were so oddly contriv'd, That at each other's failing both parties con-To-morrow, no command, no house at all; niv'd; [pain, To-day has forty servants at his gate, Imprudence of mind brought on sickness and Tomorrow scorn'd, not one of them will wait! The body diseas'd paid the debt back again : To-day perfum'd as sweet as any rose; Thus coupled together life's journey they To-morrow stinks in every body's nose; To day he's grand, majestic, all delight, Ghastful and pale before to-morrow night: True, as the scripture says, "man's life's
pass'd,
Till they wrangled and jangled, and parted at
Thus tir'd and weary, I've finish'd my course,
And glad it is bed-time, and things are no
I walk'd by myself, I said to myself,
And myself said again to me;
ook to thyself, take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee.
The present moment is the life of man.
An Inscription over a Gentleman's Chimney-
Piece near Barnsley.
T my best my friends are free;
Free with that, and free with
Free to pass the harmless joke,
And the tube sedately smoke;
Free to drink just what they please,
As at home, and at their ease;
Free to speak, and free to think-
No informers with me drink;
Free to stay a night, or so;
When uneasy, free to go.
N easy mien, engaging in address, [express,
Looks which at once each winning grace
A life where love and truth are ever join'd,
A nature ever great and ever kind,
A wisdom solid, and a judgment clear,
The smile indulgent, and a soul sincere;
Meek without meanness, gentle and humane ;
Fond of improving, but yet never vain;
So justly good, so faithful to his friend,
A mind where gen'rous pity stands confess'd,
Ever obliging, cautious to offend;
Ready to ease and succour the distress'd:
If these respect and admiration raise,
They surely must demand our greatest praise;
In one bright view th' accomplish'd youth we
These virtues all are thine-and thou art he.
hen I said to myself, and thus answer'd my-Twas sung of old, how one Amphion,
With the self-same repartee;
ook to thyself, or look not to thyself,
'Tis the self-same thing to me.
Could by his verses tame a Lion, And by his strange enchanting tunes Make Bears and Wolves dance rigadoons;
His songs could call the timber down,
And form it into house or town.
But it is plain, now in these times,
No house is rais'd by poets' rhymes;
They for themselves can only rear
A few old casles in the air.
Poor are the Brethren of the Bayes,
Down from high strains to ekes and ayes:
The muses too are virgins yet,
And may be till they portions get.
Yet still the doating rhymer dreams,
And sings of Helicon's bright streams:
But Helicon, for all his clatter,
Yields nothing but insipid water!
Yet, even athirst, he sweetly sings
Of Nectar and Elysian springs.
The grave physician, who by physic,
Like death, dispatches him that is sick,
Pursues a sure and thriving trade;
Tho' patients die, the doctor's paid:
Licens'd to kill, he gains a palace
For what another mounts a gallows.
In shady groves the muses play,
And love in How'ry meads to stray;
Pleas'd with a bleaky barren ground,
Where rip'ning fruits are never found.
But then, some say, you purchase fame,
And gain a never-dying name;
Great recompense forreal trouble!
To be rewarded with a bubble!
Thus soldiers, who in many battles Get bangs and blows, and God knows what Are paid with fame and wooden leg, And gain a pass, with leave to beg.
POOR man once a Judge besought
Tojudge aright his cause;
And with a pot of oil salutes
The judger of the laws.
My friend, quoth he, thy cause is good;
He glad away did trudge:
Anon his wealthy foe did come
Before this partial Judge.
A hog well fed this churl presents,
And craves a strain of law;
The hog receiv'd, the poor man's right
Was judg'd not worth a straw.
Therewith he cried, O partial Judge,
Thy doom has me undone;
When oil I gave, my cause was good,
But now to ruin run.
Poor man, quoth he, I thee forgot,
And see thy cause of foil;
A hog came since into my house,
And broke thy pot of oil.
Queen Elizabeth being asked her Opinion concerning the real Presence in the Sacrament, gave the following artful and solid Answer: CHRIST was the word that spake it; He took the bread, and brake it;
And that 'tis true I dare her warrant be: For ne'er was woinan yet, or good or ill, But loved always best her own sweet Will.
