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Ten thousand flocks his shepherd told,
To have a curious trick in store, His coffers overflow'd with gold ;
Which never was perform'd before. The land all round him was his own.
Thro' all the town this soon got air, With corn his crowded granaries groan.
And the whole house was like a fair; In short, so vast his charge and gain,
But soon his entry as he made, That to possess them was a pain :
Without a prompter, or parade, With happiness oppress'd he lies,
'Twas all expectance, all suspense, And much too prudent to be wise.
And silence gagg'd the audience. Near him there livil a beauteous maid,
He hid his head behind his wig, With all the charms of youth array'd;
And with such truth took off a pig, Good, amiable, sincere and free,
All swore'twas serious, and no joke, Her name was Generosity.
For doubtless underneath his cloak, 'Twas hers the largess to bestow
He had conceal'd some grunting elf, On rich and poor, on friend and fue.
Or, was a real hog himself. Her doors to all were open'd wide,
A search was made, no pig was foundThe pilgrim there might safe abide :
With thund'ring claps the seats resound, For th' hungry and the thirsty crew,
And pit, and box, and galleries roar, The bread she broke, the drink she dreir;
With-0 rare! bravo ! and encore. There Sickness laid her aching head,
Old Roger Grouse, a country clown, And there Distress cou'd find a bed.
Who yet knew something of the town, Each hour with an all-bounteous hand,
Beheld the mimic and his whim, Diffus'd she blessings round the land :
And on the morrow challeng'd him, Her gifts and glory lasted long,
Declaring to each beau and bunter, And numerous was th' accepting throng.
That he'd out-grunt th' egregious grunter. At length pale Penury seiz'd the dame,
The morrow came the crowd was greater And Fortune fled, and Ruin came,
But prejudice and rank ill-nature , She found her riches at an end,
Usurp'd the minds of men and wenches, And that she had not made one friend.
Who came to hiss, and break the benches. . , All curs'd her for not giving more,
The mimic took his usual station, Nor thought on what she'd done before;
And squeak'd with general approbation, She wept, she rav'd, she tore her hair,
“ Again, encore ! encore !” they cry When lo ! to comfort her came Care.
'Twas quite the thingtwas very high : And cry'd, My dear, if you will join
Old Grouse conceal'd, amidst the racket, Your band in nuptial bonds with mine;
A real pig beneath his jacketAll will be well you shall have store,
Then forth he came and with bis nail And I be plagu'd with wealth no more.
He pinch'J the urchin by the tail. Tho' I restraiu your bounteous heart,
The tortur'd pig from out his throat, You still shall act the generous part.”
Produc'd the genuine nat'ral note. The bridal came great was the feast,
All bellow'd out-twas very sad ! And good the pudding and the priest;
Sure never stuff was half so bad ! The bride in nine moons brought him forth
“ That like a pig !"'-each cry'd in scoff, A little maid of matchless wortb:
"Pshaw! Nonsense! blockhead! Off! Oh! Off!" Her face was mix'd of care and glee,
The mimic was extoll'd; and Grouse They christen’d her Economy ;
Was hiss'd, and catcall'd from the bouse. And styled her fair Discretion's queen,
“ Soft ye, a word before I go," The mistress of the golden mean.
Quoth honest Hodge—and stooping low Now Generosity confio'd,
Produc'd the pig, and thus aloud Perfectly easy in her mind;
Bespoke the stupid partial croud: Still loves to give, yet knows to spare,
Behold, and learn from this poor creature, Nor wishes to be free from Care.
How much you crities know of Nature.”
But why these to me, who're his constancy And sing with more than usual glee
To Nancy, who was born for me,
Tell the blithe Graces as they bound
Luxuriant in the buxom round ;
Tell royal Venus, though she rove,
The queen of the immortal grove ;
With Nancy, wbo was born for me.
And ev'ry trite pedantic fool,
On her to place the palm agree,
The regent of the up-land grange,
0, Nancy, who wast born for me.
Tell Cupid, Hymen, and tell Jove,
With all the pow'rs of life and love,
If Nancy was not born for me,
My Florio, wildest of bis sex,
(Who sure the veriest sajnt would vex) And though witlings may scoff, and though rail
From beauty roves to beauty;
Yet, though abroad the wanton roam, tery mocks,
Whene'er he deigns to stay at home,
He always minds his duty.
Something to every charming she,
In thoughtless prodigality,
He's granting still and granting;
To Phyllis that, to Cloe this,
And every madam, every miss;
Yet I find nothing wanting.
He foams and rages ever;
But when he ceases from bisire,
“Such spirit, and such fire,
Is surely wond'rous clever.”
I ne'er want reason to complain;
And every joy grows greater.
Then trust me, damsels, whilst I tell,
I should not like him half so well,
If I cou'd make him better.
Forbear, my Celia, oh! forbear,
Leave her, defenceless and alone,
THE DISTRESSED DAMSEL.
THE SILENT FAIR,
BALLAD VI. From all her fair loquacious kind, So different is my Rosalind, That not one accent can I gain To crown my hopes, or sooth my pain. Ye lovers, who can construe sighs, And are the interpreters of eyes, To language all her looks translate, And in her gestures read my fate. And if in them you chance to find Aught that is gentle, aught that's kind, Adieu mean hopes of being great, And all the littleness of state. All thonghts of grandeur l'll despise, Which from dependence take their rise ; To serve her shall be my employ, And love's sweet agony my joy.
