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Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a sweet-brier twines it around.
Not my fields in the prime of the year
More charms than my cattle unfold:
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,

But it glitters with fishes of gold.

One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labor'd to rear;
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.
O how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,

To prune the wild branches away.

With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is every way pleasing to me.
O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays!
I could lay down my life for the swain
That will sing but a song in her praise.
When he sings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while;
Nay, on him let not Phillida frown;
-But I cannot allow her to smile.
For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favor with Phillis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,

Might she ruin the peace of my mind!

From the plains, from the woodlands, and In ringlets he dresses his hair,


What strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of roses that blow!
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,

As she may not be fond to resign.
I have found out a gift for my fair,

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young;
And I lov'd her the more when I heard

Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to a dove,
That it ever attended the bold;

And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks, I should love her the more.
Can a bosom so gentle remain

Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs?
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
These plains and this valley despise?
Dear regions of silence and shade!

Soft scenes of contentment and case! Where I could have pleasingly stray'd, If aught in her absence could please. But where does my Phillida stray? And where are her grots and her bowers? Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle, as ours? The groves may perhaps be as fair,

And the face of the valleys as fine; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine.


Why will you my passion reprove,
Why term it a folly to grieve,
Ere I show you the charms of my love?
She is fairer than you can believe.

And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe-O may Phillis beware

Of a magic there is in the sound! "Tis his with mock passion to glow;

'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, "How her face is as bright as the snow,

And her bosom, be sure, is as cold;
How the nightingales labor the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie;
How they vary their accents in vain,

Repine at her triumphs, and die."
To the grove or the garden he strays,
And pillages every sweet ;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,

He throws it at Phillis's feet.
"O Phillis," he whispers, " more fair,

More sweet, than the jessamine's flow'r! What are pinks in a morn, to compare?

What is eglantine after a shower? "Then the lily no longer is white; Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with despite, And the woodbines give up their perfume.” Thus glide the soft numbers along,

And he fancies no shepherd his peer;
Yet I never should envy the song,

Were not Phillis to lend it an ear.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phillis the trophy despise;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phillis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue;
Yet may she beware of his art!
Or sure I must envy the song.


Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to stray,
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove:

She was fair, and my passion begun; She smil'd, and I could not but love; She is faithless, and I am undone.


Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresec,
That a nymph so complete would be sought
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire:
It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile!
She is faithless, and I am undone ;

Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair and how fickle they be. Alas! from the day that we met,

What hope of an end to my woes, When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose? Yet time may diminish the pain:

The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,

In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,

Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shown to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own:
Fate never bestow'd such delight,
As I with my Phillis had known.

O ye woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly;

I would hide with the beasts of the chase,
I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall resound through the grove
With the same sad complaint it begun ;
How she smil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithless, and I am undone!

$130. Phabe. A Pastoral. BYROM.

My time, O ye muses! was happily spent, When Phoebe went with me wherever I went: Ten thousand soft pleasures I felt in my breast: Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest. But now she is gone, and has left me behind, What a marvellous change on a sudden I find! When things were as fine as could possibly be, I thought it was spring; but alas! it was she.

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, It was pleasant to look at, 'twas 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, whilst I go in pain? Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.

My dog I was ever well pleased to see Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me;

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And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray

Be dull as his master, when Phoebe's away?

Sweet music went with us both all the wood through, [too; The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet. But now she is absent, though still they sing on, The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone! Her voice in the concert, as now I have found, Gives every thing else its agreeable sound.

Will no pitying Power that hears me complain,

Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain?
To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion re-

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§ 131. A Pastoral Ballad. RowE.
DESPAIRING beside a clear stream,
A shepherd forsaken was laid;
And, while a false nymph was his theme,
A willow supported his head.
The wind that blew over the plain,

To his sighs with a sigh did reply;
And the brook, in return to his pain,
Ran mournfully murmuring by.

Alas! silly swain that I was!

(Thus sadly complaining, he cried ;) When first I beheld that fair face,

"Twere better by far I had died. She talk'd, and I bless'd her dear tongue; When she smil'd, it was pleasure too great ; I listen'd, and cried, when she sung, Was nightingale ever so sweet! How foolish was I to believe

She could doat on so lowly a clown,

Or that her fond heart would not grieve

To forsake the fine folk of the town! To think that a beauty so gay

So kind and so constant would prove; Or go clad, like our maidens, in grey, Or live in a cottage on love!

What though I have skill to complain,

Though the muses my temples have crown'd; What though, when they hear my soft strain, The virgins sit weeping around; Ah, Colin! thy hopes are in vain, Thy pipe and thy laurel resign; Thy fair one inclines to a swain Whose music is sweeter than thine.

