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MY time, O ye Muses, was happily spent,
With such a companion to tend a few sheep, To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep: I was so good-humour'd, so cheerful and gay, My heart was as light as a feather all day, But now I so cross, and so peevish am grown; So strangely uneasy, as never was known. My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd, And my heart-I am sure it weighs more than a pound.
The fountain, that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, 'Twas pleasure to look at, 't was music to hear: But now she is absent, I walk by its side, And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide; Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain? Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.
My lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they, How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, When Spring, Love, and Beauty were all in their prime;
But now, in their frolics when by me they pass,
My dog I was ever well pleased to see Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me; And Phoebe was pleas'd too, and to my dog said, "Come hither, poor fellow;" and patted his head. But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look Cry "Sirrah;" and give him a blow with my crook: And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away?
When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green!
Sweet music went with us both all the wood thro'.
The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet. But now she is absent, tho' still they sing on, The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone: Her voice in the consort, as now I have found, Gave ev'ry thing else its agreeable sound.
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you drest,
You put on your colours to pleasure her eye,
How slowly Time creeps, till my Phoebe return! While amidst the soft Zephyr's cool breezes i burn; Methinks if I knew whereabouts he would tread, I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead.
Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear, And rest so much longer for't when she is here. Ah Colin! old Time is full of delay, [say. Nor will budge oue foot faster for all thou canst
Will no pitying pow'r, that hears me complain, Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain? To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove; But what swain is so silly to live without love? No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return, For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair; Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair.
A DESCRIPTION OF TUNBRIDGE, IN A LETTER TÒ P. M. ESQ.
DEAR Peter, whose friendship I value much more,
Lay aside for a while, and come down to the Wells:
Some sev'n or eight mile off, to give you the meeting, Barbers, dippers, and so forth, we send to you greeting.
Soon as they set eyes on you, off flies the hat, Does your honour want this, does your honour want that?
That being a stranger, by this apparatus [at us. You may see our good manners, before you come Now this, please your honour, is what we call Tooting,
A trick in your custom to get the first footing.
Conducted by these civil gen'men to town You put up your horse, for rhyme sake at the Crown: [word
My landlord bids welcome, and gives you his For the best entertainment the house can afford: You taste which is better, his white, or his red, Bespeak a good supper, good room, and good bed: In short just as travellers do when they light, So, to fill up the stanza—I wish you good night.
But then the next morning, when Phoebus appears, cheers, And with his bright beams our glad hemisphere You rise, dress, get shav'd, and away to the walks, The pride of the place, of which ev'ry one talks: There I would suppose you a drinking the waters, Didn't I know that you come not any such
But to see the fine ladies in their dishabille,
The ladies you see, ay, and ladies as fair, As charming, and bright as you'll see any where: You eye, and examine the beautiful throng, As o'er the clean walks they pass lovely along; And if any, by chance, looks a little demurer, You fancy, like ev'ry young fop, you could cure her;
And now, all this while, it is forty to one But some friend or other you've happen'd upon: You all go to church, upon hearing the bell, [tell: Whether out of devotion-yourselves best can From thence to the tavern to toast pretty Nancy, Th' aforesaid bright nymph, that had smitten your fancy; [mands, Where wine and good victuals attend your comAnd wheatears, far better than French ortolans.
Then, after you've din'd, take a view of our ground, [round, And observe the fine mountains that compass us And, if you could walk a mile after your eating, There's some.comical rocks, that are worth contemplating;
You may, if you please, for their oddness and make, [o' Peak; Compare 'em-let's see-to the De'el's Arse They're one like the other, except that the wonder Does here lie above ground, and there it lies under.
To the walks, about seven, you trace back your way, [day; Where the Sun marches off, and the ladies make What crowding of charms! gods! or rather goddesses! [and dresses! What beauties are here! what bright looks, airs, In the room of the waters had Helicon sprung, And the nymphs of the place by old poets been sung, [reason, To invite the gods hither they would have had And Jove had descended each night in the season.
If with things here below we compare things on The walks are like yonder bright path in the sky, high, Where heavenly bodies in such clusters mingle, 'Tis impossible, sir, to describe 'em all single: But if ever you saw that sweet creature Miss K-5, If ever you saw her, I say, let me tell ye, Descriptions are needless; for surely to you, No beauty, no graces, can ever be new.
But when to their gaming the ladies withdraw, Those beautics are fled, which when walking you
Ungrateful the scene which you there see display'd, Chance murd'ring those features which Heav'n had made:
If the fair ones their charms did sufficiently prize, Their elbows they'd spare for the sake of their eyes; And the men too-what work! its enough, in good faith is't,
Of the nonsence of chance, to convince any atheist
Your money, zounds, deliver me your money,
But now 'tis high time, I presume, to bid vale,
A FULL AND TRUE ACCOUNT OF AN HORRID AND
Arma virumque cano.
The youth, who flung the bottle at the knave Before he came, now thought it best to wave DEAR Martin Folkes, dear scholar, brother, Such resolution, and preserve the liquor;
Since a round guinea might be thrown much
So with impetuous haste he flung him that,
And words of like importance without end;
Forgive the Muse, who sings what, I suppose,
On Tuesday night, you know with how much
Ibid the club farewel-"I go to morrow"
And eke an honest bricklayer of Lynn,
Now then, as Fortune had contriv'd, our way
I leave you, sir, to judge yourself what plight
However, since we, none of us, had yet
My heart for truth I always must confess-
No more! why hang him, is not that too much,
He, like a thankless wretch, that's overpaid,
Before the women, with their purses each, Had strength to place contents within his reach,
Dr. Manningham; who wrote a pamphlet in defence of the well-known story of the RabbitWoman.
of the Royal
2 An expression used by Society, and afterwards proverbially adopted in ridicule by the author and his friends,
One of his pieces, falling downwards, drew
Now, while in deep and serious ponderment I watch'd the motions of his next intent, He wheel'd about, as one full bent to try The matter in dispute 'twixt him and I; And how my silver sentiments would hold Against that hard dilemma, balls or gold. "No help!" said I, "no tachygraphic pow'r, To interpose in this unequal hour!
