And when thou'st read my mournful lay, The day declin'd, the evening breeze gun invaded me; 02 Was Was it for this I fhun'd retreat, A RECEIPT HOW TO MAKE L'EAU DE VIE. BY THE LATE MR. CHARLES KING. WRITTEN AT THE DESIRE OF A LADY. GTOWN old, and grown ROWN old, and grown ftupid, you just think me fit To transcribe from my grandmother's book a receipt; And a comfort it is to a wight in distress, He's of fome little ufe-but he can't be of lefs. Were greater his talents-you might ever command So your mandate obeying he fends you, d'ye fee, Take Take feven large lemons, and pare them as thin As a wafer, or, what is yet thinner, your skin; A quart of French brandy, or rum is ftill better; (For you ne'er in receipts fhould stick close to the letter :) Six ounces of fugar next take, and pray mind, The fugar must be the best double-refin'd; Boil the fugar in near half a pint of fpring water, In the neat filver fauce-pan you bought for your daughter; While the fcum, as 'tis call'd, rises up to the brim ; Of new milk, made as warm as it comes from the cow., Let it ftand thus three days,-but remember to shake it; And the clofer you ftop it, the richer you make it: Then filter'd thro' paper, 'twill sparkle and rife, Be as foft as your lips, and as bright as your eyes, Laft, bottle it up; and believe me the vicar Of E- himself ne'er drank better liquor: In a word, it excels, by a million of odds, The nectar your fifter presents to the Gods. Plaintive where the prates at night; IV. From the low-roof'd cottage ridge, See the chatt'ring swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, Quick fhe dips her dappled wing. V. Now the pine-tree's waving top VI. From the balmy fweets, uncloy'd, Now the bufy bee's employ'd VII. Trickling through the crevic'd rock, When 'tis fun-drove from the hills. VIII. Colin's for the promis'd corn (Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious;-whilft the huntsman's horn, Boldly founding, drown his pipe. IX. Sweet,-O sweet, warbling throng, Nature's univerfal fong Echoes to the rising day. 04 |