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“ This pippin shall another trial inake,
From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne, See from the core two kernels brown I take; 100 And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn. This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn; Yet ev'n this season pleasance blithe affords, And Boobyclod on t other side is borne.
Now the squeez'd press foams with our apple hoards But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground, Come, let us hie, and quaff a cheery bowl, A certain token that his love's unsound;
Let cyder new “ wash sorrow from thy soul.” 10 While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last ; Oh, were his lips to mine but join'd so fast ! • With my sharp heel I three times mark the Ah, Bumkinet! since thou from hence wert
From these sad plains all merriment is flown; And turn me thrice around, around, around.' Should I reveal my grief, 'twould spoil thy cheer, “ As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree,
And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear. I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee. 110 He wist not when the hempen string I drew, Now mine I quickly doff, of inkle blue.
“ Hang sorrow!". Let’s to yonder hut repair, Together fast I tye the garters twain ;
And with trim sonnets “ cast away our care." And while I knit the knot repeat this strain : “ Gillian of Croyđon” well thy pipe can play: · Three times a true love's knot I tye secure, Thou sing'st most sweet, “O'er hills and far away." Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure ! Of “ Patient Grissel" I devise to sing, With my sharp heel I three times mark the And catches quaint shall make the valleys ring. 20 ground,
Come, Grubbinol, beneath this shelter, come; And turn me thrice ound, around, around.'
From hence we view our flocks securely roam. “ As I was wont, I trudg'd last market-day
Yes, blithsome lad, a tale I mean to sing,
But with any woe shall distant valleys ring: Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went,
The tale shall make our kidlings droop their head, And in love-powder all my money spent.
For, woe is me!
- our Blouzelind is dead! Behap what will, next Sunday,
after prayers, When to the alehouse Lubberkin repairs, These golden flies into his mug. I'll throw,
Is Blouzelinda dead ? farewell, my glee! And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow. No happiness is now reserv'd for me. • With my sharp heel I three times mark the As the wood-pigeon coos without his mate, ground,
So shall my doleful dirge bewail her fate. 90 And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 130 of Blouzelinda fair I mean to tell,
The peerless maid that did all maids excel. “ But hold! -our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his
Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed, ears,
And evening tears upon the grass be spread; O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears.
The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow,
The season quite shalt strip the country's pride,
Where'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view,
Woods, dairy, barn, and mows, our passion kney,
When I direct my eyes to yonder wood,
Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood.
When rotten sticks our fuel have supply'd;
in thy look, if right I deem. Were frequently these happy shoulders' charge. 'Tis true yon oaks with yellow tops appear,
Sometimes this crook drew hazel-boughs adosti, And chilly blasts begin to nip the year ;
And stuff"d her apron wide with nuts so brown; 50
Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way, Ver. 109.
Or wallowing 'mid a feast of acorns lay; Necte tribus nodis ternos, Amarylli, colores : Necte, Amarylli, modo; et Veneris dic vincula Latin dirige in the popish hymn, dirige gressus SR
VIRG. as some pretend; but from the Teutonic durch Ver. 123.
laudare, to praise and extol. Whence it is possile Has herbas, atque hæc Ponto mihi lecta venena their dyrke, and our dirge, was a laudatory song to Ipse dedit Mæris.
VIRG. commemorate and applaud the dead. Ver. 127. Ποσον κακόν αύριον οισώ. . THEoc,
COWELL's Interpr.tem. Ver. 131.
Ver. 15. Nescio quid certe est; et Hylax in limine latrat. Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes
VIRG. Aut Alconis habes laudes, aut jurgia Codri. VIEG • Dirge, or dyrge, a mournful ditty, or song of Ver. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch gloorent, to lamentation, orer the dead ; not a contraction of the recreate.
Th' untoward creatures to the stye I drove, The lambkin, which her wonted tendance bred, And whistled all the way — or told my love. Dropp'd on the plains that fatal instant dead; If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie,
Swarm'd on a rotten stick the bees I spy'd, I shall her goodly countenance
Which erst I saw when Goody Dobson dy'd. For there her goodly countenance I've seen,
How shall I, void of tears, her death relate, Set off with kerchief starch'd and pinners clean, When on her darling's bed her mother sate ! 110 Sometimes, like wax, she rolls the butter round These words the dying Blouzelinda spoke, Or with the wooden lily prints the pound. 60 And of the dead let none the will revoke: Whilom I've seen her skim the clouted cream, “ Mother,” quoth she, “let not the poultry need, And press from spungy curds the inilky stream: And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed : But now, alas! these ears shall hear no more Be these my sister's care — and every morn The whining swine surround the dairy door ; Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn; No more her care shall fill the hollow tray, The sickly calf that's hous'd be sure to tend, To fat the guzzling hogs with floods of whey. Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend. Lament, ye swine, in grunting spend your grief, Yet ere I die - see, mother, yonder shelf, For you, like me, have lost your sole relief. There secretly I've hid my worldly pelf. 120
When in the barn the sounding flail I ply, Twenty good shillings in a rag I laid; Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly; 70 Be ten the parson's, for my sermon paid. The poultry there will seem around to stand,
The rest is yours
my spinning-wheel and rake Waiting upon her charitable hand.
Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake; No succour meet the poultry now can find, My new straw hat, that's trimly lin'd with green, for they, like me, have lost their Blouzelind. Let Peggy wear, for she's a damsel clean. Whenever by yon barley-mow I pass,
My leathern bottle, long in harvests try'd, Before my eyes will trip the tidy lass.
Be Grubbinol's - this silver ring beside : pitch'd the sheaves, (oh, could I do so now!) Three silver pennies, and a nine-pence bent, Which she in rows pil'd on the growing mow. A token kind to Bumkinet is sent."
130 There every deale my heart by love was gain'd, Thus spoke the maiden, while the mother cry'd; here the sweet kiss my courtship has explain'd. 80 And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, she dy’d. ih, Blouzelind! that mow I ne'er shall see,
To show their love, the neighbours far and near But thy memorial will revive in me.
Follow'd with wistful look the damsel's bier. Lament, ye fields, and rueful symptoms show; Sprig'd rosemary the lads and lasses bore, Ienceforth let not the smelling primrose grow;
While dismally the parson walk'd before. et weeds, instead of butter-flowers, appear, Upon her grave the rosemary they threw, ind meads, instead of daisies, hemlock bear; The daisy, butter-flower, and endive blue. or cowslips sweet let dandelions spread ;
After the good man warn’d us from his text, 139 'or Blouzelinda, blithsome maid, is dead!
That none could tell whose turn would be the next; sament, ye swains, and o'er her grave bemoan, He said, that Heaven would take her soul, no .nd spell ye right this verse upon her stone: 90
doubt, Here Blouzelinda lies— Alas, alas !
And spoke the hour-glass in her praise - quite out. Veep shepherds — and remember flesh is grass.' To her sweet memory, flowery garlands strung,
O'er her now empty seat aloft were hung.
To ward from man and beast the hallow'd ground; Albeit thy songs are sweeter to mine ear, Lest her new grave the parson's cattle raze, han to the thirsty cattle rivers clear ;
For both his horse and cow the church-yard graze. r winter porridge to the labouring youth,
Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, r buns and sugar to the damsel's tooth;
To drink new cyder mull’d, with ginger warm. 150 et Blouzelinda's name shall tune my lay,
For Gaffer Treadwell told us, by the by, f her I'll sing for ever and for aye.
“ Excessive sorrow is exceeding dry.” When Blouzelind expir’d, the wether's bell
While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, efore the drooping flock tollid forth her knell; 100 Or lasses with soft stroakings milk the cow; ne solemn death-watch click'd the hour she dy'd,
While paddling ducks the standing lake desire, nd shrilling crickets in the chimney cry'd ! Or battening hogs roll in the sinking mire ; he boding raven on her cottage sate,
While moles the crumbled earth in hillocks raise; nd with hoarse croaking warn'd us of her fate ;
So long shall swains tell Blouzelinda's praise.
Thus wail'd the louts in melancholy strain, Till bonny Susan sped across the plain.
160 Ver. 84.
They seized the lass in apron clean array'd, Pro molli violâ, pro purpureo narcisso,
And to the ale-house forc'd the willing maid; Carduus et spinis surgit paliurus acutis. Virg. In ale and kisses they forget their cares, Ver. 90.
And Susan Blouzelinda's loss repairs. t tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen. Ver. 93.
Ver. 153. ule tuum carmen nobis, divine poeta, uale sopor fessis in gramine: quale per æstum
Dum juga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, uleis aquæ saliente sitim restinguere rivo.
Dumque thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicada, os tamen hæc quocunque modo tibi nostra vicissim, Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque mane
VIRG. icemus, Daphninque tuum tollemus ad astra.
Virg. V'er. 96. An initation of Theocritu.
For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, SATURDAY; OR, THE FLIGHTS.