BALLAD VIII. Of all my experience how vast the amount, Since fifteen long winters I fairly can count ! Was ever a damsel so sadly betray d, To live to these years and yet still be a maid? Ye heroes, triumphant by land and by sea, Sworn rot'ries to love, but unmindful of me; You can storm a strong fort, or can form a
blockade, Yet ye stand by like dastards, and see me a
maid. Ye lawyers so just, who with slippery tongue, Can do wbat you please, or with right, or with
wrong, Can it be or by law or by equity said, That a busom young girl ought to die an old
maid. Ye learned physicians, whose excellent skill Can save, or demolish, can cure, or can kill, To a poor, forlorn damsel contribute your aid, Who is sick-very sick-of remaining a maid. Ye fops, I invoke, not to list to my song, Who answer no end—and to no sex belong; Ye echoes of echoes, and shadows of shade For if I had you--I might still be a maid,
THE FORCE OF INNOCENCE.
TO MISS C****
THE FAIR RECLUSE.
The blooming damsel, whose defence
Ye ancient patriarchs of the wood,
That veil around these awful glooms, Who many a century have stood
In verdant age, that ever blooms. Ye Gothic tow'ss by vapours dense.
Obscur'd into severer state, In pastoral magnificence
At once so simple and so great. Why all your jealous shades on me,
Ye hoary elders, do ye spread? Fair innocence shou'd still be free, Nought shou'd be chain'd, but what we
dread, Say, must these tears for ever flow?
Can I from patience learn content,
And leaves me leisure to lament.
Whose cruelty is bis employ,
And stops each ayenue to joy.
My nearest prospect of relief.
TO MISS * * * *
And am as raging Barry hot.
True, virtuous, lovely, was his dove,
But virtue, beauty, truth and love,
Are other names for Harriot,
Though never can you carry aught;
You might command the nation's sense, THE CHICHESTER GRACES.
And without bribery convince,
Had ye the voice of Harriot.
You of the music common weal,
Who borrow, beg, compose, or steal,
Cantata, air, or ariet;
You'd burn your cumb'rous works in score,
And sing, compose, and play no more,
If once you heard my Harriot.
Were there a wretch who dar'd essay,
Such wond'rous sweetness to betray,
I'd call him an Iscariot ;
But her e'en satire can't annoy,
So strictly chaste, but kindly coy,
Is fair angelic Harriot.
(Mean appetite of earthly things)
In all the waste of war riot ;
Praise, honour, glory, conquest, fame,
Are center'd all in Marriot.
That haunt love's ever blushing bow'rs,
So sweet a nymph to marry ought:
Then may I hug her silken yoke,
And give the last, the final stroke,
Taccomplish lovely Harriot.
TO JENNY GRAY,
BRING, Phæbus, from Parnassian bow'rs,
A chaplet of poetic flowers,
That far outbloom the May;
Bring verse so smooth, and thoughts so free,
And all the Muses heraldry,
To blazon Jenny Gray.
Presenting Spring with early bloom,
In ruddy tints how gay!
Thus, foremost of the blushing fair,
With such a blithsome, buxom air,
Blooms lovely Jenny Gray.
The merry, chirping, plumy throng!
The bushes and the twigs among
That pipe the sylvan lay,
All hush'd at ber delightful voice
In silent ecstacy rejoice,
And study Jenny Gray.
Ye balmy odour-breathing gales,
And in each rose-bush play;
I know you all, you're arrant cheats,
And steal your more than natural sweets, (Where most she shines) in Harriot,
From lovely Jenny Gray.
Pumona and that goddess bright,
The Aorist's and the maids delight,
While a forc'd blush her cheeks inflam'd,
*d seem'd to say she was asham'd. In richness, nor in sweetness reach
No handkerchief her bosom hid, The lips of Jenny Gray.
No tippet from our sight debars To the sweet knot of Graces three,
Her heaving breasts with moles o'erspread, Th’immortal band of bards agree,
Mark'd, little hemispheres, with stars ; A tuneful tax to pay ;
While on them all our eyes we more, There yet remains a matchless worth,
Our eyes that meant immoderate luve. There yet remains a lovelier fourth,
In every gesture, cvery air,
Th’imperfect lisp, the languid eye,
We awkward imitators vie,
And, forming our own from her face,
Strive to look pretty as we gaze,
If e'er she sneer'd, the mimic crowd
Sneer'd too, and all their pipes laid down;
If she but stoop'd, we lowly bow'd,
And sullen if she'gan to frown Full full many a heart, that now is free,
In solemn sidence sat profound
But did she laugh!—the laugh went round.
Iler snuff-box if the nymph pull'd out,
Each Johnian in responsive airs
Fed with the tickling dust bis snout,
With all the politesse of bears.
Dropt she her fan beneath her hoop,
Ev'n stake-stuck Clarians strore to stoop.
The sons of culinary Kays
Lost in ccstatic transport gaze.
As though the fair was good to eat; Tho' this,'tis own'd, be somewhat rude,
Ev'n gloomiest king's men, pleas'd awhile, And Puss by nature be a prude,
“ Grin horribly a ghastly smile.” Yet hence you iras improve, By decent pride, and dint of scoff,
But hark, she cries, “ My mamma calls,"
And straight she's vanish'd from our sight;
'Twas then we saw the empty bowls,
'Twas then we first perceiv'd it night; Your Crop a mousing when you see,
While all, sad synod, silent trvan,
Both that she went—and went alone.
THE WIDOW'S RESOLUTION.
TIE PRETTY BAR-KEEPER OF THE
Sylvia, the most contented of her hinil,
Written at College, 1741, “Retax, sweet girl, your wearied mind,
And to hear the poet talk,
Iay aside your sponge and cbalk;
Come, O come, and bring with thee
And all lore's soft artillery ;
Not unravish'd you might see
E'er her tongue could set it frce.
“Away,” she cry'd, “ ye swains, be mute,
My loyal thoughts controul;
The purpose of my soul.
And make me life sustain ;
That takes it's rise from pain."