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Rang'd cups, that in the window stood,
The Goat he welcomes with an air,
" I hope your custom, sir,” says Pug. Sure never face was half so smug!”.
The Goat, impatient for applause, Swift to the neighboring hill withdraws. The shaggy people grinn'd and star'd. “Heigh-day! what's here? without a beard' Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace ? What envious hand hath robb’d your face ?" When thus the fop, with smiles of scorn, “Are beards by civil nations worn ? Ev'n Muscovites have mow'd their chins. Shall we, like formal Capuchins, Stubborn in pride, retain the mode, And bear about the hairy load ? Whene'er we through the village stray, Are we not mock'd along the way, Insulted with loud shouts of scorn, By boys our beards disgrac'd and torn ?"
Were you no more with Goats to dwell, Brother, I grant you reason well,” Replies a bearded chief. Beside, If boys can mortify thy pride, How wilt thou stand the ridicule Of our whole flock? Aflected fool!”
Corcombs, distinguish'd from the rest, To all but coxcombs are a jest.
“ 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 10 weep.".
All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd she for her dear; Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear; When o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied ; Then, like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head, and died.
THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEARD.
'Tis certain that the modish passions
A Goat (as vain as Goat can be)
“ I hate my frow zy beard,” he cries,
Resolv'd to smooth his shaggy face,
THE UNIVERSAL APPARITION.
As, twing'd with pain, he pensive sits,
• My name, perhaps, hath reach'd your ear;
Thus said, the Phantom disappears.
But now again the Sprite ascends,
Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
Straight all his thought to gain he turns,
The court he quits, to fly from Care,
At length he thus the Ghost addrest :
Next, to a senator addressing,
Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
A purse she to a thief expos'd ;
She bids Ambition hold a wand; He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows. " Blow here ;" and a church-warden blows. 'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat, And on the table smokes a treat.
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, And from all pockets fills her box.
She next a meagre rake addrest.
A counter, in a miser's hand,
A guinea with her touch you see,
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
“Can I such matchless sleight withstand ? How practice hath improv'd your hand! But now and then I cheat the throng; You every day, and all day long."
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
A JUGGLER long through all the town
Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
“ Is this then he so fam'd for sleight?
Provok'd, the Juggler cried, “ 'Tis done ;
Thus said, the cups and balls he play'd;
Vice now stept forth, and took the place,
“This magic looking-glass,” she cries, " (There, hand it round) will charm your eyes." Each eager eye the sight desir'd, And every man himself admir'd.
FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame. The child, whom many fathers share, Hath seldom known a father's care. "Tis thus in friendship; who depend On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare who, in a civil way, Complied with every thing, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain ; Her care was never to offend; And every creature was her friend.
As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouth'd thunder fies. She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; She hears the near advance of death ; She doubles, to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round; Till, fainting in the public way, Half-dead with fear she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew, When first the Horse appear'd in view!
Let me," says she, “ your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend. You know my feet betray my flight: To friendship every burthen's light."
The Horse replied, " Poor honest Puss,
She next the stately Bull implor'd;
The Goat remark'd, her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye: “My back," says he,“
you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."
The Sheep was feeble, and complain’d, His sides a load of wool sustain'd; Said he was slow, confess'd his fears ; For Hlounds eat Sheep as well as Hares.
She now the trotting Calf addressid, To save from Death a friend distress'd.
“Shall I," says he, “ of tender age, In this important care engage ? Older and abler pass'd you by ; How strong are those ! how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then; you know my heart; But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament! Adieu ; For, sec, the Hounds are just in view."
* may do
• That queen," he said, “ to whom we owe
At this, in tears was Cicely seen,
For me, when as I heard that Death
While thus we stood as in a stound,
Quoth 1, “ Please God, I'll hie with glee
So forth I far'd to court with speed,
There saw I ladies all a-row,
There many a worthy wight I've seen,
There saw I St. John, sweet of mien
For thus he told me on a day,
THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK,
IN SIX PASTORALS.
WITH THE AUTHOR'S NOTES.
-Libeat mihi sordida rura, Atque humiles habitare casas.-Virg.
PROLOGUE, TO THE RIGHT HON.
THE LORD VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE.
Lo, I, who erst beneath a tree Sung Bumkinet and Bowzybee, And Blouzelind and Marian bright, In apron blue, or apron white, Now write my sonnets in a book, For my good lord of Boling broke.
As lads and lasses stood around To hear my boxen hautboy sound, Our clerk came posting o'er the green With doloful tidings of the queen ;
And, certes, mirth it where to see
Lo, here thou hast mine eclogues fair,
Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithesome swain,
He told us that the welkin would be clear. 30
MONDAY; OR, THE SQUABBLE.
Lobbin Clout, Cuddy, Cloddipole.
Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch!
The younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,
My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass. O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear;
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows;
But Blouzelind's than gilliflower more fair,
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. 50 And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree :
Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down, Thee Blouzelinda smites, Buxoma me.
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain,
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near; Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise,
or her bereft, 'tis winter all the year. Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.
20 With her no sultry summer's heat I know; 60
In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire,
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noontide labor seem'd an holiday ; :-Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or bright. And holidays, if haply she were gone,
Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British authors for Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.
Ver. 6. Rear, an expression, in several counties of Eng. land, for early in the morning.
Ver. 25. Erst; a contraction of cre this: it signifies Ver. 7. To ween, derived from the Saxon, to think, or sometime ago, or formerly. concoido.
Ver. 56. Defl, an old word, signifying brisk, or nimble.
Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right, Of Irish swains potato is the cheer;
" What flower is that which royal honor craves, Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind,
Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis strown on graves ?" Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind. While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise, Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato, prize.
Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains ! CUDDY.
An oaken staff each merits for his pains. 120
But see the sun-beams bright to labor warn,
They're weary of your songs—and so am I.
TUESDAY; OR, THE DITTY.
As once I play'd at blindman's buff, it hapt
Young Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed, About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt ;
Full well could dance, and deftly tune the reed; I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind,
In every wood his carols sweet were known, True speaks that ancient proverb, “ Love is blind." At every wake his nimble feats were shown.
When in the ring the rustic routs he threw,
The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew; CUDDY.
Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head, As at hot-cockles once I laid me down,
His danger smites the breast of every maid, And felt the weighty hand of many a clown; 100 But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain, Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I
The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain; 10 Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye.
Marian, that soft could stroke the udder'd cow,
And yellow butter Marian's skill confess'd; Ver. 69. Eftsorns, from eft, an ancient British word, sig. But Marian now, devoid of country cares, nifying soon. So that eftsoons is a doubling of the word Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares, soon; which is, as it were, to say twice 800n, or very soon. For yearning love the witless maid employs,
Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the an. And,“ Love” say swains, “all busy heed destroys." cient English authors. I have used it in this place in the Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart; same sense as Chaucer hath done in his Miller's Tale. “As A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart, 20 clerkes being full subtle and queint," (by which he means arch, or waggish); and not in that obscene sense wherein be useth it in the line immediately following.
Ver. 103—110 were not in the early editions.-N.
Ver. 113. Marigold.
Ver. 117. Rosemary.
Nascantur flores. Virg.