Dialogue between Harry, who had a large L brary, and Dick, who had more UnderstaTM ing than Books,
QUOTH Harry to his friend one day, "Would, Richard, I'd thy head!" What wilt thou give for't? (Dick replied) The bargain's quickly made. "My head and all my books I'd give,
With readiness and freedom." I'd take thy books, but with thy head, 'Gadzooks! I ne'er could read them.'
The Duke, the knave, still brother dear he cries,
And who can say the reverend prelate lies?
Written under a Lady's Name in a Window.
THREE brilliants fair Celinda grac'd
(There love's artillery lies):
One from her snowy finger blaz'd,
Two sparkled in her eyes.
The first, which shone with fainter rays,
Could here her name impart ;
The others drew her charming face
More deeply on my heart.
On the Death of Dean Swift.
WHEN Gay breath'd his last, we in silence complain'd,
But yet we'd a Pope and a Swift who remain'd; Pope falls! all Parnassus resounds with our
A footsome Spaniard late one night
Knock'd at a tavern door so hard,,
It rous'd the family in a fright.
Jp sprung the host from his bed-side,
Open the chainber-window flew :
Who's there?-What boisterous hand," he
Makes at my gate this loud ado?" [cried,
Here is," the stately Spaniard said,
"Don Lopez, Rodriguez, Alonzo,
Pedrillo, Gus man, Alvarade,
"Jago, Miguel, Alphonso,
Antonio Diego"-" Hold! hold! hold!"
Exclaim'd the landlord, "pray forbear!"
For half the numbers you have told,
"I have not half a bed to spare."
Sir!" quoth the Don, 'tis your mistake,"
"If names for men, of course you count:
Tho' long th' illustrious list I make,
"In me still centers alt th' amount.
Worn down with tramping many a mile,
“Don Lopez, Rodriguez, Pedrillo,
With all the etceteras of his style,
"Will sleep upon a single pillow.”
Quod Petis, Hic est.
A THOUSAND objects of desire
On foreign coasts you'll view;
Now art, now Nature's works admire,
Here splendour, there virtù.
But blessings, which at home you see,
Sublimer joy suggest :
Old England gives you liberty,
And that gives-ull the rest.
Stat sua cuique Dics.
To
Childermas day some object,
Some Friday deem a bad day;
But Will, by no such notions check'd,
Lets no day be a sad day.
More cheerful still, as more in debt,
He makes each day a May-day;
Nor would he ever fear, or fret,
But for that queer day-pay-day.
To make a plum-pudding a French_count once took [cook; An authentic receipt, from an English lord's Mix suet, milk, eggs, sugar, meal, fruit, and [and such price; Of such number, such measure, such weight, Drop a spoonful of brandy, to quicken the mess, And boil it for so many hours-more or less. These directions were tried, but when tried, had no good in,
Twas all wash, and all squash, but 'twas not English pudding;
And monsieur, in a pet, sent a second request, For the cook that prescrib'd to assist when 'twas drest,
Who, of course, to comply with his honour's beseeching, [kitchen. Like an old cook of Colbrook, march'd into the The French cooks, when they saw him, talk'd loud, and talk'd long,
They were sure all was right, he could find nothing wrong;
Till, just as the mixture was rais'd to the pot, Hold your hands! hold your hands!" "Don't you see you want one thing, like fools scream'd astonish'd John Trot.
Vone ting, Sare! Vat ting, Sare?" A pudding-cloth, Sare!
Quod Petis, Hic est.
No plate bad John and Joan to hoard,
Plain folk in humble plight;
One only tankard crown'd their board,
And that was fill'd each night.
Along whose inner bottom, sketch'd
In pride of chubby grace,
Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd
A baby angel's face..
John swallow'd first a moderate sup;
But Joan was not like John ; For when her lips once touch'd the cup, She swill'd till all was gone.
John often urg'd her to drink fair,
But she ne'er chang'd a jot;
She lov'd to see the angel there,
And therefore drain'd the pot.
When John found all remonstrance vain,
Another card he play'd;
And where the angel stood so plain,
He got a devil pourtray'd.
|