Fancy, whose various figure-tinctur'd vest
Was ever changing to a different hue;
Her head with varied bays and flowrets drest,
Her eyes two spangles of the morning dew.

With dancing attitude she swept thy string; And now she soars, and now again descends; And now reclining on the Zephyr's wing, Unto the velvet-vested mead she bends.

Peace, deckt in all the softness of the dove,
Over thy passions spread her silver plume;
The rosy veil of harmony and love,
Hung on thy soul in one eternal bloom.

Peace, gentlest, softest of the virtues, spread
Her silver pinions, wet with dewy tears,
Upon her best distinguish'd poet's head,
And taught his lyre the music of the spheres.

Temp'rance, with health and beauty in her train
And massy-muscled strength in graceful pride,
Pointed at scarlet luxury and pain,
And did at every frugal feast preside.

Black melancholy stealing to the shade,
With raging madness, frantic loud and dire,
Whose bloody hand displays the reeking blade,
Were strangers to thy heaven-directed lyre.

Content, who smiles in every frown of fate,
Wreath'd thy pacific brow and sooth'd thy ill;
In thy own virtues and thy genius great,
The happy Muse laid every trouble still.

But see the sickening lamp of day retires,
And the meek evening shakes the dusky grey;
The west faint glimmers with the saffron fires,
And like thy life, O Phillips! flies away.

Here, stretch'd upon this Heaven-ascending hill,
I'll wait the horrours of the coming night,
I'll imitate the gently-plaintive rill;
And by the glare of lambient vapours write.

2 Wet with the dew the yellow hawthorns bow;
The rustic whistles thro' the echoing cave;
Far o'er the lea the breathing cattle low,
And the full Avon lifts the darken'd wave.

Now as the mantle of the evening swells Upon my mind, I feel a thick'ning gloom; Ah could I charm by necromantic spells, The soul of Phillips, from the deathy tomb!

Then would we wander thro' this darken'd vale;
In converse such as heavenly spirits use,
And, borne upon the pinions of the gale,
Hymn the Creator, and exert the Muse.

But, horrour to reflection! now no more,
Will Phillips sing, the wonder of the plain!
When, doubting whether they might not adore,
Admiring mortals heard his nervous strain.

See! see! the pitchy vapour hides the lawn,
Nought but a doleful bell of death is heard,
Save where into a blasted oak withdrawn
The scream proclaims the curst nocturnal bird.

• Note on this verse by Chatterton," Expunged as too flowery for grief."

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[Transcribed from a MS. in Chatterton's hand-
HERVENIS, harping on the hackney'd text',
By disquisitions is so sore perplex'd,
He stammers, instantaneously is drawn,
A border'd piece of inspiration lawn,
Which being thrice unto his nose apply'd,
Into his pineal gland the vapours glide;
And now again we hear the doctor roar
On subjects he dissected thrice before;
I own at church I very seldom pray,
For vicars, strangers to devotion, bray.
Sermons, tho' flowing from the sacred lawn,
Are flimsy wires from reason's ingot drawn;
And to confess the truth, another cause
My every prayer and adoration draws;
In all the glaring tinctures of the bow,
The ladies front me in celestial row;
(Tho' when black melancholy damps my joys,
I call them Nature's trifles, airy toys;

Yet when the goddess Reason guides the strain,
I think them, what they are, a heavenly train;)
The amorous rolling, the black sparkling eye,
The gentle hazle, and the optic sly;
The easy shape, the panting semi-globes,
The frankness which each latent charm disrobes;
The melting passions, and the sweet severe,
The easy amble, the majestic air;

The tap'ring waste, the silver-mantled arms,
All is one vast variety of charms.

Say, who but sages stretch'd beyond their span,
Italian singers, or an unman'd man,
Can see Elysium spread upon their brow,
And to a drousy curate's sermon bow.
If (but 'tis seldom) no fair female face
Attracts my notice by some glowing grace,

These lines occur in the Extract from Ker Gardens, p. 477,

Around the monuments I cast my eyes, `
And see absurdities and nonsense rise.
Here rueful-visag'd angels seem to tell
With weeping eyes, a soul is gone to Hell;
There a child's head supported by duck's wings,
With toothless mouth a hallelujah sings:
In fun'ral pile eternal marble burns,

And a good Christian seems to sleep in urns.
A self-drawn curtain bids the reader see
An honorable Welchman's pedigree;

A rock of porph'ry darkens half the place,
And virtues blubber with no awkward grace;
Yet, strange to tell, in all the dreary gloom
That makes the sacred honours of the tomb,
No quarter'd coats above the bel appear,
No batter'd arms, or golden corsets there.




