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Haply some friend may shake his hoary head | And looking grave— You must, says he, And say, “ Each morn unchill'd by frosts' Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.' he ran,
With you? and quit my Susan's side? With hose ungarter'd, o'er yon turfy bed, With you?' the hapless husband cried : To reach the chapel ere the psalms began;
• Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard ! “ There, in the arms of that lethargic chair,
| Besides, in truth, I'm not prepar'd:
| My thoughts on other matters go; Which rears its old moth-eaten back so high,
| This is my wedding night, you know.' At noon he quaff'd three glasses to the fair,
What more he urg'd I have not heard, And por'd upon the news with curious eye. His reason could not well be stronger; "Now by the fire engag'd in serious talk, So Death the poor delinquent spar'd, Or mirthful converse, would he loitering And left to live a little longer. stand,
| Yet calling up a serious look, Then in the garden choose a sunny walk, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke Or launch'd the polish'd bowl with steady Neighbour,' he said, “ farewell: no more hand.
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour : “ One morn we miss'd him at the hour of And farther, to avoid all blame prayer,
Of cruelty upon my name,
Before you 're summond to the grave :
And grant a kind reprieve; That day to church he led a blushing bride,
» | In hopes you'll have no more to say, A nymph whose snowy vest and maiden fear
| But when I call again this way,
B Improv'd her beauty while the knot was tied.
Well pleas'd the world will leave.' “Now, by his patron's bounteous care remov'd, To these conditions both consented,
He roves enraptur'd thro' the fields of Kent; | And parted perfectly contented. Yet, ever mindful of the place he lov’d,
What next the hero of our tale befel, Read here the letter which he lately sent:" How long he liv’d, how wise, how well,
How roundly he pursu'd his course,
And smok'd his pipe, and strok'd his horse,
The willing muse shall tell : In rural innocence secure I dwell,
He chaffer'd then, he bought, he sold, Alike to fortune and to fame unknown :
Nor once perceiv'd his growing old, Approving conscience cheers my humble cell, I Nor thought of Death as near:
And social quiet marks me for her own. His friends not false,- his wife no shrew, Next to the blessings of religious truth,
Many his gains, his children few, Two gifts my endless gratitude engage
He pass d his hours in peace : A wife, the joy and transport of my youth; But while he view'd his wealth increase, Now with a son, the comfort of my age,
While thus along life's dusty road Seek not to draw me from this kind retreat
The beaten track content he trod,
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, In loftier spheres unfit, untaught to move;
| Uncalld, unheeded, unawares, Content with calm domestic life, where meet The sweets of friendship, and the smiles of
FI Brought on his eightieth year.
And now, one night. in musing mood,
And all alone, he sate,
Once more before him stood. $ 175. The Three Warnings. A Tale.
Half kill'd with anger and surprise,
• So soon return'd!' old Dobson cries. The tree of deepest root is found
• So soon, d'ye call it?' Death replies ; Least willing still to quit the ground : • Surely my friend, you're but in jest; 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
Since I was here before That love of life increas'd with years
'Tis six-and-thirty years at least, So much, that in our latter stages,
And you are now fourscore.' When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, So much the worse,' the clown rejoin'd; The greatest love of life appears.
To spare the aged would be kind : This great affection to believe,
However, see your search be legal; Which all confess, but few perceive,
And your authority-is't regal ? If old assertions can't prevail,
Else you are come on a fool's errand, Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale.
With but a secretary's warrant. When sports went round, and all were gay, Besides, you promis'd me three warnings, On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day,
Which I have look'd for nights and mornings; Death call'd aside the jocund groom
But for that loss of time and ease, With himn into another room;
I can recover damages.'
I know,' cries Death, that at the best, I Sir Traffic's name, so well applied, I seldom am a welcome guest;
Awak’d his brother-merchant's pride; But don't be captious, friend at least :
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utinost def'rence to his wife,
And by th' approaching summer season I wish you joy, though, of your strength!' Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
* Hold,' says the farmer, not so fast! And purchases his country box. I have been lame these four years past.'
Some three or four miles out of town • And no great wonder,' Death replies; (An hour's ride will bring you down) However, you still keep your eyes;
He fixes on his choice abode,
* Perhaps,' says Dobson, ‘so it might, The stages pass it every day; But latterly I've lost my sight.'
