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Increasing debts, perplexing duns,

Next, to a senator addressing, And nothing for his younger sons.

“ See this bank-note; observe the blessing. Straight all his thought to gain he turns,

Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! "Tis gone." And with the thirst of lucre burns.

Upon his lips a padlock shown. But, when possess'd of Fortune's store,

A second puff the magic broke; The Spectre haunts him more and more ;

The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke. Sets want and misery in view,

Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board, Bold thieves, and all the murdering crew;

All full, with heady liquor stor’d, Alarms him with eternal frights,

By clean conveyance disappear, Infests his dreams, or wakes his nights

And now two bloody swords are there. How shall he chase this hideous guest ?

A purse she to a thief expos'd ; Power may, perbaps, protect his rest.

At once his ready fingers clos'd.' To power he rose. Again the Sprite

He opes his fist, the treasure's fled: Besets him morning, noon, and night;

He sees a halter in its stead. Talks of Ambition's tottering seat,

She bids Ambition hold a wand; How Envy persecutes the great ;

He grasps a hatchet in his hand. Of rival hate, of treacherous friends,

A box of charity she shows. And what disgrace his fall attends.

“ Blow here ;" and a church-warden blows. The court he quits, to fly from Care,

'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat, And seeks the peace of rural air ;

And on the table smokes a treat. His groves, his fields, amus'd his liours;

She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, He prun'd his trees, he rais'd his flowers,

And from all pockets fills her box. But Care again his steps pursues,

She next a meagre rake addrest. Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,

“ This picture see; her shape, her breast! Of plundering insects, snails, and rains,

What youth, and what inviting eyes ! And droughts that starv'd the labour'd plains. Hold her, and have her.” With surprise, Abroad, at home, the Spectre's there ;

His hand expos'd a box of pills, In vain we seek to fly from Care.

And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills. At length he thus the Ghost addrest :

A counter, in a miser's hand, " Since thou must be my constant guest,

Grew twenty guineas at command. Be kind, and follow me no more ;

She bids his heir the sum retain, For Care, by right, should go before."

And 'tis a counter now again.

A guinea with her touch you see
Take every shape but Charity;

And not one thing you saw, or drew,

But chang'd from what was first in view.

The Juggler now, in grief of heart, .

With this submission own'd her art.
A JUGGLER long through all the town

“ Can I such matchless sleight withstand ! Had rais'd his fortune and renown;

How practice hath improv'd your band ! You'd think (so far his art transcends)

But now and then I cheat the throng;
The devil at his fingers' ends.

You every day, and all day long."
Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defy'd the man of art aloud.

* Is this then he so fam'd for sleight ?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?

TAE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. Dares he with me dispute the prize ?

FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, I leave it to impartial eyes."

Unless to one you stint the flame. Provok'd, the Juggler cry'd, “ Tis done ; The child, whom many fathers share, In science I submit to none."

Hath seldom known a father's care. Theus said, the cups and balls he play'd ; 'Tis thus in friendships ; who depend By turns this here, that there, conveyed.

On many, rarely find a friend. The cards, obedient to his words,

A Hare who, in a civil way, Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.

Comply'd with every thing, like Gay, His little boxes change the grain :

Was known by all the bestial train Trick after trick deludes the train.

Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain; He shakes his bag, he shows all fair ;

Her care was never to offend; His fingers spread, and nothing there ;

And every creature was her friend. Then bids it rain with showers of gold;

As forth she went at early dawn, And now his ivory eggs are told;

To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, But, when from thence the hen he draws,

Behind she hears the hunter's cries, Amaz'd spectators hum applause.

And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies. Vice now stept forth, and took the place, She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; With all the forms of his grimace.

She hears the near advance of death; “ This magic looking-glass,” she cries,

She doubles, to mislead the hound, " (There, hand it round will charm your eyes." And measures back her mazy round; Each eager eye the sight desir'd,

Till, fainting in the public way, And every man himself admir'd.