I doubt I must resign-there's no defending The cause against that murderous fire-engine:"
When lo! descending to her champion's aid The goddess Short-hand, bright celestial maid, Clad in a letter'd vest of silver hue3, Wrought by her fav'rite Phoebe's hand, she flew. Th' unfolded surface fell exactly neat, In just proportions o'er her shape complete; Distinct with lines of purer flaming white, Transparent work, intelligibly bright; Form'd to give pleasure to th' ingenious mind, But puzzle and confound the stupid hind.
Soon as the wretch the sacred writing spy'd, "What conjuration-sight is this," he cry'd! My eyes meanwhile the heav'nly vision clear'd, It show'd how all his hellish look appear'd. (Heav'n shield all travellers from foul disgrace, As I saw Tyburn in the ruffian's face; And if aright I judge of human mien, His face ere long in Tyburn will be seen.) The hostile blaze soon seiz'd his miscreant blood; He star'd-turn'd short-and fled into the wood.
Danger dismiss'd, the gentle goddess smil'd, Like a fond parent o'er her fearful child; And thus began to drive the dire surprise Forth from my anxious breast, in jocund wise. "My son," said she, "this fellow is no Weston', No adversary, child, to make a jest on. With ink sulphureous, upon human skin He writes indenting, horrid marks therein; But-thou hast read his fate-the halter'd slave Shall quickly sing his penitential stave.
"Pursue thy rout; but when thou tak'st another, Bestride some generous quadruped or other. Let this enchanted vehicle confine,
From this time forth, no votaries of mine:
"Alluding to some short-hand characters neatly eut in paper by the author's sister, and presented to M. F. esq.
Weston, the inventor of a method of shorthand, then in some vogue; the great irregularity and defects of which our author had often humorously exposed.
"Adieu! my son-resume thy wonted jokes; And write account hereof to Martin Folkes." This said, she mounts the characters divine Thro' the bright path immensely brilliant shine. Now safe arriv'd-first for my boots I wroteI tell the story and subjoin the noteAnd lastly, to fulfil the dread commands, These hasty lines presume to kiss your hands. Excuse the tedious tale of a disaster,
I am your humble servant and Grand Master.
A LETTER TO R. L. ES2. ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM LONDON. DEAR Peter', whose absence, whate'er I may do In a week or two hence, at this present I rue; These lines, in great haste, I convey to the Mitre, To tell the sad plight of th' unfortunate writer: You have left your old friend so affected with grief, That nothing but rhyming can give him relief; Tho' the Muses were never worse put to their
To comfort poor bard in his sorrowful dumps.
The moment you left us, with grief be it spoken, This poor heart of mine was as thoff it were broken;
And I almost faint still, if a carriage approach
The Rhenish and sugar, which at your de parture [what heartier; We drank, would have made me, I hop'd, someYet the wine but more strongly to weeping in
And my grief, I perceiv'd, was but double refin'd: It is not to tell how my breast fell a throbbing, When at the last parting our noses were bobbing: Those sad farewell accents! (I think on 'em still) "You'll remember to write John ?"-"Yes, Peter, I will."
You no sooner was gone, but this famous metropolis,
That seem'd just before so exceedingly populous, When I turn'd me towards it, seem'd all of a sudden
As if it was gone from the place it had stood in:
How he brought me from Smithfield to Dick's I can't say,
But remember the Charter-house stood in our way
At Dick's I repos'd me, and call'd for some coffee, [of ye; And sweeten'd, and supt, and still kept thinking But not with such pleasure as when I came there To wait 'till sir Peter should chance to appear:
"A title usually given to the author by his short-hand scholars.
R. L. esq. generally called by his college acquaintance, sir Peter.
There, while I was turning you o'er in my mind,
The doctor and I took a small walk, and then
With honest Duke Humphrey I pass the long day,
I am grown, as it were, a mere gerund in dumb.
And to morrow, earl Thomas's fate to determine,
The surgeons, they say, have got Jonathan's car-
SPOKEN EXTEMPORE AT THE MEETING OF A
OUR President, in days of yore,
"The cunning old pug, ev'ry body remembers, That when he saw chesnuts a roasting i' th' embers,
To save his own bacon, took puss's two foots,
And now, Peter, I'm come to the end of my [ther: tether, So I wish you good company, journey, and weaWhen friends in the country inquire after John, Pray tender my service t'em all every one, To the ladies at Toft, Mr. Legh of High-Legh, To the Altringham Meeting, if any there be, Darcy Lever, Will Drake, Mr. Cattell, and Cot[tom! tamAn excellent rhyme that, to wind up one's botRichard's, Monday night,
May 24, 1725.
Sure it could ne'er be his own choosing
P. S. What news? Why the lords, if the mi[two, nutes say true, Have pass'd my Lord Bolingbroke's bill three to Three to one I would say; and resolved also That the Commons have made good their arti
A caxen of so black a hue,
Who does not tremble for the Club
The President, when's wig was white,
Nay, when he sprinkled it with powder,
Thou art a lawyer, honest Joe,