And theu so sing, so mighty pretty, This is a shocking story, faith;
To have a house so near the city! Yet there's some comfort still,' says Death: | Take but your places at the Boar, Each strives your sadness to amuse;
You're set down at the very door. I warrant you hear all the news.'
Well then, suppose them fix'd at last, There's none,' cries he; and if there White washing, painting, scrubbing pasi, were,
Hugging themselves in ease and clover, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.' With all the fuss of moving over;
Nay, then!' the spectre stern rejoin'd, Lo, a new heap of whims are bred, · These are unjustifiable yearnings;
And wanton in my lady's head. If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
• Well! to be sure, it must be own'd, You have had your three sufficient warnings. It is a charming spot of ground: So come along, no more we'll part :'
So sweet a distance for a ride, He said, and touch'd him with his dart; And all about so countrified; And now old Dobson turning pale,
"Twould come but to a trifling price, Yields to his fate-50 ends my tale.
To make it quite a paradise !
I cannot bear those nasty rails, $ 176. The Cit's Country Box. LLOYD.
Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales: Vos sapere, et solos aio bene vivere, quorum
Suppose, my dear, instead of these, Conspicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis. Hor. l We build a railing all Chinesc;
Although one hates to be expos'd, The wealthy cit, grown old in trade, 'Tis dismal to be thus enclos'd; Now wishes for the rural shade,
One hardly any object sees And buckles to his one-horse chair
I wish you'd féll these odious trees, Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare:
Objects continually passing by, While wedg'd in closely by his side,
Were something to amuse the eye; Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride,
But to be pent within the walls, With Jacky on a stool before 'em,
One might as well be at St. Paul's. And out they jog in due decorum.
Our house beholders would adore, Scarce past the turnpike half a mile,
Was there a level lawn before, • How all the country seems to smile!' Nothing its views to incommode, And as they slowly jog together,
But quite laid open to the road; The cit conimends the road and weather: While every traveller in amaze, While Madam doats upon the trees,
Should on our little mansion gaze; And longs for ev'ry house she sees;
And, pointing to the choice retreat, Admires its views, its situation,
Cry, " That's Sir Thrifty's country-seat!" And thus she opens her oration:
No doubt her arguments prevail, What signifies the loads of wealth,
For Madam's TASTE can never fail. Without that richest jewel, health?
Blest age! when all men may procure Excuse the fondness of a wife,
The title of a connoisseur ; Who doats upon your precious life!
When noble and ignoble herd Such ceaseless toil, such constant care,
Are govern'd by a single word; Is more than human strength can bear: Though, like the royal German dames, One may observe it in your face
It bears an hundred Christian names, Indeed, my dear, you break apace;
As Genius, Fancy, Judgement, Gout, And nothing can your health repair,
Whim, Caprice, Je ne scais quoi, Virtù ; But exercise and country air.
Which appellations all describe Sir Traffic has a house, you know,
Taste, and the modern tasteful tribe. About a mile from Cheney-row:
Now bricklayers, carpenters, and joiners, He's a good man, indeed,''tis true;
With Chinese artists and designers, But not so warm, my dear, as you :
Produce their schemes of alteration, And folks are always apt to sneer
To work this wondrous reformation, One would not be outdone, my dear!'
The useful dome, which secret stood, On the whole it appears, and my argument Embosom'd in the yew tree's wood,
shows, The traveller with amazement sees
With a reasoning the court will never conA temple Gothic or Chinese,
demn, With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the And crested with a sprawling dragon;
Nose, A wooden arch is bent astride
And the Nose was as plainly intended for A ditch of water, four feet wide,
them. With angles, curves, and zig-zag lines,
Then shifting his side, as the lawyer knows how, From Halfpenny's exact designs;
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes; In front a level lawn is seen,
But what were the arguments few people know, Without a shrub upon the green ;
For the world did not think they were equalWhere taste would want its first great law,
ly wise. But for the skulking sly ha-ha; By whose miraculous assistance
So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn You gain a prospect two fields' distance.
tone, And now from Hyde-park Corner come
Decisive and clear, without one if or butThe gods of Athens and of Rome.
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, Here squabby Cupids take their places,
By day-light or candle-light-Eyes should With Venus, and the clumsy Graces;
be shut. Apollo there, with aim so clever, Stretches his leaden bow for ever,
8 178. On the Birth-Day of Shakspeare. A And there, without the power to fly,
Canto. Taken from his Works. BerenGER. Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.