Jupiter, Bacchus,

Cupid, Juno,


[This drama, with the songs, was printed sepa-
rately in the year 1795, from a MS. of Chatter-See, see, my good man steals aside!
ton in the possession of Mr. Atterbury.]

In spite of his thunder,

I make him knock under,

And own the superior right of a bride.


Mr. Reinhold. Mr. Bannister. Master Cheney. Mrs. Thompson.

Act I. Scene I.

I SWEAR by Styx, this usage is past bearing;
My lady Juno ranting, tearing, swearing!
Why, what the devil will my godship do,
If blows and thunder cannot tame a shrew?


Tho' the loud thunder rumbles,
Tho' storms rend the sky;
Yet louder she grumbles,
And swells the sharp cry.

Her jealousy teasing, Disgusting her form: Her music as pleasing As pigs in a storm.

I fly her embraces,
To wenches more fair;
And leave her wry faces,
Cold sighs and despair.


Sighing, Dying,




And oh! ye tedious minutes, steal away;
Come evening, close the folding doors of day;
Night, spread thy sable petticoat around,
And sow thy poppies on the slumb'ring ground;
Then, raving into love, and drunk with charms,
I'll lose my Juno's tongue in Maja's arms.


In the furnace of desire;


Oh! how slow the hours retire!
When the busy heart is beating,
When the bosom's all on fire,
Oh! how welcome is the meeting!
Oh! how slow the hours retire!


But see my fury comes; by Styx I tremble: I'll creep aside-'tis folly to dissemble.


How happy the life

Of a governing wife,

How charming, how easy, the swift minutes pass; Let her do what she will,

The husband is still,

And but for his horns you would think him an ass.

How happy the spouse

In his diguify'd brows;

How worthy with heroes and monarchs to class: Both above and below,

Experience will show,

But take off the horns, and each husband's an ass.



[aside. Zounds, I'll take heart of grace, and brave her clapper;

And, if my courage holds, egad I'll strap her: Thro' all Olympus shall the thunders roll, And Earth shall echo to the mustard bowl, Should she prove sturdy, by the Lord I'll heave hence, [ance. Down to some brandy-shop, this noisy griev


What means this horrid rattle?
And must that tongue of riot
Wage one eternal battle
With happiness and quiet?



What means your saucy question? D'ye think I mind your bluster?


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He neither fills my freezing bed, my heart, nor My vainly-folding arms: Oh! such a partner!


When a woman's ty'd down To a spiritless log;

Let her fondle or frown,

Yet still he's a clog.

Let her please her own mind,
Abroad let her roam;
Abroad she may find,
What she can't find at home.



Ho mistress Juno-here's a storm a brewing-
Your devil of a spouse is always doing-
Pray step aside-This evening, I protest,
Jove and miss Maia-you may guess the rest-


How! What! When! Where! Nay, prithee now unfold it.


'Gad-so I will; for faith I cannot hold it.
His mighty godship in a fiery flurry,
Met me just now-Confusion to his hurry!
I stopt his way, forsooth, and, with a thwack,
He laid a thunderbolt across my back:
Bless me! I feel it now-my short ribs ache yet-
I vow'd revenge, and now by Styx I'll take it.
Miss Maia, in her chamber, after nine,
Receives the thund'rer, in his robes divine;
I undermin'd it all; see, here's the letter:
Could dukes spell worse, whose tutors spelt no

You know false-spelling now is much the fashion


Lend me your drops-Oh! I shall swoon with passion! [gle! I'll tear her eyes out! Oh! I'll stab-I'll stranAnd worse than lover's English, her I'll mangle.


Nay, pray be calm; I've hit of an expedient To do you right—


Sweet Cupid, your obedient


Tie Maia by the leg; steal in her stead,
Into the smuggled raptures of her bed;
When the god enters, let him take possession.



Nay, never stay; delaying may confute it.


O happy thought! I By to execute it.

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An excellent scheme! My joy's beyond expres- Come drink, my boy—



Ah! master Cupid, 'slife I did not s'ye, 'Tis excellent Champagne, and so here's t'ye: I brought it to these gardens as imported, 'Tis bloody strong, you need not twice be courted.


Hence, monster, hence! I scorn thy flowing bowl It prostitutes the sense, degenerates the soul.


Gadso, methinks the youngster's woundy moral! [Exit Juno. He plays with ethics like a bell and coral.

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