Here ended all the phantom-play; Poor Edwin falls to floor: Through all the land before! But, soon as dan Apollo rose, Full jolly creature home he goes! He feels his back the less; His honest tongue and steady mind Had rid him of the lump behind, Which made him want success: With lusty livelyhed he talks, He seems a-dauncing as he walks; His story soon took wind; And beauteous Edith sees the youth Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, Without a bunch behind! The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd, At close of eve he leaves his home, All on the gloomy plain. But, certes, sorely sunk with woe His spirits in him die; When Oberon cries, "A man is near; A mortal passion, cleped fear, Hangs flagging in the sky." With that sir Topaz, hapless youth! To tread the circling haunt. Thy cause to come we know: Are free to work thee woe." They sit, they drink, and eat; $133. Song. THOMSON. For once, O Fortune! hear my prayer, Make but the dear Amanda mine. matter, When copper ran low he made light of the | But the barber persisted (ah, could I relate 'em) To ply her with compliments soft as pomatum, And took ev'ry occasion to flatter and praise her, Till she fancied his wit was as keen as his razor. He protested besides, if she'd grant his petition, She should live like a lady of rank and condition; And to Billingsgate market no longer repair, But himself all her business would do to a hair. [Platter, Would not let this superlative shaver alone, The fair one whose charms did the barber By love strange effects have been wrought, we Though 'tis very well known he liv'd under the First, he courted his charmer in sorrowful fashion, And lied like a lawyer to move her compassion: And a barber to slay was a barbarous deed. If valor deserv'd the regard of the fair, [clare, to disclose How many brave fellows he'd took by the nose. For his politics too, they were thoroughly known, A patriot he was to the very backbone; For a periwig-maker ne'er wanted a caul. [bell; their cousins, In the halter of wedlock are tied up by dozens. Cut down into majors, queues, scratches, and Muscle-mongers and oyster-inen, crimps and coalheavers, And butchers with marrow-bones smiting their cleavers: Shrimp-scalders and bug-killers, tailors and tilers, Boys, botchers, bawds, bailiffs, and blackpudding boilers. From their voices united such melody flow'd, While St. Andrew's brave bells did so loud and From Billingsgate beauties I've long borne the vour: Then d'ye think I'll take up with a two-penny shaver? "Let dory, or turbot the sov'reign of fish, Let sturgeon and sprats in one pickle unite, bite. have given ten pounds to 've been out of their hearing. For his fee, when the parson this couple had As no cash was forthcoming, he took it in § 135. William and Margaret. WHEN all was wrapt in dark midnight, Het face was like the April morn So shall the fairest face appear When youth and years are flown; Her bloom was like the springing flow'r But love had, like the canker-worm, The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; Awake! she cried, thy true-love calls, This is the dark and fearful hour When injur'd ghosts complain: How could you promise love to me, How could you say my lip was sweet, That face, alas! no more is fair, Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, The hungry worm my sister is, And cold and weary lasts our night But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence: Come see, false man! how low she lies Now birds did sing, and Morning smil'd, He hied him to the fatal place And thrice he call'd on Marg'ret's name, § 136. Lucy and Colin. OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, Till luckless love, and pining care, Her coral lips and damask cheeks, O have you seen a lily pale, When beating rains descend? Of vengeance due to broken vows, I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which beckons me away. Am I to blame because his bride Ah Colin! give not her thy vows, Vows due to me alone; Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there! There bear my corpse, ye comrades, bear, I in my winding-sheet. She spoke, she died! her corse was borne, Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? The damps of death bedew'd his brows, From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!) The varying crimson fled; She saw her husband dead. Convey'd by trembling swains, Oft at this grave the constant hind, But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art, When, fairly run down, the fox yields up his breath, The high-mettled racer is in at the death. Grown aged, us'd up, and turn'd out of the stud, [some blood; Lame, spavin'd, and wind-gall'd, but yet with While knowing postilions his pedigree trace, Tell his dam won this sweepstakes, his sire gain'd that race; [o'er, And what matches he won to the ostlers count As they loiter their time at some hedge-alehouse door; While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad, The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road. Till, at last, having labor'd, drudg'd early and late, Bow'd down by degrees, he bends to his fate; Blind, old, lean, and feeble, he tugs round a [stands still. mill, Or draws sand, till the sand of his hour-glass And now, cold and lifeless, expos'd to the view In the very same cart which he yesterday drew, While a pitying crowd his sad relics surrounds, The high-mettled racer is sold for the hounds! § 139. Poor Jack. By the same. Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like; A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me, And shiver each splinter of wood; Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse every thing tight, And under reef'd foresail we'll scud. Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft To be taken for trifles aback, For they says there's a Providence sits up aloft To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver one day About souls, heaven, mercy, and such, And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay! Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch. But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye Without orders that come down below, [see, And many fine things that prov'd clearly to me That Providence takes us in tow. For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft Take the top-sails of sailors aback, [so oft To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. I said to our Poll, for you see she would cry, When at last we weigh'd anchor for sea, What argufies sniv'ling, and piping your eye? Why, what a damn'd fool you must be! Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore? And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, Why, you never will hear of me more. What then? all's a hazard: come don't be so | From the moment the anchor's a-trip. ends, Nought's a trouble from duty that springs; For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's, And as for my life, 'tis the king's. When Theseus on the naked shore D'ye think she did her fate deplore, Almost half-gone with wine. Ma'am Helen lov'd the Phrygian boy, Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me He ne'er had brought her safe to Troy so soft As for grief to be taken aback : That same little cherub that sits up aloft Will look out a good birth for Poor Jack. § 140. By the same. Or all sensations pity brings, To proudly swell the ample heart, From which the willing sorrow springs, Tis the tear that bedews a soldier's grave. For hard and painful is his lot; Let dangers come, he braves them all Valiant, perhaps, to be forgot, Or undistinguish'd doom'd to fall. Yet wrapt in conscious worth secure, The world, that now forgets his toil, He views from a retreat obscure, ; And quits it with a willing smile. Then, trav'ller, one kind drop bestow, "Twere graceful pity, nobly brave; Nought ever taught the heart to glow Like the tear that bedews a soldier's grave. § 141. By the same. WHAT though from Venus Cupid sprung, (Whate'er the bawling bards have sung) But for the wife of Thone. She, merry gossip, mix'd a cup Of tipple right divine, To keep love's flagging spirits up, Of Lethe, and its flow'ry brink, Grief finds the palace and the cot, § 142. By the sume. Him see big world, fine warrior men, Virtue in foe be virtue still, Fine stone be found in mine: If cruel man, like tiger grim, Fine stone be found in mine: Make warm where'er him shine. ! |