All you, my companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betray'd,
Whatever I suffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false maid.

Though through the wide world I should range, 'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly; "Twas hers to be false, and to change; 'Tis mine to be constant, and die. If, while my hard fate I sustain,

In her breast any pity is found;

Let her come, with the nymphs of the plain,
And see me laid low in the ground:
The last humble boon that I crave

Is, to shade me with cypress and yew;
And, when she looks down on my grave,
Let her own that her shepherd was true.
Then to her new love let her go,

And deck her in golden array; Be finest at ev'ry fine show,

And frolic it all the long day: While Colin, forgotten and gone,

No more shall be talk'd of or seen, Unless when, beneath the pale moon, His ghost shall glide over the green.

§132. A Fairy Tale. PARNell.
IN Britain's isle, and Arthur's days,
When midnight fairies daunc'd the maze,
Liv'd Edwin of the Green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Though badly shap'd he been.

His mountain back mote well be said
To measure height against his head,

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And lift itself above;

Yet, spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dar'd to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,

Could ladies look within;
But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win.
Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted passion paced along
All in the moony light;
"Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort,
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, "Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour town:
With weary steps he quits the shades,
Resolv'd, the darkling dome he treads,
And drops his limbs adown.
But scant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,
A trembling rocks the ground:
And, well I ween to count aright,
At once an hundred tapers light

On all the walls around.
Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
Now sounding feet approachen near,

And now the sounds increase: And, from the corner where he lay, He sees a train, profusely gay,

Come prankling o'er the place. But (trust me, gentles) never yet Was dight a masquing half so neat, Or half so rich, before;

The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,
The town its silken store.

Now, whilst he gaz'd, a gallant, drest
In flaunting robes above the rest,

With awful accent cried :
"What mortal, of a wretched mind,
Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,
Has here presum'd to hide?"
At this the swain, whose vent' rous soul
No fears of magic art control,

Advanc'd in open sight;

"Nor have I cause of dread," he said,
"Who view, by no presumption led,
Your revels of the night.

""Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,
Which made my steps unweeting rove
Amid the nightly dew."
"'Tis well," the gallant cries again,
"We fairies never injure inen

Who dare to tell us true.
"Exalt thy love-dejected heart;
Be mine the task, or ere we part,
To make thee grief resign;
Now take the pleasure of thy chance;
Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce,
Be little Mable thine."

He spoke, and, all a sudden, there
Light music floats in wanton air;

The Monarch leads the Queen:
The rest their fairie partners found:
And Mable trimly tript the ground

With Edwin of the Green.
The dauncing past, the board was laid,
And siker such a feast was made

As heart and lip desire :
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glasses with a wish come nigh,
And with a wish retire.

But now, to please the fairie king,
Full every deal they laugh and sing,
And antic feats devise;

Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other some transmute their shape,
In Edwin's wond'ring eyes.
Till one, at last, that Robin hight,
Renown'd for pinching maids at night,
Has bent him up aloof;
And full against the beam he flung,
Where by the back the youth he hung,
To sprawl unneath the roof.

From thence, "Reverse my charm," he cries, "And let it fairly now suffice,

The gambol has been shown." But Oberon answers, with a smile, "Content thee, Edwin, for a while,

The vantage is thine own."

Here ended all the phantom-play ;
They smelt the fresh approach of day,

And heard a cock to crow;
The whirling wind, that bore the crowd
Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud,
To warn them all to go.
Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the tapers die;

Poor Edwin falls to floor: Forlorn his state, and dark the place, Was never wight in such a case

Through all the land before! But, soon as dan Apollo rose, Full jolly creature home he goes!

He feels his back the less; His honest tongue and steady mind Had rid him of the lump behind,

Which made him want success: With lusty livelyhed he talks, He seems a-dauncing as he walks; His story soon took wind; And beauteous Edith sees the youth Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, Without a bunch behind!

The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd,
(The youth of Edith erst approv'd)
To see the revel scene:

At close of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin'd dome

All on the gloomy plain.
As there he bides, it so befel,
The wind came rustling down a dell,
A shaking seiz'd the wall:
Up sprung the tapers, as before,
The fairies bragly foot the floor,
And music fills the hall.

But, certes, sorely sunk with woe
Sir Topaz sees the elfin show,

His spirits in him die;

When Oberon cries, "A man is near; A mortal passion, cleped fear,

Hangs flagging in the sky."

With that sir Topaz, hapless youth!
In accents falt'ring aye for ruth,
Intreats them pity graunt;
For als he been a mister wight
Betray'd by wand'ring in the night

To tread the circling haunt.
“Ah, losel vile!" at once they roar,
"And little skill'd of fairie lore,

Thy cause to come we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell,

Are free to work thee woe.'
Then Will who bears the wispy fire
To trail the swains among the mire,

The captive upward Alung;
There, like a tortoise in a shop,
He dangled from the chamber-top,
Where whilom Edwin hung.
The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,
They sit, they drink, and eat;
The time with frolic mirth beguile,
And sir Topaz hangs the while,
Till all the rout retreat.