Natura lapsa valere, et mentis viribus excitari, The villa thus completely grac'd,
et quasi quodam divino spiritu afflari. All own that Thrifty has a taste; And Madam's female friends and cousins,
Peace to this meeting! With common-council men by dozens,
Joy and fair time, health and good wishes: Flock every Sunday to the seat,
Now, worthy friends, the cause why we are met, To stare about them and to eat.
Is in celebration of the day that gave
The most replenished sweet work of nature, $177. Report of an adjudged Case, not to be Which from the prime creation e'er she fram'd.
found in any of the Books. Cowper. 10 thou divinest Nature! how thyself thou BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest blazon'st arose;
In this thy son! form'd in thy prodigality, The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; To hold thy mirror up, and give the time The point in dispute was, as all the world Its very forin and pressure! When he speaks knows,
Each aged ear plays truant at his tales,
darou'd the So voluble is his discourse-gentle
As Zephyr blowing beneath the violet, With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of Not wagging its sweet head-yet as rough learning;
(His noble blood enchaf’d) as the rude wind, While chief baron Ear sat to balance the
| That by the top doth take the mountain pine So fam'd for his talent in nicely discerning.
And make him stoop to th' vale- 'Tis wonder
ful In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, That an invisible instinct should frame him And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly To loyalty, unlearn'd; honor, untaught; find,
Civility, not seen in others; knowledge That the Nose has had spectacles always in That wildly grows in him, but yields a crop wear,
As if it had been sown. What a piece of work! Which amounts to possession time out of | How noble in faculty! infinite in reason! mind.
A combination and á form indeed, Then holding the spectacles up to the court- Where every god did seem to set his seal! Your lordship observes they are made with Heaven has him now—yet let our idolatrous a straddle,
Still sanctify his relics; and this day [fancy As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, Stand aye distinguish'd in the kalendar Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. To the last syllable of recorded time:
For, if we take him but for all in all, Again, would your lordship a moment sup
We ne'er shall look upon his like again. pose ('Tis a case that has happen'd and may be again)
$ 179. On the Invention of Letters. That the visage or countenance had not a Tell me what Genius did the art invent, Nose,
The lively image of the voice to paint; Pray who would or who could wear specta- Who first the secret how to colour sound, cles then?
| And to give shape to reason, wisely found :
With bodies how to clothe ideas, taught; Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
His pliant votes and bows.
Full-bottoms come instead ! And spreads her accents through the world's Good lord ! to see the various ways. vast round;
Of dressing a calf s-head. A voice heard by the deaf, spoke by the dumb, Whose echo reaches long, long time to come: Which dead men speak, as well as those alive $ 183. Șlender's Ghost. SHEXSTONE. Tell me what Genius did this art contrive.
Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent,
Beneath a church-yard yew, $ 180. The Answer.
Decay'd and worn with age,
O sweet! O sweet Anne Page !
Come learn of me to weep your woes!
O sweet! O sweet Anne Page! ARTIST, who underneath my table
Why should such labor'd strains
Your formal Muse engage?
I never dreamt of flame or dart,
That fir'd my breast, or pierc'd my heart,
But sighd, O sweet Anne Page!
And you, whose love-sick minds
No medicine can assuage,
Accuse the leech's art no more, And spread thy banners round my room.
But learn of Slender to deplore, Swept from the rich man's costly ceiling,
O sweet! O sweet Anne Page ! , Thou'rt welcome to my homely roof; Here mayst thou find a peaceful dwelling,
And you, whose souls are held
Like linnets in a cage, And undisturb'd attend thy woof:
Who talk of fetters, links, and chains, Whilst I thy wondrous fabric stare at,
Attend, and imitate my strains: . And think on hapless poet's fate;
O sweet! O sweet Anne Page !
And you, who boast or grieve,
What horrid wars ye wage, And as from out thy tortur'd body
| Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye; Thou draw'st thy slender string with pain; | Yet mean as I do when I sigh. So does he labor, like a noddy,
O sweet! O sweet Anne Page! To spin materials from his brain :
Hence every fond conceit He for some fluttering tawdry creature,
Of shepherd, or of sage! That spreads her charms before his eye;
'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way And that's a conquest little better
Expresses all you have to say Than thine o'er captive butterfly.
