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But hark! Distress, with screaming voice, draws
SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO nigher, And wakes the slumbering street with cries of fire.
BLACK-EYED SUSAN. At first a glowing red enwraps the skies,
All in the Downs the fleet was moorid,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When Black-ey'd Susan came aboard.
“Oh! where shall I my true-love find ? And splitting tiles descend in rattling showers.
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, Now with thick crowds th' enlighten'd pavement
If my sweet William sails among the crew.” stvarms, The fireman sweats beneath his crooked arms;
William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd with the billow to and fro, .
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below:
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, The helpless infant through the flame he bears,
And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands. With no less virtue, than through hostile fire The Dardan hero bore his aged sire.
So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air, See, forceful engines spout their levell'd streams,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast, To quench the blaze that runs along the beams;
(If chance his mate's shrill call he hear) The grappling hook plucks rafters from the walls,
And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
. Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 'The Heavens are all a-blaze, the face of Night
“O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, Is cover'd with a sanguine dreadful light.
My vows shall ever true remain; 'Twas such a light involv'd thy towers, O Rome!
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change, as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee. Hark! the drum thunders! far, ye crowds, retire: Behold! the ready match is tipt with fire,
“ Believe not what the landmen say The nitrous store is laid, the smutty train,
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind. With running blaze, awakes the barrel'd grain;
They 'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find :
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, So, when the years shall have revolv'd the date,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
“If to fair India's coast we sail, And heave and toss upon the sulphurous lake;
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright; Earth's womb at once the fiery flood shall rend;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.
| Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. What riots seen, what bustling crowds I bore, How oft I cross'd where carts and coaches roar;
“Though battle call me from thy arms, Yet shall I bless my labors, if mankind 'Their future safety from my dangers find.
Let not my pretty Susan mourn ;
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, Thus the bold traveller (inur'd to toil,
William shall to his dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.” Whom Providence, in length of years, restores
The boatswain gave the dreadful word, To the wish'd harbor of his native shores)
The sails their swelling bosom spread; Sets forth his journals to the public view,
No longer must she stay aboard : To caution, by his woes, the wandering crew.
They kiss'd, she sigh’d, he hung his head. And now complete my generous labors lie,
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land : Finish'd, and ripe for immortality.
“ Adieu !" she cries; and wav'd her lily hand. Death shall entomb in dust this mouldering frame, But never reach th' eternal part, my fame. When W— and G-, mighty names !* are dead; Or but at Chelsea under custards read; When critics crazy band boxes repair;
FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.
'Twas when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring, • Probably Ward and Gildon.-N.
All on a rock reclin’d.
2 A 2
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wistful look ; Her head was crown'd with willows,
That trembled o'er the brook.
“ Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days; Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
And let my lover rest :
To that within my breast ?
“The merchant, robb’d of pleasure,
Sees tempests in despair;
To losing of my dear?
Where gold and diamonds grow, You'd find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you so.
Rang'd cupe, that in the window stood,
The Goat he welcomes with an air,
“ I hope your custom, sir,” says Pug. “Sure never face was half so smug!"
The Goat, impatient for applause, Swift to the neighboring hill withdraws. The shaggy people grinn'd and star'd. “ Heigh-day! what's here? without a beard' Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace ? What envious hand hath robb'd your face *** When thus the fop, with smiles of scorn, “Are beards by civil nations worn ? Ev'n Muscovites have mow'd their chins. Shall we, like formal Capuchins, Stubborn in pride, retain the mode, And bear about the hairy load ? Whene'er we through the village stray, Are we not mock'd along the way, Insulted with loud shouts of scorn, By boys our beards disgrac'd and torn ?"
"Were you no more with Goats to dwell, Brother, I grant you reason well," Replies a bearded chief. “Beside, If boys can mortify thy pride, How wilt thou stand the ridicule Of our whole flock? Affected fool!"
Coxcombs, distinguish'd from the rest, To all but coxcombs are a jest.
“How can they say that Nature
Has nothing made in vain ? Why then beneath the water
Should hideous rocks remain ? No eyes the rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep.”
All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd she for her dear; Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear; ) When o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied; Then, like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head, and died.
A Goat (as vain as Goat can be)
“ I hate my frowzy beard,” he cries,
Resolv'd to smooth his shaggy face,
As, twing’d with pain, he pensive sits,
"My name, perhaps, hath reach'd your ear;
Thus said, the Phantom disappears.
But now again the Sprite ascends,
Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
Straight all his thought to gain he turns,
The court he quits, to fly from Care,
At length he thus the Ghost addrest:
Next, to a senator addressing,
Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
A purse she to a thief expos'd;
She bids Ambition hold a wand; He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows. “ Blow here ;" and a church-warden blows. 'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat, And on the table smokes a treat.
