He scorned to endeavour But bold, unconcern'd, At the thoughts of the pain, To his cottage again. William Walsh CUPID MISTAKEN S after noon, one summer's day, New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver With skill he chose his sharpest dart: "I faint! I die!" the goddess cried: Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother." Poor Cupid, sobbing, scarce could speak; “Indeed, mama, I did not know ye: Alas! how easy my mistake? I took you for your likeness, Chloe." Matthew Prior. THE CONTRAST N London I never know what I'd be at, Enraptured with this, and enchanted with that; I'm wild with the sweets of variety's plan, But the Country, Lord help me! sets all matters right; So calm and composing from morning to night; Oh! it settles the spirits when nothing is seen But an ass on a common, a goose on a green. In town if it rain, why it damps not our hope, It spoils not our prospects, or stops not our ways. In the country what bliss, when it rains in the fields, To live on the transports that shuttlecock yields; In London if folks ill together are put, In the country you're nail'd, like a pase in the park, To some stick of a neighbour that's cramm'd in the ark; And 'tis odds, if you're hurt, or in fits tumble down, You reach death ere the doctor can reach you from town. In London how easy we visit and meet, Gay pleasure's the theme, and sweet smiles are our treat; Our morning's a round of good-humoured delight, And we rattle, in comfort, to pleasure at night. In the country, how sprightly! our visits we make Through ten miles of mud, for Formality's sake; With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a fog, And no thought in our head but a ditch or a bog. In London the spirits are cheerful and light, But how gay in the country! what summer delight To be waiting for winter from morning to night! Then the fret of impatience gives exquisite glee To relish the sweet rural subjects we see. In town we've no use for the skies overhead, In the country these planets delightfully glare But 'tis in the country alone we can find Indeed, I must own, tis a pleasure complete I have heard tho', that love in a cottage is sweet, When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet: That's to come-for as yet I, alas! am a swain Who require, I own it, more links to my chain. Your magpies and stock-doves may flirt among trees, And chatter their transports in groves, if they please: But a house is much more to my taste than a tree, And for groves, O! a good grove of chimneys for me. In the country, if Cupid should find a man out, The poor tortured victim mopes hopeless about; But in London, thank Heaven! our peace is secure, Where for one eye to kill, there's a thousand to cure. I know love's a devil, too subtle to spy, That shoots through the soul, from the beam of an eye; But in London these devils so quick fly about, In town let me live then, in town let me die, OH, TELL ME HOW TO WOO THEE F doughty deeds my lady please, Right soon I'll mount my steed; That bears frae me the meed. I'll wear thy colors in my cap, Thy picture in my heart; And he that bends not to thine eye Shall rue it to his smart. Then tell me how to woo thee, love; Oh, tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, |