By this the stars began to wink;
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,
And down ydrops the knight:
For never spell by fairie laid
With strong enchantment, bound a glade
Beyond the length of night.
Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay,
Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er :
But wot ye well his harder lot;
His seely back the bunch had got
Which Edwin lost afore.-
This tale a Sybil nurse ared;
She softly stroak'd my youngling head,
And when the tale was done :

"Thus some are born, my son," she cries, "With base impediments to rise,

And some are born with none.
But virtue can itself advance
To what the fav'rite fools of chance
By fortune seem'd design'd;
Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
And from itself shake off the weight
Upon th' unworthy mind."


§ 133. Song. THOMSON.
FOR ever, Fortune! wilt thou
An unrelenting foe to love,
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part;
Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish, and wish the soul away,
Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the life of love is gone?
But busy, busy, still art thou,
To bind the loveless, joyless vow,
The heart from pleasure to delude,
To join the gentle to the rude.

For once, O Fortune! hear my prayer,
And I absolve thy future care;
All other blessings I resign,

Make but the dear Amanda mine.

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When copper ran low he made light of the [Platter, Drank his purl upon tick at the old Pewter Read the news, and as deep in the secret appear'd As if he had lather'd the minister's beard.

But Cupid, who trims men of every station, And 'twixt barbers and beaux makes no discrimination,

Would not let this superlative shaver alone, Till he tried if his heart was as hard as his hone.

The fair one whose charms did the barber inthral, [stall. At the end of Fleet-market, of fish kept a As red as her cheek was no lobster e'er seen, Not an eel that she sold was so soft as her skin.

By love strange effects have been wrought, we are told, [cold; In all countries and climates, hot, temp'rate, or Thus the heart of our barber love scorch'd like a coal,

Though 'tis very well known he liv'd under the pole.

First, he courted his charmer in sorrowful


And lied like a lawyer to move her compassion: He should perish, he swore, did his suit not succeed,

And a barber to slay was a barbarous deed. Then he alter'd his tone, and was heard to deIf valor deserv'd the regard of the fair, [clare, That his courage was tried, though he scorn'd

to disclose

How many brave fellows he'd took by the nose.

For his politics too, they were thoroughly


A patriot he was to the very backbone; Wilkes he gratis had shav'd for the good of the nation, [ration. And he held the Wig Club in profound veneFor his tenets religious he could well expound Emanuel Swedenborg's myst'ries profound, And new doctrines could broach with the best of 'em all;

For a periwig-maker ne'er wanted a caul. Indignant she answer'd: "No chin-scraping sot Shall be fasten'd to me by the conjugal knot; No! to Tyburn repair, if a noose you must tie: Other fish I have got, Mr. Tonsor, to fry: "Holborn-bridge and Blackfriars my triumphs can tell,

[bell; From Billingsgate beauties I've long borne the Nay, tripemen and fishmongers vie for my



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But the barber persisted (ah, could I relate’em) To ply her with compliments soft as pomatum; And took ev'ry occasion to flatter and praise her, Till she fancied his wit was as keen as his razor. He protested besides, if she'd grant his petition, She should live like a lady of rank and condition; And to Billingsgate market no longer repair, But himself all her business would do to a hair.

Her smiles, he asserted, would melt even rocks, Nay, the fire of her eyes would consume barbers' blocks,

On insensible objects bestow animation, And give to old periwigs regeneration. With fair speeches cajol'd, as you'd tickle a [hold out: 'Gainst the barber the fish-wife no more could He applied the right bait, and with flattery he caught her:


Without flatt'ry a female's a fish out of water. The state of her heart when the barber once guess'd,

And as briskly bestirr'd him, the charmer emLove's siege with redoubled exertion he press'd, As the wash-ball that dances and froths in his bracing,


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Muscle-mongers and oyster-men, crimps and coalheavers,

And butchers with marrow-bones smiting their cleavers:

Shrimp-scalders and bug-killers, tailors and tilers,

Boys, botchers, bawds, bailiffs, and black. pudding boilers."

From their voices united such melody flow'd, As the Abbey ne'er witness'd, nor Tott'nham Court-road;

While St. Andrew's brave bells did so loud and so clear ring,

You'd have given ten pounds to 've been out of their hearing.

For his fee, when the parson this couple had join'd,


As no cash was forthcoming, he took it in (chin, So the bridegroom dismantled his rev'rence's And the bride entertain'd him with pilchards and gin.

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