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, And from all pockets fills her box.
She next a meagre rake addrest.
A counter, in a miser's hand,
A guinea with her touch you see,
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
"Can I such matchless sleight withstand ? How practice hath improv'd your hand! But now and then I cheat the throng; You every day, and all day long."
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
“Is this then he so fam'd for sleight?
Provok'd, the Juggler cried, “ 'Tis done;
Thus said, the cups and balls he play'd;
Vice now stept forth, and took the place,
. This magic looking-glass,” she cries, “ (There, hand it round) will charm your eyes." Each eager eye the sight desir'd, And every man himself admir'd.
FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint ihe flame. The child, whom many fathers share, Hath seldom known a father's care. "Tis thus in friendship; who depend On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare who, in a civil way, Complied with every thing, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain; Her care was never to offend; And every creature was her friend.
As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies. She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; She hears the near advance of death; She doubles, to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round; Till, fainting in the public way, Half-dead with fear she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew, When first the Horse appear'd in view!
“Let me," says she, “your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend. You know my feet betray my flight: To friendship every burthen's light.”
The Horse replied, “ Poor honest Puss,
She next the stately Bull implor'd;
The Goat remark’d, her pulse was high,
The Sheep was feeble, and complain'd, His sides a load of wool sustain'd; Said he was slow, confess'd his fears; For Hounds eat Sheep as well as Hares.
She now the trotting Calf address'd, To save from Death a friend distress'd.
“Shall I,” says he, "of tender age, In this important care engage ? Older and abler pass'd you by ; How strong are those ! how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then; you know my heart; But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament! Adieu ; For, sec, the Hounds are just in view."
“That queen," he said, " to whom we owe
At this, in tears was Cicely seen,
For me, when as I heard that Death
While thus we stood as in a stound,
Quoth I, “ Please God, I'll hie with glee To court, this Arbuthnot to see." I sold my sheep, and lambkins too, For silver loops and garment blue; My boxen hautboy, sweet of sound, For lace that edg'd mine hat around; For Lightfoot, and my scrip, I got A gorgeous sword, and eke a knot.
So forth I far'd to court with speed,
There saw I ladies all a-row,
There many a worthy wight I've seen,
There saw I St. John, sweet of mien Full sted fast both to church and queen ; With whose fair name I'll deck my strain ; St. John, right courteous to the swain.
For thus he told me on a day, “ Trim are thy sonnets, gentle Gay;
THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK,
IN SIX PASTORALS.
WITH THE AUTHOR'S NOTES.
-Libeat mibi sordida rura, Atque humiles habitare casas.-Virg.
PROLOGUE, TO THE RIGHT HON. THE LORD VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE.
Lo, I, who erst beneath a tree Sung Bumkinet and Bowzy bee, And Blouzelind and Marian bright, In apron blue, or apron white, Now write my sonnets in a book, For my good lord of Boling broke.
As lads and lasses stood around To hear my boxen hautboy sound, Our clerk came posting o'er the green With doleful tidings of the queen ;
And, certes, mirth it were to see
Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithesome swain, Thy joyous madrigals twice three,
The wisest lout of all the neighboring plain ! With preface meet, and notes profound, From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies, Imprinted fair, and well ye-bound.”
To know when hail will fall, or winds arise. All suddenly then home I sped,
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view, And did ev'n as my lord bad said.
When stuck aloft, that showers would straight ensue: Lo, here thou hast mine eclogues fair, He first that useful secret did explain, But let not these detain thine ear.
That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain. Let not th' affairs of states and kings
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air, Wait, while our Bouzy beus sings.
He told us that the welkin would be clear. 30 Rather than verse of simple swain
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse, Should stay the trade of France or Spain ; And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse. Or, for the plaint of parson's maid,
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.
I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.
Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch!
Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch. 40 The younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,
My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass. O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear;
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows;
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet :
But Blouzelind 's than gilliflower more fair,
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. 50 And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree :
Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down, Thee Blouzelinda smites, Buxoma me.
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain,
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near;
Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year. Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.
20 With her no sultry summer's heat I know; 60
In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire, Ver. 3. Welkin, the game as welken, an old Saxon word,
My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire! signifying a cloud; by poetical license it is frequently taken for the element, or sky, as may appear by this verse
CUDDY. in the Dream of Chaucer
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noontide labor seem'd an holiday ; - Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or bright. And holidays, if haply she were gone,
Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British authors for Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done. scarce.
Ver. 6. Rear, an expression, in several counties of Eng. land, for early in the morning.
Ver. 25. Erst; a contraction of ere this: it signifies Ver. 7. To ween, derived from the Saxon, to think, or sometime ago, or formerly. conceive.
| Ver. 56. Deft, an old word, signifying brisk, or nimble.