And only sing and seek their prey by night.
And how the closing coleworts upwards grow;
How Will-o-wisp misleads night-faring clowns SOBLIMER strains, O rustic Muse! prepare ; O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care;
Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail, Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise,
And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail
. 60 The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays; He sung where woodcocks in the Summer feed, With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse,
And in what climates they renew their breed, (tend, While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse. (Some think to northern coasts their flight they
'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil Or to the Moon in midnight hours ascend); Of the ripe harvest 'gan to rid the soil ;
Where swallows in the Winter's season keep, Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout, And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep, Clean damsels bound the gather'd sheaves about; 10 How Nature does the puppy's eyelid close The lads, with sharpen’d hook and sweating brow, Till the bright Sun has nine times set and rose; Cut down the labours of the winter plough. (For huntsmen by their long experience find, To the near hedge young Susan steps aside, That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind.) 70 She feign'd her coat or garter was unty'd;
Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows, Whate'er she did, she stoop'd adown unseen,
For still new fairs before his eyes arose. And merry reapers what they list will ween. How pedlars' stalls with glittering toys are laid, Soon she rose up, and cry'd with voice so shrill, The various fairings of the country maid. That Echo answer'd from the distant hill ;
Long silken laces hang upon the twine, The youths and damsels ran to Susan's aid, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine; Who thouglit some adder had the lass dismay'd. 20 How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissors spies, When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spy'd,
And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes. His hat and oaken staff lay close beside;
Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told, That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing,
Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold. 80 Or with the rosin'd bow torment the string;
The lads and lasses trudge the street along, That Bowzybeus who, with fingers speed,
And all the fair is crowded in his song. Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed; The mountebank now treads the stage, and selk That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue,
His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells; Ballads and roundelays and catches sung :
Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright, And on the rope the venturous maiden swings; And in disport surround the drunken wight. 30 Jack Pudding in his party-colour'd jacket
" Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet. The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats, strong!
Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cheats 9 Thou should'st have left the fair before 'twas night; Then sad he sung the Children in the Wood: But thou sat'st toping till the morning light." (Ah, barbarous uncle, stain'd with infant blood!)
Cicely, brisk maid, steps forth before the rout, How blackberries they pluck'd in deserts wild, And kiss'd with smacking lip the snoaring lout: And fearless at the glittering falchion smild; (For custom says, “ Whoe'er this venture proves, Their little corpse the robin-red-breasts found, For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves."') And strow'd with pious bill the leaves around By her example Dorcas bolder grows,
(Ah, gentle birds ! if this verse lasts so long, And plays a tickling straw within his nose. 40 Your names shall live for ever in my song.) He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke (spoke : For Buxom Joan he sung the doubtful strife, The sneering swains with stammering speech be- How the sly sailor made the maid a wife. “ To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er,
To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to tell As for the maids — I've something else in store." What woeful wars in Chevy-chace befell,
No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song, When Percy drove the deer with hound and bom, But lads and lasses round about him throng. Wars to be wept by children yet unborn! Not ballad-singer plac'd above the crowd
Ah, Witherington! more years thy life had crown'd, Sings with a note so shrilling sweet and loud; If thou hadst never heard the horn or hound ! Nor parish-clerk, who calls the psalm so clear, Yet shall the 'squire, who fought on bloody stumps Like Bowzybeus soothes th' attentive ear. 50 By future bards be wail'd in doleful dumps. Of Nature's laws his carols first begun,
All in the land of Essex next he chants, Why the grave owl can never face the Sun. How to sleek mares starch quakers turn gallants: Ver. 22.
Ver. 51. Our swain had possibly read Tusse, Serta procul tantum capiti delapsa jacebant. Virg. from whence he might have collected these philose Ver. 40.
phical observations: Sanguineis frontem moris et tempora pingit. Virg. Namque canebat, uti magnum per inane coacta, &c. Ver. 43.
Ver. 97. Carmina, quæ vultis, cognoscite ! carmina vobis ; Fortunati ambo, si quid mea carmina possunt, Huic aliud mercedis erit.
Ving. Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo. Virs Ver. 47.
Ver. 99. A song in the comedy of Love for Love Nec tantum Phæbo gaudet Parnassia rupes : beginning “ A soldier and a sailor," &c. Nec tantum Rhodope mirantur et Ismarus Orphea. Ver. 109. A song of Sir J. Denbain's
How the grave brother stood on bank so green When, starting from her silver dream,
Thus far and wide was heard her scream.
