Now bricklay'rs, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists and designers,
Produce their schemes of alteration
To work this wondrous reformation,
The useful dome, which secret stood,
Embosom'd in the yew-tree's wood,
The trav'ller with amazement sees
A temple Gothic, or Chinese,
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon.
A wooden arch is bent astride

A ditch of water four feet wide,
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact designs.
In front, a level lawn is seen,
Without a shrub upon the green,

Where Taste would want its great first law,
But for the sculking, sly ha-ha,

By whose miraculous assistance

You gain a prospect two fields distance.
And now from Hyde-Park Corner come
The gods of Athens and of Rome.
Here squabby Cupids take their places,
With Venus, and the clumsy graces:
Apollo there, with aim so clever,
Stretches his leaden bow for ever;
And there, without the pow'r to fly,
Stands, fix'd a tip-toe, Mercury.

The villa thus completely grac'd,

All own that Thrifty has a taste;

And Madam's female friends and cousins,
With common-council-men, by dozens,

Flock ev'ry Sunday to the seat,
To stare about them, and to eat.

THE

FRIAR OF ORDERS GREY.

FIRST PUBLISHED BY DR. PERCY.

It was a Friar of Orders Grey

Walk'd forth to tell his beads;

And he met with a lady fair
Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

"Now Christ thee save, thou reverend Friar,

I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see."

"And how should I your true-love know
From many another one?"
"O, by his cockle hat, and staff,

And by his sandal shoon.

"Bu chiefly by his face and mien
That were so fair to view,

His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,
And eyne of lovely blue."

"O Lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green-grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloysters long He languish'd and he died, Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.

"Here bore him barefac'd on his bier, Six proper youths and tall,

And many a tear bedew'd his grave,
Within yon kirk-yard wall.”

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! And art thou dead and gone!

And didst thou die for love of me?-Break, cruel heart of stone!"

"O weep not, Lady, weep not so;
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek."

"O do not, do not, holy Friar,

My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth
That e'er won lady's love.

"And now, alas! for thy sad loss,
I'll e'ermore weep and sigh;
For thee I only wish'd to live,
For thee I wish to die."

"Weep no more, Lady, weep no more,

Thy sorrow is in vain :

For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers Will ne'er make good again.

"Our joys as winged dreams do fly,
Why then should sorrow last?
Since Grief but aggravates thy loss,
Grieve not for what is past."

"O, say not so, thou holy Friar, pray thee, say not so;

For since my true-love dy'd for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

"And will he never come again?

Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no; he is dead, and laid in his grave, For ever to remain.

His cheek was redder than the rose;

The comeliest youth was he!-
But he is dead, and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!"

"Sigh no more, Lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:

One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men e'er were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."

"Now say not so, thou holy Friar, I pray thee say not so;

My love he had the truest heart

O he was ever true!

"And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth!

And didst thou die for me?

Then farewell home! for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

"But first upon my true-love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay."