Page images
PDF
EPUB

Put Hufwifing the little Heaven had lent,
She duly paid a Groat for Quarter-Rent ;
And pinch'd her Belly with her Daughters two,
To bring the Year about with much ado.
The Cattle in her Homestead were three Sows,
An Ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded Cows.
Her Parlor-Windows ftuck with Herbs around,
Of fav'ry Smell, and Rufhes ftrew'd the Ground.
A Maple-Dreffer in her Hall fhe had,
On which full many a flender Meal she made :
For no delicious Morfel pafs'd her Throat;
According to her Cloth the cut her Coat:
No poinant Sauce fhe knew, no coftly. Treat,
Her Hunger gave a Relish to her Meat:
A fparing Diet did her Health affure;
Or Sick, a Pepper-Poffet was her Cure.
Before the Day was done her Work fhe fped,
And never went by Candle-light to Bed;
With Exercife the fweat ill Humors out,
Her Dancing was not hinder'd by the Gout.
Her Poverty was glad, her Heart content,
Nor knew the what the Spleen or Vapors meant.
Of Wine fhe never tafted through the Year,
But White and Black was all her homely Chear;
Brown Bread, and Milk, (but firft fhe skim'd her
And Rafhers of fing'd Bacon, on the Coals. (Bowls
On Holy Days, an Egg or two at most,
But her Ambition never reach'd to roast.
A Yard fhe had with Pates enclos'd about,
Some high, fome low, and a dry Ditch without;
Within this Homestead, liv'd without a Peer,

XXIII.

The COCK.

FOR Crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer:
So high't her Cock, who Singing did furpafs
The merry Notes of Organs at the Mafs.
More certain was the crowing of this Cock
To number Hours, than is an Abbey Clock;
And fooner than the Mattin Bell was rung,
He clap'd his Wings upon his Rooft, and fung:
For when Degrees fifteen afcended right,
By fure Instinct he knew 'twas One at Night.
High was his Comb, and Coral-red withall,
In dents embattl'd like a Castle Wall;
His Bill was Raven-black, and fhone like Jet,
Blue were his Legs, and Orient were his Feet:
White were his Nails, like Silver to behold,
His Body glitt'ring like the burnish'd Gold.
Dryden from Chaucer's Cock and the Fox.

XXIV.

The Combate of David and Goliah.

Hus, and with trembling Hopes of ftrange Succefs,

In his own Arms Saul the bold Youth does drels. On's Head an Helmet of well-wrought Brafs is plac'd, The top with Warlike Plumes feverely grac'd. His Breaft a Plate cut with rare Figures bore, A Sword much practis'd in Death's Art he wore. Yet David us'd fo long to no Defence, But thofe light Arms of Spirit and Innocence,

D

No

No good in Fight of that gay Burden knows,
But fears his own Arms weight, more than his Foes.
He loft himself in that difguife of War,
And guarded feems as Men by Prifons are.
He therefore to exalt the wond'rous Sight,
Prepares now, and difarms himself for Fight. (thofe
'Gainft Shield, Helmet, Breaft-plate, and instead of
Five fharp fimoothStones from the nextBrook he chose
And fits them to his Sling; Then marches down;
For Sword, his Enemy's he efteem'd his own.
We all with various Paflion ftrangely gaz'd,
Some fad, fome fham'd, fome angry, all amaz'd.

Now in the Valley he ftands, thro' his youthful Face
Wrath checks the Beauty, and fheds Manly Grace.
Both in his Looks fo join'd, that they might move
Fear ev'n in Friends, and from an Enemy Love.
Hot as ripe Noon, fweet as the blooming Day,
Like July furious, but more fair than May.
The accurdft Philiftian stands on the other fide,
Grumbling aloud, and fimiles 'twixt Rage and Pride.
The Plagues of Dagon! A fmooth Boy, faid he,
A curfed beardlefs Foe oppos'd to Me!
(come!
Hell! With what Arms, hence thou fond Child, he's
Some Friend his Mother call to drive him home.
Not gone yet? If one Minute more you stay,
The Birds of Heav'n fhall bear thee dead away.
Gods! a curft Boy! the reft then murmuring out,
He walks, and cafts a deadly Grin about.
David with cheerful Anger in his Eyes,
Advances boldly on, and thus replies,

Thou com'it, vain Man, all arm'd into the Field, And truft'ft thofe War-toys, thy Sword, and Shield; Thy Pride's my Spear, thy Blafphemy my Sword; My Shield thy Maker, Fool; the Mighty Lord Thee and Battels, who hath fent forth Me

ed thus, not to Fight, but Conquer Thee.

[ocr errors]

In vain fhall Dagon thy falfe Hope withstand;
In vain thy other God, thine own right Hand.
Thy Fall to Man fhall Heavens ftrong Juftice fhow,
Wretch! it is the only Good which thou can't do.
He faid, our Hoft ftood dully filent by,
And durft not truft their Ears against the Eye.
As much their Champion's Threats to him they fear'd,
As when the Monster's Threats to them they heard,
His Flaming Sword the enrag'd Philiftian shakes,
And hafte to his Ruin with loud Curfes makes.
Backward the Winds his active Curfes blew,
And fatally round his own Head they flew.
For now from David's Sling the Stone is fled,
And strikes with joyful Noife the Monster's Head.
It ftruck his Forehead, and pierc'd deeply there,
As fwiftly as it pierc'd before the Air.
Down, down he falls, and bites in vain the Ground;
Blood, Brain, and Soul crowd mingled through the
(Wound;

So a strong Oak, which many Years had ftood
With fair and flourishing Boughs, it self a Wood;
Tho' it might long the Axes Violence bear,
And play'd with Winds which other Trees did tear;
Yet by the Thunders Stroke from the Roof'tis rent:
So fure the Blows, that from high Heaven are fent.

Cowley,

XXV.

Acme and Septimius.

(1.)

[ocr errors]

W Hilft on Septimius's panting Breaft,
(Meaning nothing less than Rest)
Acme lean'd her loving Head,
Thus the pleas'd Septimius faid.

D 2.

(2.)

(2.)

My dearest Acme, if I be.
Once alive, and love not thee
With a Paflion far above,
All that e'er was called Love,
In a Lybian Defart may,
I become fome Lyon's prey,
Let him, Acme, let him tear
My Breaft, when Acme is not there.
(3.)

[ocr errors]

The God of Love who ftood to hear hint,
(The God of Love was always near him)
Pleas'd and tickled with the found,
Sneez'd aloud, and all around
The little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd and bless'd the Augury.
Acme, inflam'd with that he faid,
Rear'd her gentle-bending Head;
And her purple Mouth with Joy,
Stretching to the delicious Boy:
Twice (and twice could scarce fuffice)
She kifs'd his drunken Rowling Eyes.
(4.)
My little Life, my All, faid fhe
So may we ever Servants be,
To this beft God, and ne'er retain,
Our hated Liberty again;
So may thy Paffion laft for me,
As I a Paffion have for thee,
Greater and fiercer much than çan,
Be conceiv'd by thee a Man.
Into my Marrow it is gone,
Fix'd and fettled in the Bone;
It reigns not only in my Heart,
But runs like Life through every Part.

She

« PreviousContinue »