Sick or well, at sea or shore;
While we 're quaffing,
Let's have laughing—
Who the devil cares for more?
Some good wine! and who would lack it,
Even on board the Lisbon Packet?
NEVER mind how the pedagogue proses,
You want not antiquity's stamp,
The lip that's so scented by roses,
Oh! never must smell of the lamp.
Old Chloe, whose withering kisses
Have long set the loves at defiance,
Now done with the science of blisses,
May fly to the blisses of science !
Young Sappho, for want of employments,
Alone o'er her Ovid may melt,
Condemned but to read of enjoyments,
Which wiser Corinna had felt.
But for you to be buried in books
Oh, FANNY! they're pitiful sages; Who could not in one of your looks
Read more than in millions of pages!
Astronomy finds in your eye
Better light than she studies above,
And music must borrow your sigh
As the melody dearest to love.
In Ethics-'tis you that can check,
In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels
Oh! show but that mole on your neck,
And 'twill soon put an end to their morals.
Your Arithmetic only can trip
When to kiss and to count you endeavor; But eloquence glows on your lip
When you swear that you'll love me forever
Thus you see what a brilliant alliance
Of arts is assembled in you-
A course of more exquisite science
Man never need wish to go through!
And, oh!-if a fellow like me
May confer a diploma of hearts, With my lip thus I seal your degree, My divine little Mistress of Arts!
YOUNG JESSICA sat all the day,
In love-dreams languishingly pining,
Her needle bright neglected lay,
Like truant genius idly shining.
Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts
That love and mischief are most nimble ;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.
A child who with a magnet play'd,
And knew its winning ways so wily,
The magnet near the needle laid,
And laughing, said, "We'll steal it slily."
The needle, having naught to do,
Was pleased to let the magnet wheedle,
Till closer still the tempter drew,
And off, at length, eloped the needle.
Now, had this needle turn'd its eye
To some gay reticule's construction,
It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie,
Nor felt a magnet's sly seduction.
Girls would you keep tranquil hearts,
Your snowy fingers must be nimble;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.
“Go!” said the angry weeping maid,
“The charm is broken!-once betray'd,
Oh! never can my heart rely
On word or look, on oath or sigh.
Take back the gifts, so sweetly given,
With promis'd faith and vows to heaven;
That little ring, which, night and morn,
With wedded truth my hand hath worn;
That seal which oft, in moments blest,
Thou hast upon my lip imprest,
And sworn its dewy spring should be
A fountain seal'd for only thee!
Take, take them back, the gift and vow,
All sullied, lost, and hateful, now!"
I took the ring-the seal I took,
While oh! her every tear and look
Were such as angels look and shed,
When man is by the world misled !
Gently I whisper'd, "FANNY, dear!
Not half thy lover's gifts are here:
Say, where are all the seals he gave
To every ringlet's jetty wave,
And where is every one he printed
Upon that lip, so ruby-tinted-
Seals of the purest gem of bliss,
Oh! richer, softer, far than this!
"And then the ring-my love! recall
How many rings, delicious all,
His arms around that neck hath twisted,
Twining warmer far than this did!
Where are they all, so sweet, so many?
Oh dearest, give back all, if any!"
While thus I murmur'd, trembling too
Lest all the nymph had vow'd was true,
I saw a smile relenting rise
'Mid the moist azure of her eyes,
Like day-light o'er a sea of blue,
While yet the air is dim with dew!
She let her cheek repose on mine,
She let my arms around her twine-
Oh! who can tell the bliss one feels
In thus exchanging rings and seals!
COME, listen to my story, while
Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing some maids will smile,
While some, perhaps, may sigh.
Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames
Such florid songs as ours,
Yet Truth, sometimes, like eastern dames,
Can speak her thoughts by flowers.
Then listen, maids, come listen, while
Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing there's some may smile,
While some, perhaps, will sigh.
Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves,
Such nets had learn'd to frame,
That none, in all our vales and groves,
Ere caught so much small game:
While gentle Sue, less given to roam,
When Cloe's nets were taking
These flights of birds, sat still at home,
One small, neat Love-cage making.
Come, listen, maids, etc.
Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task;.
But mark how things went on :
These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask
Their name and age, were gone!
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove,
That, though she charm'd into them
New game each hour, the youngest Love
Was able to break through them.
Come, listen, maids, etc.
Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought
Of bars too strong to sever,
One Love with golden pinions caught,
And caged him there forever;
Instructing thereby, all coquettes,
Whate'er their looks or ages,
That, though 'tis pleasant weaving Nets,
'Tis wiser to make Cages.
Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile
The task your fingers ply-
May all who hear, like Susan smile,
Ah! not like Cloe sigh!
To make this condiment, your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen-sieve,
Smoothness and softness to the salad give;
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,
And, half-suspected, animate the whole.
Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,
To add a double quantity of salt.
And, lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss
A magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce.
Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat!
'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat;
Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul,
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl!
Serenely full, the epicure would say,
Fate can not harm me, I have dined to-day!
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