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 reply'd, “ Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus:
Be comforted, relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear."

She next the stately Bull implor'd;
And thus reply'd the mighty lord :
“ Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
And, when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But, see, the Goat is just behind.”

The Goat remark'd, her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye :
“ My back,” says he, “ may do 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 Hounds eat Sheep as well as Hares.

She now the trotting Calf address'd,
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, see, the Hounds are just in view.'

“ That queen," he said, “ to whom we owe
Sweet peace, that makelh riches flow :
That queen, who eas'd our tax of late,
Was dead, alas !-- and lay in state."

At this, in tears was Cicely seen,
Buxoma tore her pinners clean,
In doleful dumps stood every clown,
The parson rent his band and gown.

For me, when as I heard that Death
Had snatch'd queen Anne to Elizabeth,
I broke my reed, and, sighing, swore,
I'd weep for Blouzelind no more.

While thus we stood as in a stound,
And wet with tears, like dew, the ground,
Full soon by bonfire and by bell
We learnt our liege was passing well.
A skilful leach (so God him speed)
They said, had wrought this blessed deed.
This leach Arbuthnot was yclept,
Who many a night not once had slept ;
But watch'd our gracious sovereign still ;
For who could rest when she was ill ?
Oh, may'st thou henceforth sweetly sleep!
Sheer, swains, oh ! sheer your softest sheep,
To swell his couch ; for, well I ween,
He sav'd the realm, who sav'd the queen.

Quoth I, “ Please God, I'll hye with glee
To court, this Arbuthnot to see."
I sold my sheep, and lambkins too,
For silver loops and garment blue;
My boxen bautboy, sweet of sound,
For lace that edg'd mine hat around;
For Lightfoot, and my scrip, I got
A gorgeous sword, and eke a knot.

So forth I far'd to court with speed,
Of soldier's drum withouten dreed ;
For peace allays the shepherd's fear
Of wearing cap of grenadier.

There saw I ladies all a-row,
Before their queen in seemly show.
No more I'll sing Buxoma brown,
Like Goldfinch in her Sunday gown;
Nor Clumsilis, nor Marian bright,
Nor dan sel that Hobnelia hight.
But Lansdowne, fresh as flower of May,
And Berkeley, lady blithe and gay;
And Anglesea, whose speech exceeds
The voice of pipe, or oaten reeds ;
And blooming Hyde, with eyes so rare;
And Montague beyond compare :
Such ladies fair would I depaint,
In roundelay or sonnet quaint.

There many a worthy wight I've seen,
In ribbon blue and ribbon green:
As Oxford, who a wand doth bear,
Like Moses, in our Bibles fair;
Who for our traffic forms designs,
And gives to Britain Indian mines.
Now, shepherds, clip your fleecy care ;
Ye maids, your spinning-wheels prepare ;
Ye weavers, all your shuttles throw,
And bid broad-cloths and serges grow;
For trading free shall thrive again,
Nor leasings lewd affright the swain.

There saw I St. John, sweet of mien
Full steadfast both to church and queen;
With whose fair name I'll deck my strain ;
St. John, right courteous to the swain.

For thus he told me on a day, “ Trim are thy sonnets, gentle Gay;

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And, certes, mirth it were to see

Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithsome swain, Thy joyous madrigals twice three,

The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain! With preface meet, and notes profound, From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies, Imprinted fair, and well ye-bound.”

To know when hail will fall, or winds arise. All suddenly then home I sped,

He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view, And did ev'n as my lord had said.

When stuck aloft, that showers would straight ensue: Lo, here thou hast mine eclogues fair, He first that useful secret did explain, But let not these detain thine ear.

That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain. Let not th' affairs of states and kings

When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air, Wait, while our Bouzybeus sings.

He told us that the welkin would be clear. 30 Rather than verse of simple swain

Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse, Should stay the trade of France or Spain ; And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse. Or, for the plaint of parson's maid,

I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
Yon emperor's packets be delay'd;

That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.
In sooth, I swear by holy Paul,
I'll burn book, preface, notes, and all.

