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Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But a sweet-brier twines it around.
But it glitters with fishes of gold.
One would think she might like to retire
To prune the wild branches away.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
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!
As she may not be fond to resign.
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear,
She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
And she call'd it the sister of love.
Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs?
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,
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;
Repine at her triumphs, and die."
He throws it at Phillis's feet.
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;
Were not Phillis to lend it an ear.
Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,
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;
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
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,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
O ye woods, spread your branches apace;
I would hide with the beasts of the chase,
$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;
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?
§ 131. A Pastoral Ballad. RowE.
To his sighs with a sigh did reply;
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,
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,
Is, to shade me with cypress and yew;
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.
His mountain back mote well be said
And lift itself above;
Yet, spite of all that Nature did
This creature dar'd to love.
He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Could ladies look within;
His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, "Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost
That reach'd the neighbour town:
On all the walls around.
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,
Now, whilst he gaz'd, a gallant, drest
With awful accent cried :
Advanc'd in open sight;
"Nor have I cause of dread," he said,
""Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,
Who dare to tell us true.
He spoke, and, all a sudden, there
The Monarch leads the Queen:
With Edwin of the Green.
As heart and lip desire :
But now, to please the fairie king,
Some wind and tumble like an ape,
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 ;
And heard a cock to crow;
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,
At close of eve he leaves his home,
All on the gloomy plain.
But, certes, sorely sunk with woe
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!
To tread the circling haunt.
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.'
The captive upward Alung;
By this the stars began to wink;
Then deem'd the dole was o'er :
"Thus some are born, my son," she cries, "With base impediments to rise,
And some are born with none.
§ 133. Song. THOMSON.
For once, O Fortune! hear my prayer,
Make but the dear Amanda mine.
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
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
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,
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.