Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

On Avon's bank, where flowers eternal blow,

If I but ask if any weed can grow;

One Tragic fentence if I dare deride,
Which Betterton's grave action dignify'd,

120

125

Or well-mouth'd Booth with emphafis proclaims,
(Though but, perhaps, a muiter-roll of Names)
How will our Fathers rife up in a rage,
And fwear, all shame is loft in George's Age!
You'd think no Fools difgrac'd the former reign,
Did not fome grave examples yet remain,
Who fcorn a Lad fhould teach his father fkill,
And, having once been wrong, will be fo ftill.
He, who to feem more deep than you or I,
Extols old Bards, or Merlin's Prophecy,
Miftake him not; he envies, not admires,
And, to debase the Sons, exalts the Sires.
Had ancient times confpir'd to difallow
What then was new, what had been
now?

Or what remain'd, fo worthy to be read
By learned Critics, of the mighty dead?

130

We wake next morning in a raging fit,
And call for pen and ink to show our Wit.

180

He ferv'd a 'Prenticeship, who fets up fhop;
Ward try'd on Puppies, and the Poor, his Drop;
Ev'n Radcliffe's Doctors travel first to France,
Nor dare to practise till they 've learn'd to dance.
Who builds a Bridge that never drove a pile? 185
(Should Ripley venture, all the world would
(mile)

But thofe who cannot write, and those who can,
All rhyme, and fcrawl, and fcribble, to a man.
Yet, Sir, reflect, the mifchief is not great;
Thefe Madmen never hurt the Church or State:
190

Sometimes the Folly benefits mankind;

And rarely Avarice taints the tuneful mind. 135 Allow him but his plaything of a Pen, ancient He ne'er rebels, or plots, like other men:

In Days of Eafe, when now the weary Sword Was fheath'd, and Luxury with Charles reftor'd; 140

In every tafle of foreign Courts improv'd,
"All, by the King's Example, liv'd and lov'd."
Then Peers grew proud in Horfemanship t'
Newmarket's Glory rofe, as Britain's fell;
The Soldier breath'd the Gallantries of France,
And every Howery Courtier writ Romance,
Then Marble, foften'd into life, grew warm,
And yielding Metal flow'd to human form:
Lely on animated Canvas itole

[blocks in formation]

Of little ute the Man you may fuppofe,
excel,Who fays in verfe what others fay in profe:
Yet let me how, a Poet 's of fome weight,
145 And (though no Soldier) useful to the State.
What will a Child learn fooner than a fong?
What better teach a Foreigner the tongue ?
What 's long or fhort, each accent where to place,
And fpeak in public with fome fort of grace.

The fleepy Eye, that spoke the melting foul.
No wonder then, when all was love and sport,
The willing Mufes were debauch'd at Court:
On each enervate ftring they taught the note
To pant, or tremble through an Eunuch's throat.
But Britain, changeful as a Child at play,
Now calls in Princes, and now turns away.
Now Whig, now Tory, what we lov'd we hate;
Now all for Pleasure, now for Church or S ate;
Now for Prerogative, and now for Laws;
Effects unhappy! from a Noble Cause.

Time was, a fober Englishman would knock
His fervants up, and rife by five o'clock,
Instruct his family in every rule,

155

160

205

210

150 I fcarce can think him fuch a worthless thing,
Unlefs he praife fome Monster of a King:
Or Virtue, or Religion turn to sport,
To please a lewd, or unbelieving Court.
Unhappy Dryden !--In all Charles's days,
Kofcommon only boasts unspotted bays;
And in our own (excufe fome Courtly ftains) 215
No whiter page than Addison's remains ;
He, from the tafte obfcene reclaims our youth,
And fets the Paffions on the fide of Truth,
Forms the fott bofom with the gentleft art,
And pours each human Virtue in the heart.
Let lieland tell, how Wit upheld her caufe,
Her trade fupported, and fupplied her laws;
And leave on SWIFT this grateful verfe engrav`d,
"The Rights a Court attac 'd, a Poet fav'd."
Behold the band that wrought a Nation's cure, 225
Stretch'd to relieve the Ideot and the Poor,
Proud Vice to brand, or injur'd Worth adorn,
And ftretch the Ray to ages yet unborn.
Not but there are, who merit other palms;
170 Hopkins and Stern hold glad the heart with Pfalms:
230

And fend his Wife to Church, his Son to School.