See this tobacco-pouch, that's lin’d with hair,

Made of the skin of sleekest fallow-deer.

This pouch, that's ty'd with tape of reddest hue,

I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.

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LOBBIN CLOUT. Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise,

Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near ; Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise. 20 of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.

| With her no sultry summer's heat I know; 60 Ver. 3. Welkin, the same as welken, an old Saxon In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow. word, signifying a cloud; by poetical licence it is | Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire, frequently taken for the element, or sky, as may My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire ! apper by this verse in the Dream of Chaucer

Ne in all the welkin was no cloud. - Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or

As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay, trigla.

Ev'n noon-tide labour seem'd an holiday; Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British authors |

| And holidays, if haply she were gone, far scarce.

Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done. Ver. 6. Rear, an expression in several counties of England, for early in the morning.

Ver. 25. Erst; a contraction of ere this; it signiVer. 7. To ween, derived from the Saxon, to fies sometime ago, or formerly. laat, or conceive

Ver. 56. Deft, an old word, signifying brisk, or nimble.

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CUDDY. Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear,

wal, Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right, Of Irish swains potatoe is the cheer ; Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind,

fi'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight.

“ What flower is that which royal honour craves, Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind. While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise,

Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis strown on graves ?"
Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato, prize.


Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains!

| An oaken stafl' each merits for his pains. 120 In good roast-beef my landlord sticks his knife, The capon fat delights his dainty wife,

%60 | But see the sun-beams bright to labour warn, Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,

And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge's barn.

Your herds for want of water stand a-dry,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,

They're weary of your songs- and so am I.
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.


TUESDAY; OR, THE DITTY. As once I play'd at blindman's buff, it hapt

MARIAX. About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt. I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind, Young Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed, True speaks that ancient proverb, “ Love is blind." | Full well could dance, and deftly tune the reed;

In every wood his carols sweet were known,

At every wake his nimble feats were shown.

When in the ring the rustic routs he threw,
As at hot-cockles once I laid me down,

The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew; And felt the weighty hand of many a clown ; 100 Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head, Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I

His danger smites the breast of every maid, Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye. | But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain,

The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain ; 10 Ver. 69. Eflsoons, from eft, an ancient British

Marian, that soft could stroke the udder'd cow, word, signifying soon. So that eftsoons is a doubling

Or lessen with her sieve the barley-mow; of the word soon ; which is, as it were, to say twice

Marbled with sage the hardening cheese she press'd, soon, or very soon.

And yellow butter Marian's skill confess'd; Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the

But Marian now, devoid of country cares, ancient English authors. I have used it in

ave used it in this Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares,

this place in the same sense as Chaucer hath done in his For yearning love the witless maid employs, Miller's Tale. “ As clerkes being full subtle and And “ Love" say swains,“ all busy heed destroys ** queint," (by which he means arch, or waggish); and

Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart; not in that obscene sense wherein he useth it in the

h it in the A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart, line immediately following. Ver. 85.

Ver. 103-110 were not in the early editions. N. Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vitis Iaccho,

Ver. 113. Marygold.
Formosa myrtus Veneri, sua laurea Phæbo,

Ver. 117. Rosemary.
Phillis amat corylos Illas dum Phillis amabit Dic quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum
Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phæbi. &c. Nascantur flores

Virg. Ver. 120. Et vitula tu dignus & hic.

Cicely, the western lass, that tends the kee, 1 “ Have I not sat with thee full many a night, The rival of the parson's maid was she.

When dying embers were our only light, In dreary shade now Marian lies along,

When every creature did in slumbers lie, And, mixt with sighs, thus wails in plaining song : Besides our cat, my Colin Clout, and I?

Ah, woeful day ! ah, woeful noon and morn! No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin move, When first by thee my younglings white were shorn ; While I alone am kept awake by love. Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eye,

I “ Remember, Colin, when at last year's wake My sheep were silly, but more silly I.

