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And fit you
Haply some friend may shake his hoary head And looking grave—You must, says he, “ Each morn unchill'd by frosts Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.
• With you? and quit my Susan's side ? With hose ungarter'd, o'er yon turfy bed, With you?'_the hapless husband cried : To reach the chapel ere the psalms began; Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard !
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepar’d: “ There, in the arms of that lethargic chair, Which rears its old moth-eaten back so high,
My thoughts on other matters go;
This is my wedding night, you know.' At noon he quaffd three glasses to the fair,
What more he urg'd I have not heard, And por’d upon the news with curious eye.
His reason could not well be stronger; “ Now by the fire engag'd in serious talk, So Death the poor delinquent spar'd, Or mirthful converse, would he loitering And left to live a little longer. stand,
Yet calling up a serious look, Then in the garden choose a sunny walk, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke Or launch'd the polish'd bowl with steady Neighbour,' he said, “farewell: no more hand.
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour : “ One morn we miss'd him at the hour of And farther, to avoid all blame prayer,
Of cruelty upon my name, Nor in the hall, nor on his favorite green :
To give you time for preparation,
for Another came, nor yet within the chair,
your future station, Nor yet at bowls or chapel was he seen. Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you’re summond to the grave : “ The next we heard that in a neighbouring
Willing for once I'll quit my prey, shire,
And grant a kind reprieve; That day to church he led a blushing bride,
In hopes you'll have no more to say, A nymph whose snowy vest and maiden fear
But when I call again this way,
Well pleas'd the world will leave.'
What next the hero of our tale befel, Read here the letter which he lately sent:” How long he liv’d, how wise, how well,
How roundly he pursu'd his course,
And smok'd his pipe, and strok'd his horse,
The willing muse shall tell: In rural innocence secure I dwell,
He chaffer'd then, he bought, he sold, Alike to fortune and to fame unknown:
Nor once perceiv'd his growing old, Approving conscience cheers my humble cell,
Nor thought of Death as near; And social quiet marks me for her own. His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Next to the blessings of religious truth, Many his gains, his children few, Two gifts my endless gratitude engage
He pass'd his hours in peace : A wife, the joy and transport of my youth ;
But while he view'd his wealth increase, Now with a son, the comfort of my age,
While thus along life's dusty road Seek not to draw me from this kind retreat
The beaten track content he trod, In lowlier spheres unfit, untaught to move;
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, Content with calm domestic life, where meet Uncall’d, unheeded, unawares, The sweets of friendship, and the smiles of
Brought on his eightieth year. love.
And now, one night. in musing mood,
And all alone, he sate,
Once more before him stood. $ 175. The Three Warnings. A Tale.
Half kill'd with anger and surprise,
So soon return'd!' old Dobson cries.
· So soon, d'ye call it?' Death replies ; Least willing still to quit the ground :
Surely my friend, you're but in jest ; 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
Since I was here before
And you are now fourscore.'
• To spare the aged would be kind : This great affection to believe,
However, see your search be legal; Which all confess, but few perceive,
And your authority-is't regal? If old assertions can't prevail,
Else you are come on a fool's errand, Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale.
With but a secretary's warrant. When sports went round, and all were gay, Besides, you promis'd me three warnings, On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day, Which I have look'd for nights and mornings ; Death call'd aside the jocund groom
But for that loss of time and ease, With him into another room ;
I can recover damages.'
I know,' cries Death, ' that at the best, Sir Traffic's name, so well applied, I seldoin ain a welcome guest;
Awak'd his brother-merchant's pride; But don't be captious, friend at least: And Thrifty, who had all his life I little thought you'd still be able
Paid utmost def'rence to his wife, To stump about your farm and stable; Confess'd her arguments had reason; Your years have run to a great length; And by th' approaching summer season I wish you joy, though, of your strength!' Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
Hold,' says the farmer, ' not so fast! And purchases his country box. I have been lame these four years past.'
Some three or four miles out of town * And no great wonder,' Death replies; (An hour's ride will bring you down) • However, you still keep your eyes;
He fixes on his choice abode,
Perhaps,' says Dobson,' so it might, The stages pass it every day;
And then so snug, so mighty pretty, • This is a shocking story, faith;
To have a house so near the city! Yet there's some comfort still,' says
Death: Take but your places at the Boar, Each strives your sadness to amuse;
You're set down at the very door. I warrant you hear all the news.'
