Then, full of wrath, she kick'd each lazy brute, Alas! I envied even that salute: [say, 'Twas sure misplaced-Shock said, or seem'd to "He had as lief I had the kick as they." 'If she the mystic bellows take in hand, Who like the fair can that machine command? O, mayst thou ne'er by Æolus be seen, For he would sure demand thee for his queen! 'But should the flame this rougher aid refuse, And only gentler medicines be of use, With full-blown cheeks she ends the doubtful strife, Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life. 'Such arts as these exalt the drooping fire, 'With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen 'Look, with what charming grace, what winning tricks The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks! So bright she makes the candlesticks she handles, Oft have I said-" there were no need of candles." But thou, my fair! who never wouldst approve, Or hear the tender story of my love, Or mind how burns my raging breast-a buttonPerhaps art dreaming of-a breast of mutton.' VOL. V. G G Thus said, and wept the sad desponding swain, Revealing to the sable walls his pain: But nymphs are free with those they should deny; To those they love more exquisitely coy. Now chirping crickets raise their tinkling voice, The lambent flames in languid streams arise, And smoke in azure folds evaporates and dies. SHENSTONE. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. IMITATED. To print, or not to print-that is the question. The quirks and crotchets of outrageous fancy, And, by disclosing, end them? To print, to doubt, For to what class a writer may be doom'd, The' unwilling poet keep his piece nine years. When as himself might his quietus make JAGO. THE DUKE OF BENEVENTO. A Tale. I HATE a prologue to a story Worse than the tuning of a fiddle, Hang order and connexion, There is a comfort on reflection To think you've done with the beginning. And so, at supper one fine night, Hearing a cry of 'Alla, Alla,' The prince was damnably confounded, But more so, when he saw himself surrounded And then he look'd a little grave And thought the Corsair rather in a hurry, To make the Duke of Benevento 'curry Or a wry face, He gave a shrug, and rubb'd his mules in quiet. Now 'twould have been great sport To all the puppies of the court, To view these changes and disasters; Were damp'd by certain slovenly employments, But who can paint his grief, Who can describe the transports of his sorrow, When he beheld Almida's charms Conducted to Abdalla's arms, And saw no prospect of relief: But that the blooming maid, By cruel destiny betray'd, Must no more triumph in that name to-morrow? Not understanding what he said, Each favouring opportunity improve; And bade him dare to hope, and bade him dare to love. The Corsair, in a transport of surprise, To gild the progress of his life below, Then with a smile Might e'en a Stoic's heart beguile, The fair one with a little flattery To his charm'd ears address'd her battery 'Still may my Lord (said she) approve The happy object of his love, Then when Almida sues, Let not Abdalla's heart her first request refuse : Deign to suspend but for three days The progress of your amorous flame, And to console my heart for these delays, Grant me two small requests that I shall name. |