I bought the costly present for thy sake; Beneath the shears they felt no lasting smart, Could'st thou spell o'er the posy on thy knife, They lost but fleeces, while I lost a heart. 30 And with another change thy state of life? “ Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart | If thou forgett'st, I wot, I can repeat, true?

My memory can tell the verse so sweet : What I have done for thee, will Cicely do ?

As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine, Will she thy linen wash, or hosen darn,

So is thy image on this heart of mine.' 100 And knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn ? But woe is me! such presents luckless prove, Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat ? For knives, they tell me, always sever love." And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait,

Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimful, Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide, When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull. In service-time drew Cicely's eyes aside ?

With apron blue to dry her tears she sought, “ Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care, Then saw the cow well serv'd, and took a groat. My new disasters in my look appear.

White as the curd my ruddy cheek is grown,
So thin my features, that I'm hardly known.
Our neighbours tell me oft, in joking talk,

Of ashes, leather, oatmeal, bran, and chalk;
Unwittingly of Marian they divine,
And wist not that with thoughtful love I pine.

SPARABELLA. Yet Colin Clout, untoward shepherd swain,

The wailings of a mriden I recite, Walks whistling blithe, while pitiful I plain. “ Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight

A maiden fair, that Sparavella hight.

Such strains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat, To moil all day, and merry-make at night. 50

Nor the gay goldfinch chants so sweet a note. If in the soil you guide the crooked share,

No magpye chatter'd, nor the painted jay, Your early breakfast is my constant care ;

| No ox was heard to low, nor ass to bray; And when with even hand you strow the grain,

No rustling breezes play'd the leaves among, I fright the thievish rooks from off the plain.

While thus her madrigal the damsel sung. In misling days, when I my thresher heard,

| A while, O D'Urfey! lend an ear or twain, With nappy beer I to the barn repair'd;

Nor, tho' in homely guise, my verse disdain ; 10 Lost in the music of the whirling flail,

Whether thou seek'st new kingdoms in the Sun, To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail :

Whether thy Muse does at Newmarket run, la harvest, when the Sun was mounted high,

Or does with gossips at a feast regale, My leathern bottle did thy draught supply; 60

And heighten her conceits with sack and ale, Whene'er you mow'd, I follow'd with the rake,

Or else at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice, And have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake :

Where D'Urfey's lyrics swell in every voice;
When in the welkin gathering showers were seen,
I lagg'd the last with Colin on the green;
And when at eve returning with thy car,

Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a Awaiting heard the jingling bells from far,

fit of the sullens. Some have pretended that it is Staight on the fire the sooty pot I plac'd,

derived from Dumops, a king of Egypt, that built To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste. a pyramid, and died of melancholy. So mopes, When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf, after the same manner, is thought to have come I slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf; 70 from Merops, another Egyptian king, that died of With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mess. the same distemper. But our English antiquaries Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less ! have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous “ Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set,

heaviness of spirits, comes from the word dumplin, I, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met.

the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this Upon my hand they cast a poring look,

country, much used in Norfolk, and other counties Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook : of England. They said, that many crosses I must prove;

Ver. 5. Some in my worldly gain, but most in love.

Immemor herbarum quos est mirata juvenca Next morn I miss'd three hens and our old cock; Certantes, quorum stupefactæ carmine lynces, And off the hedge two pinners and a smock; 80 Et mutata suos requierunt flumina cursus. I bere these losses with a Christian mind, And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind. Ver. 9. But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scorn,

Tu mihi, seu magni superas jam saxa Timavi, I've known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn.

Sive oram Illyrici legis æquoris - Viro. Help me, ye gypsies; bring him home again,

Ver. 11. An opera written by this author, called And to a constant lass give back her swain.

The World in the Sun, or the Kingdom of Birds;

he is also famous for his song on the Newmarket Ver. 21. Kee, a west-country word for kine, or horse-race, and several others that are sung by the

| British swains.


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