Well then, suppose them fix'd at last, • There's none, cries he; and if there White washing, painting, scrubbing past, were,
Hugging themselves in ease and clover, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.'
With all the fuss of moving over; • Nay, then!' the spectre stern rejoin'd, Lo, a new heap of whims are bred,
• These are unjustifiable yearnings; . And wanton in my lady's head. If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
• Well! to be sure, it must be own'd, You have had your three sufficient warnings. It is a charming spot of ground: So come along, no more we'll part:
So sweet a distance for a ride, He said, and touch'd bin with his dart; And all about so countrified; And now old Dobson turning pale,
'Twould come but to a trilling price, Yields to his fate—so ends my tale.
To make it quite a paradise !
I cannot bear those nasty rails, $ 176. The Cit's Country Box. LLOYD.
Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales : Vos sapere, et solos aio bene vivere, quorum
Suppose, my dear, instead of these, Conspicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis. Hor. We build a sailing all Chinese ;
Although one hates to be expos'd, The wealthy cit, grown old in trade,
'Tis dismal to be thus enclos'd; Now wishes for the rural shade,
One hardly any object sees And buckles to his one-horse chair
I wish you'd fell these odious trees, Old Dobbin, or the founder il mare :
Objects continually passing by, While wedg'd in closely by his side,
Were something to amuse the eye; Sits Madam, his unwieldy' bride,
But to be pent within the walls, With Jacky on a stool before 'em,
One might as well be at St. Paul's. And out they jog in due decoruin.
Our house beholders would adore, Scarce past the turnpike half a mile,
Was there a level lawn before, • How all the country seems to sinile !' Nothing its views to incommode, And as they slowly jog together,
But quite laid open to the road; The cit conimends the road and weather : While every traveller in amaze, While Madam doats upon the trees,
Should on our little mansion gaze; And longs for ev'ry house she sees ;
And, pointing to the choice retreat, Adinires its views, its situation,
Cry, " That's Sir Thrifty's country-seat!" And thus she opens her oration:
No doubt her arguments prevail, • What signifies the loads of wealth, For Madam's Taste can never fail. Without that richest jewel, health?
Blest age! when all men may procure Excuse the fondness of a wife,
The title of a connoisseur ; Who doats upon your precious life!
When noble and ignoble herd Such ceaseless toil, such constant care, Are govern'd by a single word; Is more than human strength can bear: Though, like the royal German dames, One may observe it in your face
It bears an hundred Christian names, Indeed, my dear, you break apace;
As Genius, Fancy, Judgement, Gout, And nothing can your health repair,
Whim, Caprice, Je ne scais quoi, Virtù; But exercise and country air.
Which appellations all describe Sir Traffic has a house, you know,
Taste, and the modern tasteful tribe. About a mile from Cheney-row:
Now bricklayers, carpenters, and joiners, He's a good man, indeed, 'tis true;
With Chinese artists and designers, But not so warm, my dear, as you:
Produce their schemes of alteration, And folks are always apt to snter
To work this wondrous reformation. One would not be outdone, my dear!'
| Sir Traffic's dame, so welcome
Awak'd his brother-mercati oz.
Paid utmost def renes 17 ha TZ.
Some three or four stilles wir
And then so snug, so m: Ray
To have a house so near Led
Well then, suppose tben in de
Hezging themselves in case and use
• Keil! to be sure, it must ***
The useful dome, which secret stood,
On the whole it appears, and my argument Embosom'd in the yew tree's wood,
shows, The traveller with amazement sces
With a reasoning the court will never conA temple Gothic or Chinese,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for
them. With angles, curves, and zig-zag lines,
Then shifting his side, as the lawyer knows how, From Halfpenny's exact designs ;
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes ; In front a level lawn is seen,
But what were the arguments few people know,
For the world did not think they were equal-
So his lordship decreed, with a grave
solemn By whose miraculous assistance
tone, You gain a prospect two fields' distance.
Decisive and clear, without one if or but-
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By day-light or candle-light-Eyes should
$ 178. On the Birth-Day of Shakspeare. A And there, without the power to fly,
Canto. Taken from his Works. BERENGER. Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.
Natura lapsa valere, et mentis viribus excitari, The villa thus completely grac'd,
et quasi quodam divino spiritu afflari.