O sweet! Ó sweet Anne Page! Thus far 'tis plain we both agree,
Perhaps our deaths may better show it'Tis ten to one but penury
$ 184. Hamlet's Soliloquy imitated. Jago. Ends both the spider and the poet.
To print, or not to print-that is the question
The quirks and crotchets of outrageous fancy, $ 182. The Extent of Cookery. Shenstone.
| Or send a well-wrote copy to the press, Aliusque et idem.
And, by disclosing, end them. To print, to
doubt When Tom to Cambridge first was sent,
No more ; and by one act to say we end A plain brown bod he wore,
The head-ache, and a thousand natural shock Read much, and look'd as though he meant
Of scribbling phrensy'ris a consuinmation To be a fop no more.
Devoutly to be wish'd. To print-to bean See him to Lincoln's Inn repair,
From the same shelf with Pope, in calf wed His resolution Aag;
bound: He cherishes a length of hair,
To sleep, perchance, with Quarles-Ay, theret And tucks it in a bag.
For to what class a writer may be doom'd, His coach was kept clean, and no mothers or When he hath shuffled off some paltry stuff,
[his horses. Must give us pause. There's the respect that Took that care of their babes that he took of makes
He had these-aye, and fifty good qualities Th' unwilling poet keep his piece nine years.
(o'er. For who would bear ihe impatient thirst of | But the business of tippling could ne'er be got fame,
So his master effectually mended the matter, The pride of conscious merit, and, 'bove all, | By hiring a man who drank nothing but water. The tedious importunity of friends,
Now, William, says he, you see the plain case; When he himself might his quietus make Had you drank as he does, you had kept a good With a bare inkhorn? Who would fardels place.
(done so, bear,
Drink water ! quoth William-had all men To groan and sweat under a load of wit, You'd never have wanted a coachman, I trow, But that the tread of sweet Parnassus' hill They're soakers, like me, whom you load with (That undiscover'd country, with whose bays
[coaches. Few travellers return) puzzles the will,
That enable you brewers to ride in your And makes us rather bear to live unknown, Than run the hazard to be known and damn'd. Thus critics do make cowards of us all;
$ 187. Ode on the Death of Matzel, a favorite And thus the healthful face of many a poem
Bullfinch. Addressed to Philip Stanhope, Is sicklied o'er with a pale manuscript';
Esq.(nutural Son of the Earl of Chesterfield) And enterprises of great fire and spirit
to whom the Author had given the Reversion of With this regard from Dodsley turn away,
it when he left Dresden. WILLIAMS. And lose the name of Authors.
Try not, my Stanhope, 'tis in vain,
To stop your tears, or hide your pain, $185. To the Memory of George Lewis Lang- Or check your honest rage : ton, Esq. who died on his Travels to Rome. Give sorrow and revenge their scope,
SHIPLEY. My present joy, your future hope, LANGTON, dear partner of my soul,
Lies murder'd in his cage. Accept what pious passion meditates
Matzel's no more! Ye graces, loves, To grace thy fate. Sad memory,
Ye linnets, nightingales, and doves, And grateful love and impotent regret,
Attend th' untiniely bier; Shall wake to paint thy gentle mind,
Let every sorrow be express'd, The wise good-nature, friendship delicate;
Beat with your wings each mournful breast, In secret converse, native mirth
And drop the nat'ral tear.
In height of song, in beauty's pride,
By fell Grimalkin's claws he died That led thee far through foreign climes
"But vengeance shall have way; Inquisitive, but chief the pleasant banks
On pains and tortures I 'll refine; Of Tiber, ever-honor'd stream,
Yet, Matzel, that one death of thine Detain'd thee visiting the last remains
His nine will ill repay.
For thee, my bird, the sacred Nine,
Of theatres. In deep thought wrapp'd In thy funereal verse :
Th' eternal dirge which they indite,
In vain I lov'd, in vain I mourn
| My bird, who never to return Well did the gen'rous search employ
Is fled to happier shades, Thy blooming years by virtue crown'd, though | Where Lesbia shall for him prepare death
The place most charming and most fair,
Of all th' Elysian glades.
There shall thy notes in cypress grove
Soothe wretched ghosts that died for love; O worthy longest days! for thee shall Aow The pious solitary tear,
There shall thy plaintiye strain. And thoughtful friendship sadden o'er thine Lull impious Phædra's endless grief,
To Procris yield some short relief, urn.
And soften Dido's pain :
And love thee with my love;
And all his songs approve.