To worship like his Fathers, was his care;

165

To teach their frugal Virtues to his Heir;
To prove that Luxury could never hold;
And place, on good Security, his Gold.
Now times are chang'd, and one Poetic Itch
Has feiz'd the Court and City, poor and

Sons, Sires, and Grandfires, all will wear
bays,

rich:

the

Our Wives read Milton, and our Daughters Plays,
To Theatres and to Rehearsals throng,
And all our Grace at table is a Song.

I, who so oft renounce the Mufes, lye,

Not

220

The Boys and Girls whom Charity maintains,
Implore your help in thefe pathetic strains :
How could Devotion touch the country pews,
Unless the Gods beftow'd a proper Mufe?
175 Verfe cheers their leifure, Verfe affifts their work,
235
Verfe prays for Peace, or fings down Pope and
Turk,

-'s felf e'er tells more Fibbs than I; When fick of Mufe, our follies we deplore, And promife our best Friends to rhyme no more;

The

The filenc'd Preacher yields to potent ftrain,
And feels that grace his prayer befought in vain;
The bleffing thrills through all the labouring throng,
And Heaven is won by Violence of Song.

300

305

With what a fhifting gale your course you ply, For ever funk too low, or borne too high! Who pants for glory finds but thort repote, 240 A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows. Our rural Ancestors, with little bleft, Farewell the ftage! it just as thrives the play, Patient of labour when the end was reft, The filly bard grows it, or falls away. Indulg'd the day that hous'd their annual grain, There fills remains, to mortify a Wit, With fealts, and offerings, and a thankful strain : The many-headed Monster of the Pit; The joy their wives, their fons, and fervants share, A fenfeiefs, worthlefs, and unhonour'd crow'd: 2451 Who, to disturb their betters mighty proud, Clattering their sticks before ten lines are spoke, Call for the Farce, the Bear, or the Black-joke. What dear delight to Britons Farce aftords! Ever the Tate of Mobs, but now of Lords; (Tafte, that eternal wanderer, which flies From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes) The Play ftands ftill; damn action and discourse, Back fly the fcenes, and enter foot, and horse;

250

Eafe of their toil, and partners of their care:
The laugh, the jeft, attendants on the bowl,
Smoo b'd every brow, and open'd every foul:
With growing years the pleafing Licence grew,
And launts alternate innocently few.
But Times corrupt, and Nature ill-inclin'd,
Produced the point that left a fling behind;
Till, friend with friend, and families at ftrife,
Triumphant Malice rag'd through private life.
Who felt the wrong, or fear'd it, took th' alarm,
255

Appeal'd to Law, and Juftice lent her arm.
At length, by wholesome dread of ftatutes bound,
The Poets learn'd to please, and not to wound:
Moft warp'd to Flattery's side; but fome,

more

mice,
Preferv'd the freedom, and forebore the vice.
Hence Satire rofe, that just the medium hit,
And heals with morals what it hurts with Wit.
We conquer'd France, but felt our Captive's

charms:

310

320

315
Pageants on pageants, in long order drawn,
Peers, Heralds, Bifhops, Ermin, Gold and Lawn;
The Champion too! and, to complete the jett,
Old Edward's Armour beams on Cibber's breast.
With laughter fure Democritus had dy'd,
Had he beheld an Audience gape fo wipe.
Let Bear or Elephant be e'er fo white,
260 The people, fure, the people are the fight!
Ah lucklefs Poet! ftretch thy lungs and roar,
That Bear or Elephant fhall heed thee more;
While all its throats the gallery extends,
And all the Thunder of the Pit afcends!
Loud as the Wolves, on Orca's ftormy steep,
Howl to the roarings of the Northern deep.
Such is the thout, the long-appauding note,
At Quin's high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat;
Or when from Court a birth-day fuit bestow'd,
Sinks the loft Actor in the tawdry load.

265

}

Her Arts victorious triumph'd o'er our Arms;
Britain to foft refinements lefs a foe,
Wit grew polite, and Numbers learn'd to flow.
Wailer was fmooth; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verfe, the full refounding line,
The long majestic March, and Energy divine.
Though ftill fome traces of our ruftic vein
And fplayfoot verse remain'd, and will remain.
Late, very late, correctness grew our care,
When the tir'd Nation breath'd from civil war.
Exact Racine, and Corneille's noble fire,
Show'd us that France had fomething to admire.

Not but the Tragic fpirit was our own,
And full in Shakespeare, fair in Otway fhone:
But Otway fail'd to polish or refine,
And fluent Shakespeare fcarce effac'd a line.
Evin copious Dryden wanted, or forgot,
The last and greatest Art, the Art to blot.
Some doubt, if equal pains, or equal fire,
The humbler Mufe of Comedy require.
But in known Images of life, I guess
The labour greater, as th' indulgence lefs.
Obferve how feldom ev'n the beit fucceed:
'Tell me if Congreve's Fools are Fools indeed?
What pert low Dialogue has Farquhar writ!
How Van wants grace, who never wanted wit!
The ftage how loofely does Aftræa tread,
Who fairly puts all Characters to bed!.
And idle Cibber, how he breaks the laws,
To make poor Pinkey eat with vaft applause!
But fill their purse, our Poets work is done,
Alike to them, by Pathos or by Pun.

O you! whom Vanity's light bark convevs
On Fame's mad voyage by the wind of praf,

270 Booth enters-hark! the univerfal peal!
"But has ke fpoken?" Not a fyllable.

[ocr errors]

325

339

335

What fhook the ftage, and made the people ftare?
Cato's long wig, flower'd gown, and lacquer'd

chair.

Yet, left you think I rally more than teach, 275 Or praife malignly Arts I cannot reach, Let me for once prefume t' inftru&t the times, 340 To know the Poet from the man of rhymes: 'Tis he who gives my breaft a thousand pains, Can make me feel each Paffion that he feigns; 280 Inrage, compofe, with more than magic Art; With pity, and with terror, tear my heart; And fnatch me, o'er the earth, or through the air,

285

[ocr errors]

345

To Thebes, to Athens, when he will, and where.
But not this part of the Poetic ftate
Alone, deferves the favour of the Great:
Think of thofe Authors, Sir, who would rely 35°
More on a Reader's fenfe, than Gazer's eye.
Or who fhall wander where the Mufes fing?
Who climb their mountain, or who taste their
Spring?

How fhall we fill a Library with Wit,

When Merlin's Cave is half unfurnifh'd yet? 355

My Liege! why Writers little claim your thought, 295I guefs; and with their leave, will tell the fault: We Poets are (upon a Poet's word)

Of all mankind, the creatures most abfurd :

The

The feafon, when to come, and when to go,
To fing, or ceafe to fing, we never know;
And if we will recite nine hours in ten,
You lofe your patience just like other men.
Then too we hurt ourselves, when, to defend
A fingle verfe, we quarrel with a friend;
Repeat unafk'd; lament, the Wit's too fine
For vulgar eyes, and point out every line;

[blocks in formation]

365"Ludentis fpcciem dabit, et torquebitur." Hor.

But moft, when, straining with too weak a wing, DEAR Colne Cobham's and your country's

370

Friend!

You love a Verfe, take fuch as I can fend. A Frenchman comes, prefents you with his Boy, Bows, and begins" This Lad, Sir, is of Blois : "Obferve his fhape how clean! his locks how curld! "My only fon; I'd have him fee the world: "His French is pure; his Voice too-you fhall hear. 375" Sir, he 's your flave, for twenty pound a year. "Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with eafe, "Your Barber, Cook, Upholsterer, what you please: "A perfect gen us at an Opera fong

We needs will write Epiftles to the King;
And from the moment we oblige the town,
Expect a place, or Penfion from the Crown;
Or, dubb'd Hiftorians by exprefs command,
T'enroll your triumphs o'er the feas and land,
Be call'd to Court to plan fome work divine,
As once for Louis, Boileau and Racine.
Yet think, great Sir! (fo many Virtues shown)
Ah think, what Poet beft may make them known?
Or chufe at leaft fome Minifter of Grace,
Fit to beflow the Laureat's weighty place.

