Imagens das páginas

Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film;
Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big: as a round little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid..
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops, night by night,
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love :
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies strait :
O'er lawyers fingers, who strait dream on fees :
O’er ladies' lips, who ftrait on kiffes dream;
Sometimes the gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes the with a tithe-pigs tail,
Tickling the parfon as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes the driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, ·
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes ; :
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again.


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DO remember an apothecary,

And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,


Culling of fimples; meagre were his looks ;
Sharp Misery had worn him to the bones :

And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, - An alligator stuff'd, and other skins

Of ill-thap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes ;
Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
Remnants of pack-thread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said,
An' if a man did need a poison now,
Whose fale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.
Oh, this fame thought did but fore-run my need,
And this fame needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house.



Η Α Ρ.





Faught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to sooth thy modest ear,

Like thy own solemn Springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales,
O Nymph referv’d, while now the bright hair’d sun
Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts

With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed :
Now air is hulh'd, save where the weak-eyed bat,
With short Thrill shrieks Aits by on leathern wing,

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Or where the beetle winds

His small but fullen horn,
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim born in heedless hum,

Now teach me, maid compos'd,

To breathe fome soft'ned strain,
Whose numbers ftealing through thy dark’ning vale,
May not unseemly with its ftillness fuit,

As musing flow, I hail

Thy genial love return!
For when thy folding Atar arising News
His paly circlet, as his warning lamp

The fragrant Hours, and Elves

Who slept in flow'rs the day, And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge, And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still,

The pensive Pleasures sweet

Prepare thy fadowy car,
Then lead, calm Vot'refs, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallowed pile,

Or up-land fallows grey

Reflect its last cool gleam.
But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That from the mountain's side,

Views wilds, and swelling floods,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd fpires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.
While spring fall pour his show'rs, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing trefies, meekelt Eve!

While fummer loves to sport

Beneath thy ling'ring light:
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ;
Or Winter yelling through the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes ;
So long, sure-found beneath the Sylvan shed,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rofe-lip'd Health,

Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav'rite name!


O D E S P R I N G.



WEET daughter of a rough and stormy fire,
Hoar Winter's blooming child; delightful Spring!

Whose unshorn locks with leaves
And swelling buds are crown'd;

From the green islands of eternal youth,
(Crown'd with fresh blooms, and ever springing shade)

Turn, hither turn thy step,
O thou, whose powerful voice

More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed,
Or Lydian flute, can soothe the madding winds,

And thro' the stormy deep
Breathe thy own tender calm.

Thee, best belov’d! the virgin train await
With songs and festal rites, and joy to rove


Thy blooming wilds among,
And vales and dewy lawns,

With untir'd feet; and cull thy. earliest sweets
To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow

Of him the favour'd youth
That prompts their whisper'd figh.

Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers
That drop their sweetness on the infant buds,

And filent dews that swell:
The milky ear's green stems,

And feed the flowering ofier's early shoots;
And call those winds which thro' the whisp'ring boughs

With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers.

Now let me fit beneath the whitening thorn
And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale;

And watch with patient eye
Thy fair unfolding charms.

O Nymph approach! while yet the temperate suz
With bashful forehead, thro' the cool moistair

Throws his young maiden beams,
And with chaste kisses wooes

The earth's fair bofom; while the streaming veil
Of lucid clouds with kind and frequent shade

Protects thy modest blooms
From his severer blaze. ,


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