On fam'd St. Hubert's feast his winding horn
Shall cheer the joyful hound, and wake the morn:
This memorable day his eager speed
Shall urge with bloody heel the rising steed.
O check the foamy bit, nor tempt thy fate,
Think on the murders of a five-bar gate!
Yet, prodigal of life, the leap he tries,
Low in the dust his groveling honour lies ;
Headlong he falls, and on the rugged stone
Distorts his neck, and cracks the collar-bone.
O venturous youth, thy thirst of game allay:
May'st thou survive the perils of this day!
He shall survive; and in late years be sent
To snore away debates in parliament.

The time shall come when his more solid sense
With nod important shall the laws dispense;
A justice with grave justices shall sit ;
He praise their wisdom, they admire his wit.
No greyhound shall attend the tenant's pace,
No rusty gun the farmer's chimney grace ;
Salmons shall leave their covers void of fear,
Nor dread the thievish net or triple spear ;
Poachers shall tremble at his awful name,
Whom vengeance now o'ertakes for murder'd game.

Assist me, Bacchus, and ye drunken powers, To sing his friendships and his midnight hours !

Why dost thou glory in thy strength of beer, Firm cork'd and mellow'd till the twentieth year; Brew'd, or when Phæbus warms the fleecy sign, Or when his languid rays in Scorpio shine?

Think on the mischiefs which from hence have

sprung! It arms with curses dire the wrathful tongue ; Foul scandal to the lying lip affords, And prompts the memory with injurious words. O where is wisdom when by this o'erpower'd? The state is censur'd, and the maid deflower'd ? And wilt thou still, o Squire, brew ale so strong? Hear then the dictates of prophetic song.

Methinks I see him in his hall appear, Where the long table floats in clammy beer, 'Midst mugs and glasses shatter'd o'er the floor, Dead drunk, his servile crew supinely snore; Triumphant, o'er the prostrate brutes he stands, The mighty bumper trembles in his hands; Boldly he drinks, and, like his glorious sires, In copious gulps of potent ale expires.

SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED

SUSAN.

All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Susan came aboard.

Oh! where shall I my true-love find ?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew.

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, And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
(If chance his mate's shrill call he hear),

And drops at once into her pest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain ;
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.

Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind. They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find:
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
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,

Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard:

They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land: Adieu! she cries; and wav'd her lily hand.

A BALLAD.

FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.

'Twas when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.
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 ?

Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within

my

breast?.

The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,

Sees tempests in despair ;
But what's the loss of treasure

To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on

Where gold and diamonds grow, You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

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; Repay'd each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear; When o'er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she spy'd; Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head and dy'd.