To fay too much, might do my honour wrong.

Charles, to late times to be tranfmitted fair, 380 Take him with all his virtues, on my word;

385

39°

Affign'd his figure to Bernini's care;
And great Naffau to Kneller's hand decreed
To fix him graceful on the bounding Steed;
So well in paint and stone they judg'd of merit:
But Kings in Wit may want difcerning Spirit.
The Hero William, and the Martyr Charles,
One knighted Blackmore, and one penfion'& Quarles;
Which made old Ben and furly Dennis fwear,
"No Lord 's anointed, but a Ruffian Bear."
Not with fuch majefty, fuch bold relief,
The Forms auguft, of King, or conquering Chief,
E'er fwell'd on marble, as in verfe have fhin'd
(In polifh'd verfe) the manners and the Mind.
Oh! could I mount on the Mæonian wing,
Your Arms, your Actions, your Repose to fing;
395
What feas you travers'd, and what fields you fought!
Your Country's Peace, how oft, how dearly bought!
How barbarous rage fubfided at your word,
And Nations wonder'd while they dropp'd the
fword ¡

How, when you nodded, o'er the land and deep,
Peace ftole her wing, and wrapp'd the world in
fleep;

"His whole ambition was to ferve a Lord:
"But, Sir, to you, with what would I not part? 15
"Though faith, I fear, 'twill break his Mother's

[ocr errors]

"heart.

Once (and but once) I caught him in a lie, "And then unwhipp'd, he had the grace to cry : The fault he has I fairly fhall reveal,

[ocr errors]

I

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

(Could you o'erlook but that it is, to cal." 20
If, after this, you took the graceful lad,
Could you complain, my Friend, he prov'd so bad?
Faith, in fuch cafe, if you should profecute,

I think Sir Godfrey should decide the fuit;
Who fent the Thief that ftole the Cafh, away, 25
And punifh'd him that put it in his way.

Confider then, and judge me in this light;
told you when I went, I could not write;
you faid the fame; and are you difcontent
With laws, to which you gave your own affent? 30
Nay worse, to afk for Verfe at such a time!
D'ye think me good for nothing but to rhyme?

40

In Anna's Wars, a Soldier poor and old Had dearly earn'd a little purse of gold: Tir'd with a tedious march, one lucklefs night, 35 He flept, poor dog; and loft it, to a doit. This put the man in such a desperate mind, Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd, Against the foe, himself, and all mankind, 495 He leap'd the trenches, fcal'd a Caftle-wall, Tore down a Standard, took the Fort and all. "Prodigious well!" his great Commander cry'd, Gave him much praife, and fome reward befide. Next, pleas'd his Excellence a town to hatter 410 (Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter); "Go on, my Friend, (he cry'd) fee yonder walls! Advance and conquer! go where glory calls! "More honours, more rewards, attend the brave." Don't you remember what reply he gave?

Till earth's extremes your mediation own,
And Afia's Tyrants tremble at your Throne-
But Verfe, alás! your Majefty difdains;
And I'm not us'd to Panegyric ftrains :
The Zeal of Fools offends at any time,
But most of all, the Zeal of Fools in rhyme.
Befides, a fate attends on all I write,
That when I aim at praife, they fay I bite.
A vile Encomium doubly ridicules:
There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.
If true, a woeful likenefs; and if lies,
"Praife undeferv'd is fcandal in disguise:"
Well may he blush, who gives it, or receives;
And when I flatter, let my dirty leaves
(Like Journals, Odes, and fuch forgotten things
As Eufden, Philips, Settle, writ of Kings)
Clothe fpice, line trunks, or, fluttering in a row,
Befringe the rails of Eedlam and Solio.

415

D'ye think me, noble Generale fuch a Sot?
"Let him take cattles who has ne'er a groat.
Bred up at home, ful' early I begun
To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' fon.
Befides, my Father taught me from a lad,
The better art to know the good from bad:
And little fure imported to remove,
To hunt for Truth in Maudlin's learned grove.)

55

But

But knottier points, we knew not half fo well,
Depriv'd us foon of our paternal Cell;
And certain Laws, by fufferers though unjust,
Deny'd all pofts of profit or of trust:
Hopes after hopes of pious Papifts fail'd,
While mighty William's thundering arm
vail'd.