-Peace to this meeting !
Joy and fair time, health and good wishes :-
Now, worthy friends, the cause why we are inet,
Is in celebration of the day that gave
Immortal Shakspeare to this favor'd isle,
The most replenished sweet work of nature, § 177. Report of an adjudged Case, not to be which from the prime creation e'er she fram'd. found in any of the Books. Cow PER.
Othou divinest Nature! how thyself thou BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest
blazon'st arose ;
In this thy son! form'd in thy prodigality, The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; To hold thy mirror up, and give the time The point in dispute was, as all the world Its very form and pressure! When he speaks knows,
[long. Each aged ear plays truant at his tales, To which the said spectacles ought to be. And younger bearings are quite ravished, So the Tongue was the lawyer, and argu'd the So voluble is his discourse--gentle
As Zephyr blowing beneath the violet, With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of Not wagging its sweet head-yet as rough learning;
[laws, (His noble blood enchaf’d) as the rude wind, While chief baron Ear sat to balance the That by the top doth take the mountain pine So fam'd for his talent in nicely discerning | And make him stoop to th' vale—"Tis wonder
ful In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, That an invisible instinct should frame him And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly To loyalty, unlearn'd; honor, untaught; find,
Civility, not seen in others; knowledge That the Nose has had spectacles always in That wildly grows in him, but yields a crop, wear,
As if it had been sown. What a piece of work! Which amounts to possession time out of How noble in faculty! infinite in reason! mind.
A combination and a form indeed,
Still sanctify his relics; and this day. [fancy
Design’d to sit close to it, just like a saddle. To the last syllable of recorded time:
For, if we take him but for all in all,
$ 179. On the Invention of Letters. That the visage or countenance had not a Tell me what Genius did the art invent, Nose,
The lively image of the voice to paint; Pray who would or who could wear specta- Who first the secret how to colour sound, cles then?
And to give shape to reason, wisely found;
But to be pent within the rain
No doubt her arguments pred
Blest age! when ali ne 123
Though, like the mea] Gerosa decis
Vou bricákres, carpenter, at With Chinese tists and JOSTA Produce ther settemes diaks
work this wond's top *
With bodies how to clothe ideas, taught; Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
His pliant votes and bows.
Full-bottoms come instead!
Of dressing--a calf's-head.
SHENSTONE Tell me what Genius did this art contrive.
Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupept.
Beneath a church-yard yew, § 180. The Answer.
Decay'd and worn with age, The noble art to Cadmus owes its rise At dusk of eve, methought I spied Of painting words, and speaking to the eyes; Poor Slender's ghost, that whimpering cried, He first in wondrous magic fetters bound Q sweet! O sweet Anne Page ! The airy voice, and stopp'd the flying sound; Ye gentle bards, give ear! The various figures, by his pencil wrought, Who talk of amorous rage, Gare color, form, and body to the thought. Who spoil the lily, rob the rose;
Come learn of me to weep your woes! $ 181. On a Spider.
O sweet! ( sweet Anne Page!
Why should such labor'd strains
Your formal Muse engage?
I never dreamt of fame dr dart,
That fir'd my breast, or pierc'd my heart,
But sighd, O sweet Anne Page!
And you, whose love-sick minds
No medicine can assuage, Extend thy artful fabric wider,
Accuse the leech's art no more, And spread thy banners round my room.
But learn of Slender to deplore, Swept from the rich man's costly ceiling, O sweet! O sweet Anne Page !
Thou’rt welcome to my homely roof; Here mayst thou find a peaceful dwelling,
And you, whose souls are held
Like linnets in a cage,
Who talk of fetters, links, and chains,
O sweet! O sweet Anne Page !
And you, who boast or grieve,
What horrid wars ye wage,
Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye;
O sweet! O sweet Anne Page !
Hence every fond conceit He for some fluttering tawdry creature, Of shepherd, or of sage!
That spreads her charms before his eye; 'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way, And that's a conquest little better
Expresses all you have to say Than thine o'er captive butterfly.
O sweet! Ó sweet Anne Page ! Thus far 'tis plain we both agree,
Perhaps our deaths may better show it 'Tis ten to one but penury,
$ 184. Hamlet's Soliloquy imitated. Jage. Ends both the spider and the poet.
