That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing, strong! Thou shouldst have left the fair before 'twas night; But thou sat'st toping till the morning light, Cicely, brisk maid, steps forth before the rout, And kiss'd with smacking lip the snoring lout: (For custom says, "Whoe'er this venture proves, For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves.") By her example Dorcas bolder grows, And plays a tickling straw within his nose. He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke The sneering swains with stammering speech bespoke: To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er, D Of nature's laws his carols first begun, Why the grave owl can never face the sun. For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, And only sing and seek their prey by night. How turnips hide their swelling heads below; And how the closing coleworts upwards grow; How will-a-wisp misleads night-faring clowns O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs. Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail, And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. He sung where woodcocks in the summer feed, And in what climates they renew their breed. (Some think to northern coasts their flight they tend, Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend); Where swallows in the winter's season keep, And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep; How nature does the puppy's eyelid close, Till the bright sun has nine times set and rose ; (For huntsmen by their long experience find, That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind). Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows, For still new fairs before his eyes arose. How pedlars' stalls with glittering toys are laid, The various fairings of the country-maid. Long silken laces hang upon the twine, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine; How the tight lass, knives, combs, and scissars spies, And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes. Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told, Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold. The lads and lasses trudge the street along, The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to tell "All in the land of Essex" next he chants, How to sleek mares starch quakers turn gallants: How the grave brother stood on bank so green→→ Happy for him if mares had never been! Then he was seiz'd with a religious qualm, And on a sudden sung the hundredth psalm. He sung of" Taffey Welsh," and "Sawney Scot," "Lilly-bullero" and the "Irish Trot." Why should I tell of " Bateman," or of "Shore," Or "Wantley's Dragon" slain by valiant Moore; "The Bower of Rosamond," or "Robin Hood," And how the " grass now grows where Troy town stood?" His carols ceas'd: the listening maids and swains Seem still to hear some soft imperfect strains. Sudden he rose; and, as he reels along, Swears kisses sweet should well reward his song. The power that guards the drunk his sleep attends, THE BIRTH OF THE SQUIRE. IN IMITATION OF THE POLLIO OF VIRGIL. Ye sylvan Muses, loftier strains recite: What sudden news alarms the waking morn? Beagles and spaniels round his cradle stand, The bee shall sip the fragrant dew from flowers, His sire's exploits he now with wonder hears, He rode the mighty Nimrod of the plains. fled, What rivers swam, where bay'd, and where he bled. Now he the wonders of the fox repeats, Describes the desperate chase, and all his cheats; |