For Right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd, '
He ftuck to poverty with peace of mind;
And me, the Mufes help'd to undergo it;
Convict a Papift he, and I a Poet.

But (thanks to Homer fince I live and thrive,
Indebted to no Prince or Peer alive,

Sure I fhould want the care of ten Monroes,
If I fhould fcribble, rather than repose.

Years following Years, fteal fomething
day.

The boys flock round him, and the people stare: So ftiff, fo mute! fome ftatue you would fwear, 60 Stepp'd from its Pedestal to take the air!

And here, while town, and court, and city roars, With mobs, and duns, and foldiers at their doors; pre-Shall I, in London, act this ille part? 125

Compofing fongs, for Fools to get by heart?
The Temple late two brother Sergeants saw,
65 Who deem'd each other Oracles of Law;
With equal talents, thefe congenial fouls,
One lull'd th' Exchequer, and one stunn'd the Rolls;
Each had a gravity would make you split,
And fhook his head at Murray, as a Wit.
131

70 'Twas, "Sir, your law" and "Sir, your elo-
quence,"

every" Yours, Cowper's manner-and yours, Talbot's fenfe."

At laft they fteal us from ourselves away;
In one our Frolics. one Amufements end,
In one a Mistress drops, in one a Friend:
This fubtle Thief of life, this paltry Time,
What will it leave me, if it fnatch my rhyme?
If every wheel of that unweary'd Mill,
That turn'd ten thousand verses, now stands still?
But after all, what would you have me do?
When out of twenty I cap pleafe not two;

When this Heroics only deigns to praise,

Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays?

One likes the Pheasant's wing, and one the leg;
The vulgar boil, the learn'd roaft an egg.
Hard tafk! to hit the palate of such gucits,
When Oldfield loves what Dartineuf detefts.

But grant I may relapse, for want of grace,
Again to rhyme: can London be the place?
Who there his Mufe, or felf, or foul attends,
In crouds, and courts, law, bufinefs, feafts,
friends?

My counfel fends to execute a deed:

A Poet begs me I will hear him read:
În Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there—

75

80

85

135

Thus we difpofe of all poetic merit,
Yours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's fpirit
Call Theobald Shakspeare, and he'll fwear the Nine,
Dear Cibber! never match'd one Ode of thine.
Lord! how we ftrut through Merlin's Cave, to fee
No Poets there, but Stephen, you, and me.
Walk with refpe&t behind, while we at ease
Weave laurel Crowns, and take what names we

please.

"My dear Tibullus!" if that will not do,
"Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you:

140

"Or I'm content, allow me Dryden's ftrains, 145
"And you fhall rife up Otway for your pains."
Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in peace

This jealous, wafpifh, wrong-head, rhyming race;
And much muft flatter, if the whim should bite
To court applaufe by printing what I write:
But let the fit pafs o'er, I'm wife enough
and To ftop my ears to their confounded stuff.

90

100

At ten, for certain, Sir, in Bloomsbury-íquare- 95
Before the Lords at twelve my Caufe comes on-
There's a Rehearsal, Sir, exact at one.--
"Oh but a Wit can study in the fireets,
"And raife his mind above the mob he meets."
Not quite fo well however as one ought;
A hackney-coach may chance to spoil a thought;
And then a nodding beam, or pig of lead,
God knows, may hurt the very ableft head.
Have you not feen, at Guildhall's narrow país,
Two Aldermen difpute it with an Afs?
And peers give way, exalted as they are,
Ev'n to their own S-v--nce in a Car?

150

In vain, bad Rhymers, all mankind reje&,
They treat themfelves with most profound respect;
'Tis to fmall purpose that you hold your tongue, 155
Each prais'd within, is happy all day long:
But how feverely with themfelves proceed.
The Men, who write fuch Verfe as we can read?
Their own ftrict Judges, not a word they spare,
That wants or force, or light, or weight, or care, 160
Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place,
Nay though at Court (perhaps) it may find grace:
Such they'll degrade; and fometimes, in its stead,

170

In downright charity revive the dead; Mark where a bofd, expreffive phrafe appears, 165 Bright through the rubbish of some hundred years; 105 Command old words that long have slept, to wake, Words, that wife Bacon, or brave Rawleigh spake; Or bid the new be English, ages hence, (For Ufe will father what's begot by Senfe) Pour the full tide of eloquence along, 110 Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong, Rich with the treasures of each foreign tongue; Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine, But fhew no mercy to an empty line: Then polifh all, with fo much life and ease, You think 'tis nature, and a knack to pleafe: 115" But eafe in writing flows from Art, not chance; "As thofe move eafieft who have learned to dance."

