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With timely care I'll fow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its master's hand, Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, Or range the sheaves along the funny land. IV.
If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
I meet a ftrolling kid, or bleating lamb, Under my arm I'll bring the wand'rer home, And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.
What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
And clafp a fearful miftrefs to my breast? Or lull'd to flamber by the beating rain, Secure and happy sink at last to rest.
Or if the fun in flaming Leo ride,
By fhady rivers indolently ftray,
And with my DELIA walking fide by fide,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away.
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To stop and gaze on DELIA as I
To mingle sweet difcourfe with kiffes fweet,
And teach my lovely scholar all I know!
Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dream,
In filent happiness I reft unknown;
Content with what I am, not what I feem,
I live for DELIA, and myself alone.
Ah foolish man! who thus of her poffefs'd,
Could float and wander with ambition's wind, And if his outward trappings spoke him bleft,
Not heed the fickness of his confcious mind.
With her I fcorn the idle breath of praise,
Nor truft to happiness that's not our own,
The file of fortune might fufpicion raife,
But here I know that I am lov'd alone.
STANHOPE, in wifdom as in wit divine,
May rife, and plead Britannia's glorious caufe,.
With steady rein his eager wit confine,
While manly fense the deep attention draws..
Let STANHOPE fpez: his lift'ning country's wrong
My humble voice thall please one partial maid ;
For her alone, I pen my tender fag,
Securely fitting in his friendly fhade.
STANHOPE fhall come, and grace his rural friend,
DELIA fhall wonder at her noble guest,
With blushing awe the riper fruit commend,
And for her husband's patron call the best.
He's be the care of all my little train,
While I with tender indolence am bleft,
The favourite fubject of her gentle reign,
By love alone diftinguish'd from the rest.
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,
In gloomy forefts tend my lonely stock,
For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow,
And fleep extended on the naked rock.
Ah! what avails to prefs the ftately bed,
And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep, By warbling fountains lay the penfive head,
And, while they murmur, ftrive in vain to sleep!
DELIA alone can please and never tire,
Exceed the paint of thought in true delight,
With her, enjoyment wakens new defire,
And equal rapture glows thro' every night.
Beauty and worth, alone in her, contend,
To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind; In her, my wife, my miftrefs, and my friend, I tafte the joys of fenfe, and reafon join'd.
On her I'll gaze when others loves are o'er,
And dying, prefs her with my clay-cold hand
weep p't already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breaft the thought withstand.
Oh! when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with fharper torments kill; Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair, Tho' I'am dead, my foul shall love thee ftill. XXI.
Oh quit the room, oh quit the deathful bed,
Or thou wilt die, fo tender is thy heart!
Oh leave me, DELIA! ere thou fee me dead,
These weeping friends will do thy mournful part.
Let them, extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corfe in melancholy state,
Thro' all the village spread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate.
But every fpecies of poetry, however ferious, may admit of humour and burlesque. Examples of which we have given in the Epigram, and Epitaph, and we shall conclude this chapter with a burlefque elegy, written by Dr. Swift.
An ELEGY on the fuppofed death of Mr. PARTRIDGE, the Almanack-maker.
Well; 'tis as Bickerstaff has guefs'd,
Tho' we all took it for a jeft;
Partridge is dead; nay more, he dy'd
E're he cou'd prove the good 'Squire ly'd.
Strange, an aftrologer fhou'd die
Without one wonder in the sky!
Not one of all his crony ftars
To pay their duty at his herse!
No meteor, no eclipse appear'd!
No comet with a flaming beard!
The fun has rofe, and gone to bed,
Juft as if Partridge were not dead:
Nor hid himself behind the moon
To make a dreadful night at noon.
He at fit periods walks thro' Aries,
Howe'er our earthly motion varies :
And twice a year he'll cut th' Equator,
As if there had been no fuch matter.
Some Wits have wonder'd, what analogy,
There is 'twixt * cobling and aftrology:
How Partridge made his optics rise,
From a fhoe-fole, to reach the skies.
A lift the coblers temples ties
To keep the hair qut of their eyes;
From whence 'tis plain the diadem,
That princes wear, derives from them.
And therefore crowns are now-a-days
Adorn'd with golden flars and rays,
Which plainly fhews the near alliance
"Twixt cobling and the planets science.
Befides, that flow-pac'd fign Bootes,
(As 'tis mifcall'd) we know not who 'tis :
But Partridge ended all disputes;
He knew his trade, and call'd it + Boots.
The borned moon, which heretofore,
Upon their fhoes the Romans wore,
Whose widenefs kept their toes from corns,
And whence we claim our fooing-horns,
* Partridge was a Cobler,
See his Almanack,
Shews how the art of cobling bears
A near. resemblance to the Spheres.
A fcrap of parchment hung by geometry
(A great refinement in barometry)
Can, like the ftars, foretell the weather;
And what is parchment else but leather,
Which an aftrologer might ufe,
Either for Almanacks or shoes?
Thus Partridge, by his wit and parts, At once did practice both these arts: And as the boading Owl (or rather The Bat, because her wings are leather,) Steals from her private cell by night, And flies about at candle-light; So learned Partridge could as well Creep in the dark from leathern cell, And, in his fancy, fly as far To peep upon a twinkling ftar.
Befides, he could confound the Spheres,
And fet the Planets by the ears ;
To fhew his fkill, he Mars could join
To Venus in afpe&t malign;
Then call in Mercury for aid,
And cure the wounds, that Venus made.
Great scholars have in Lucian read,
When Philip king of Greece was dead,
His foul and Spirit did divide,
And each part took a diff'rent fide;
One rose a star, the other fell
Beneath, and mended fhoes in Hell.
Thus Partridge ftill shines in each art, The cobling and ftar-gazing part; And is inftall'd as good a star As
any of the Cafars are.
Triumphant ftar! fome pity fhew
On Coblers militant below,
Whom roguish boys in stormy nights
Torment, by piffing out their lights;
Or thro' a chink convey their smoak
Inclos'd Artificers to choak!
Thou, high exalted in thy fphere,
May'ft follow fill thy calling there,