To show his ancient spleen to Mars, And soon smelt out the breach he made; He look'd, 'tis true, and from each eye To bring him news, and watch th' event. "I am not, Sir, inquisitive," Why should not coxcombs mind their own?" The Frog's Choice. SOMERVILLE. Ω πόποι, οἷον δή νυ Θεοὺς βροτοὶ ἀπιόωνται. Εξ ἡμεων γάρ φασι κάκ' ἔμμεναι· οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ Εφῆσιν ἀτασθαλίησιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγι ̓ ἔχουσιν. In a wild state of nature, long The frogs at random liv'd, The weak a prey unto the strong, With anarchy oppress'd and griev'd. At length the lawless rout, Taught by their suff'rings, grew devout; An embassy to Jove they sent, And begg'd his highness would bestow Some settled form of government, A king to rule the fens below. Jove, smiling, grants their odd request: A king, th' indulgent pow'r bestow'd, Such as might suit their genius best: A beam of a prodigious size, With all its cumbrous load, The rocks return the dreadful sound, Recover'd from his first surprise, Stretch'd at his case, careless, content. Ah, 'tis a glorions prince indeed ! The routed mice our arms shall dread, Sing our victorious arms, and justify our fame!" On wings of winds swift scandal flies, Libels, lampoons, and lies, Hoarse treasons, tuneless blasphemies. Once more to Jove they prayers address'd, Sent from each loyal corporation, Full fraught with truth and sense, Exhausted all their eloquence. But now, alas! 'twas night; kings must have meat: The Grand Vizier first goes to pot; Three Bassas next, happy their lot! "And this," said he, " and this is mine, Again they beg Almighty Jove curse: Better bear this, this Stork, than worse." MORAL. Oppress'd with happiness, and sick with ease, Not Heaven itself our fickle minds can please. Fondly we wish, cloy'd with celestial store, The leeks and onions which we loath'd before: Still roving, still desiring, never pleas'd, With plentystarv'd,and e'enwith health diseas'd, With partial eyes each present good we view, The Oyster. -In jus SOMERVILLE. Acres procurrunt, magnum spectaculum uterque. Two comrades, as grave authors say Both view'd at once with greedy eyes, Each hero's obstinately stout, Green bags and parchments fly about, Whose kind and charitable heart Your oyster's good as e'er was eat; MORAL. Ye men of Norfolk and of Wales, From this learn common sense; Nor thrust your neighbours into jails For ev'ry slight offence. Banish those vermin of debate That on your substance feed; The knaves who now are serv'd in plate Would starve, if fools agreed. HOR. Epitaph on Miss Basnet, in St. Pancras Church-yard, Ode. Go, spotless Honor, and unsullied Truth; Go, smiling Innocence and blooming Youth; Go, female Sweetness, join'd with manly Sense; Go, winning Wit, that never gave offence; Go, soft Humanity, that bless'd the poor; Go, saint-eyed Patience, from Affliction's door; Go, Modesty, that never wore a frown; Go, Virtue, and receive thy heavenly crown. Not from a stranger came this heart-felt verse; The friend inscribes thy tomb whose tears bedew'd thy hearse. THOMSON. TELL me, thou soul of her I love, And sometimes share the lover's woe; And every tear is full of thee: Should then the weary eye of grief, Beside some sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief, O visit thou my soothing dream! On Time. ANON. E'EN while the careless, disencumber'd soul Sinks all dissolving into pleasure's dream, E'en then to Time's tremendous verge we roll With headlong haste along life's surgy stream. Can gaiety the vanish'd years restore, Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed, Or soothe the sad, inevitable hour, Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead? Ah! beauty's bloom avails not in the grave, Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace; Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave, Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race! The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust, The arch with proud memorials array'd, The long-liv'd pyramid, shall sink in dust, To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade. feast. eyes, My Mother. The Butterfly's Ball. Roscoe. COME take up your hats, and away let us haste To the Butterfly's ball, and the Grasshopper's [crew, The trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summon'd the And the revels are now only waiting for you. So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry companions came forth in a throng. And on the smooth grass, by the side of a wood, Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood, Saw the children of earth, and the tenants of air, For an evening's amusement together repair. And there caine the Beetle, so blind and so black, [back. Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too, [blue. With all their relations, green, orange, and And there came the Moth, with his plumage of down, brown; And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and hole, Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring, [sting. But they promis'd that evening to lay by their And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his Mole. And brought to the feast his blind brother, the And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell, [an ell. Came from a great distance, the length of A mushroom their table, and on it was laid A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made. The viands were various, to each of their taste, And the Bee brought her honey to crown the repast. to see, Then close on his haunches, so solemn`and Then quick as an arrow he darted along. tell, [fell. From his rope, in an instant, poor harlequin Yet he touch'd not the ground, but with talons Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread. outspread, Then the Grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring, [his wing; Very long was his leg, though but short was He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight, the night. Then chirp'd his own praises the rest of With step so majestic the Snail did advance, And promis'd the gazers a minuet to dance. But they all laugh'd so loud that he pull'd in his head, And went in his own little chamber to bed. Then, as evening gave way to the shadows of night, with a light. Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out Then home let us hasten, while yet we can [me. For no Watchman is waiting for you and for So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry companions return'd in a throng. see, SONGS, BALLADS, &c. &c. §1. Song. LORD LYTTELTON. SAY, Mira, why is gentle Love A stranger to that mind, Which pity and esteem can move, Which can be just and kind? Is it because you fear to share If in that breast, so good, so pure, The cause I must not, dare not tell. That grief that on my quiet preys, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our ships at sea, With a fa, &c. Then, if we write not by each post, The king, with wonder and surprise, But let him know it is our tears Should foggy Opdam chance to know The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, From men who've left their hearts behind? Let wind and weather do its worst; Be you to us but kind, Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, 'Tis then no matter how things go, To pass our tedious hours away, But why should we in vain But now our fears tempestuous grow, And cast our hopes away; That rends my heart, that checks my tongue, Whilst you, regardless of our woe, I fear will last me all my days, §4. Song. EARL of DORSET*. To all you ladies now at land We men at sea indite; The Muses now, and Neptune too, For though the Muses should prove kind, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind Sit careless at a play: Perhaps permit some happier man When any mournful tune you hear, As if it sigh'd with each man's care Think then how often love we've made In justice you cannot refuse When we for hopes of honor lose All those designs are but to prove • Written at sea, the first Dutch war, 1665, the night before an engagement. And now we've told you all our loves, $5. Song. LORD LANSDOWne. Love throws in vain his dart. Let glittering fops in court be great, If on those endless charms you lay §6. Song. SIR CAR SCROOPE. ONE night, when all the village slept, Myrtillo's sad despair The wretched shepherd waking kept, Why should you waste your tears for one "Yet, O ye birds, ye flocks, ye pow'rs "But since she's lost, O let me have Sad nightingales the watch shall keep, §7. A Pastoral Elegy. For thy faith, which resembled my own, For thy soul, which was spotless and true, To his friendship I ne'er can incline, For fear I should mourn him like thee. What bliss can hereafter be mine? His ashes who lov'd me so well, « $8. Song. MOORE. HARK! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb! All mournful the midnight bell rung, And night-ravens croak'd all around. With thee o'er the world would she fly; Alas! what avails it how dear Thy Lucy was once to her swain ! And eyes that gave light to the plain! That face and those eyes charm no more; To death shall her Colin deplore. While thus she lay sunk in despair, And mourn'd to the echoes around, |