Go, lofty Poet! and in fuch a croud,
Sing thy fonorous verse-but not aloud.
Alas! to Grottos and to Groves we run,
To cafe and filence, every Mufe's fon :
Blackmore himself, for any grand effort,
Would drink and doze at Tooting or Earl's-Court.
How fhall I rhyme in this eternal roar?

How match the bards whom none e'er match'd

before?

The man, who, ftretch'd in Ifis' calm retreat, To books and study gives feven years complete,

175

See! ftrow'd with learned duft, his night-cap on,If fuch the plague and pains to write by rule, 180
He walks, an object new beneath the fun!
Better (fay 1) be pleased, and play the fool;

Call

་་།

185

Call, if you will, bad rhyming a disease,
It gives men happiness, or leaves them ease.
There liv'd in primo Georgii (they record)
A worthy member, no fmall fool, a Lord:
Who, though the Houfe was up, delighted fate,
Heard, noted, antwer'd, as in full debate:
In all but this, a man of fober life,
Ford of his Friend, and civil to his Wife;
Not quite a madman, though a pafty fell;
And much too wife to walk into a well.
Him, the damn'd Doctors and his Friends im-
mur'd,

190

They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd; in fhort, they cur'd:

Whereat the gentleman began to ftare---
My Friends! he cry'd, p-x take you for your

Care!

195

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

Men only feel the Smart, but not the Vice." When gelden Angels ceale to cure the Evil, You give all royal Witchcraft to the Devil : When fervile Chaplains cry, that birth and place 220

Indoe a Peer with honour, truth, and grace;
Lonk in that breast, most dirty Dean! be fair,
Say. can you find out one fuch lodger there?
Yet ftill, not heeding what your heart can teach,
You go to church to hear thele Flatterers
preach.

225

Indeed, could wealth beftow or wit or merit, A grain of courage, or a fpark of fpirit, The wi'eft man might blufh, I must agree, If D*** lov'd fixpence, more than he. If there be truth in Law, and Ufe can give 230 A Property, that's yours on which you live. Delightful Abs-court, if its fields afford Their fruits to you, confeffes you its lord: All Wordly's hens, nay, partridge, fold to town, His venilon too, a guinea makes your own: He bought at thoufands, what with better wit You purchafe as you want, and bit by bit; Now, or long fince, what difference will be found? You pay a penny, and be paid a pouud. VOL VI.

235

[blocks in formation]

Why one like Bu--- with pay and fcorn content,
Bows and votes on, in Court and Parliament; 275
One, driven by ftrong Benevolence of foul,
Shall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole:
Is known alone to that Directing Power,
Who forms the Genius in the natal hour;
That God of Nature, who, within us ftill, 280
Inclines our action, not constrains our will;
Various of temper, as of face or frame,
Each individual: His great End the fame.
Yes Sir, how fimalt foever be my heap,
A part I will enjoy, as well as keep.
My heir may figh, and think it want of grace
A man to poor would live without a place :
But fure no ftatute in his favour fays,
How free, or frugal, I fhall pals my days:
I, who at fome times fpend, at others fpare, ?
Divided between careleffnefs and care.
'Tis one thing madly to difperfe my store;
Another, not to heed to treasure more:
Glad, like a Boy, to fnatch the first good d
And pleas'd, if fordid want be far away.

What is 't to me (a paffenger God wot)
Whether my veffel be first-rate or not?
The fhip itfelf may make a better figure;
But I that lail, am neither lefs nor bigger
I neither ftrut with every favouring bre
Nor five with all the tempeft in my te

3 F

285

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

ath, 300 sth.

.

« ZurückWeiter »