To print, or not to print—that is the question:
The quirks and crotchets of outrageous fancy, $ 182. The Extent of Cookery. SHEnstone. Or send a well-wrote copy to the press, Aliusque et idem.
And, by disclosing, end them. To print, to
doubt When Tom to Cainbridge first was sent, No more ; and by one act to say we end A plain browu bol he wore,
The head-ache, and a thousand natural shocks Read much, and look'd as though he meant
Of scribbling phrensy—'tis a consummation To be a fop no more.
Devoutly to be wish'd. To print-to beam See him to Lincoln's Inn repair,
From the same shelf with Pope, in calf well His resolution Aag;
bound : He cherishes a length of hair,
To sleep, perchance, with Quarles-Ay, there's And tucks it in a bag.
For to what class a writer may be doom'd, His coach was kept clean, and no mothers or When he hath shuffled off some paltry stuff,
[his horses. Must give us pause. There's the respect that Took that care of their babes that he look of inakes
He had these-aye, and fifty good qualities Th'unwilling poet keep his piece nine years.
[o'er. For who would bear the impatient thirst of But the business of tippling could ne'er be got fame,
So his master effectually mended the matter, The pride of conscious merit, and, 'bove all, By hiring a man who drank nothing but water. The tedious importunity of friends,
Now, William, says he, you see the plain case ; When he himself might his quietus make Had you drank as he does, you had kept a good With a bare inkhorn? Who would fardels
done so, bear,
Drink water ! quoth William-had all men To groan and sweat under a load of wit, You'd never have wanted a coachman, I trow. But that the tread of sweet Parnassus' hill They're soakers, like me, whom you load with (That undiscover'd country, with whose bays reproaches,
[coaches. Few travellers return) puzzles the will, That enable you brewers to ride in your And makes us rather bear to live unknown, Than run the hazard to be known and damn'd. Thus critics do make cowards of us all;
$ 187. Ode on the Death of Matzel, a favorite And thus the healthful face of many a poem
Bullfinch. Addressed to Philip Stanhope, Is sicklied o'er with a pale manuscript;
Esq.(nutural Son of the Earlof Chesterfield) And enterprises of great fire and spirit
to whom the Author had given the Reversion of With this regard from Dodsley turn away,
it when he left Dresden. WILLIAMS. And lose the name of Authors.
Try not, my Stanhope, 'tis in vain,
To stop your tears, or hide your pain, § 185. To the Memory of George Lewis Lang- Or check your honest rage : ton, Esq. who died on his Travels to Rome. Give sorrow and revenge their scope,
SHIPLEY. My present joy, your future hope,
Lies murder'd in his cage.
Ye linnets, nightingales, and doves,
Attend th' untiniely bier; Shall wake to paint thy gentle mind, Let every sorrow be expressid, The wise good-nature, friendship delicate;
Beat with your wings each mournful breast, In secret converse, native mirth And sprightly fancy, sweet artificer
And drop the nat'ral tear. Of social pleasure ; nor forgot
In height of song, in beauty's pride, The noble thirst of knowledge and fair fame
By fell Grimalkin's claws he died That led thee far through foreign climes
But vengeance shall have way; Inquisitive, but chief the pleasant banks
On pains and tortures I'll refine; Oi Tiber, ever-honor'd stream,
Yet, Matzel, that one death of thinę
His nine will ill repay.
For thee, my bird, the sacred Nine,
Of theatres. In deep thought wrapp'd In thy funereal verse :
Th' eternal dirge which they indite,
In vain I lov'd, in vain I mourn
My bird, who never to return Well did the gen'rous search employ
Is Aed to happier shades,
The place most charming and most fair,
There shall thy notes in cypress grove worthy longest days! for thee shall Aow Soothe wretched ghosts that died for love; The pious solitary tear,
There shall thy plaintive strain And thoughtful friendship sadden o’er thine Lull impious Phædra's endless grief,
To Procris yiell some short relief,
And soften Dido's pain :6 186. The Brewer's Coachmun. TAYLOR: Till Proserpine by chance shall hear Honest William, an easy and good-natur'd Thy notes, and make thee all her care, fellow,
And love thee with my love ; Would a little too oft get a little too mellow. While each attendant soul shall praise Body coachman was he to an eminent brewer— The matchless Matzel's tunetul lays, No better e'er sat on a box to be sure.
And all his songs approve.