“ That Raven on yon left-hand oak And on a sudden sung the hundredth psalm. (Curse on his ill-betiding croak !)
He sung of Taffey Welch, and Sawney Scot, Bodes me no good.” No more she said, Lilly-bullero, and the Irish Trot.
When poor blind Ball, with stumbling tread, Why should I tell of Bateman, or of Shore,
Fell prone ; o'erturn'd the pannier lay, Or Wantley's Dragon, slain by valiant Moor, And her mash'd eggs bestrow'd the way. The Bower of Rosamond, or Robin Hood,
She, sprawling in the yellow road, And how the grass now grows where Troy town Rail'd, swore, and curs'd: “ Thou croaking toad, stood ?
120 A murrain take thy whoreson throat ! His carols ceas'd: the listening maids and swains I knew misfortune in the note.” Seem still to hear some soft imperfect strains.
“ Dame," quoth the Raven, “ spare your oaths, Sudden he rose ; and, as he reels along,
Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes.
Goody, the fault was all your own;
For, had you laid this brittle ware
Though all the Ravens of the hundred
THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.
“ Why are those tears? why droops your head?
“ Alas! you know the cause too well; # The salt is spilt, to me it fell ;
Then, to contribute to my loss,
My knife and fork were laid across ; --- On Friday too! the day I dread!
Would I were safe at home in bed !
“ Unhappy Widow, cease thy tears,
Betwixt her swagging panniers' load
VIRG. Ver. 117. Quid loquar aut Scyllam Nisi, &c.
VIRG. Ver. 117—120. Old English ballads.
In other men we faults can spy,
A Turkey, tir'd of common food,
An Ant, who climb'd beyond his reach,
ATTHEW GREEN, a truly original poet, was born, is further attested, that he was a man of grey probably at London, in 1696. His parents were re- probity and sweetness of disposition, and that ! spectable Dissenters, who brought him up within conversation abounded with wit, but of the mos the limits of the sect. His learning was confined to offensive kind. He seems to have been subject a little Latin ; but, from the frequency of his clas- low-spirits, as a relief from which he composed to sical allusions, it may be concluded that what he principal poem, “ The Spleen.” He passed by read when young, he did not forget. The austerity life in celibacy, and died in 1737, at the early as in which he was educated had the effect of inspiring of forty-one, in lodgings in Gracechurch-street
. him with settled disgust; and he fed from the The poems of Green, which were not made pub gloom of dissenting worship when he was no longer lic till after his death, consist of “ The Splera;" compelled to attend it. Thus set loose from the “ The Grotto ;" “ Verses on Barclay's Apologet," opinions of his youth, he speculated very freely “ The Seeker,” and some smaller pieces, all court on religious topics, and at length adopted the sys-prised in a small volume. In manner and sabat tem of outward compliance with established forms they are some of the most original in our language. and inward laxity of belief. He seems at one They rank among the easy and familiar, but are time to have been much inclined to the principles replete with uncommon thoughts, new and strike of Quakerism; but he found that its practice would images, and those associations of remote idas not agree with one who lived “ by pulling off the some unexpected similitudes, in which wit prio hat." We find that he had obtained a place in the cipally consists. Few poems will bear more te Custom house, the duties of which he is said to have peated perusals; and, with those who can fully enter discharged with great diligence and fidelity. It l into them, they do not fail to become favourites.
AX EPISTLETO MR. CUTHBERT JACKSON.
School-helps I want, to climb on high,
Where all the ancient treasures lie,
On wealth in Greek exchequers left.
Then where? from whom ? what can I steal,
Who only with the moderns deal ?
This were attempting to put on
Raiment from naked bodies wont :
They safely sing before a thief,
They cannot give who want relief ;
Some few excepted, names well known,
And justly laurel’d with renown, Allowing for a vapour'd Muse :
Whose stamp of genius marks their ware, Nor to a narrow path confin'd,
And theft detects : of theft beware;
From More s so lash'd, example fit,
Shun petty larceny in wit.
[ First know, my friend, I do not mean Nothing is stol'n: my Muse, though mean,
To write a treatise on the spleen;
# A painted vest Prince Vortiger had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won. .“ In this poem,” Mr. Melmoth says, “there
Howard's British Prince are more original thoughts thrown together than he
§ James More Smith, esq.
See Dunciad, B. had ever read in the same compass of lines."
1. 50. and the notes, where the circumstances i FrTZOSBORNE's Letters, p. 114. the transaction here alluded to are very su * Gildou's Art of Poetry.