Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, 85
And on the rope the vent'rous maiden fwings;
Jack Pudding in his parti-coloured jacket
Toffes the glove, and jokes at ev'ry packet.
Of raree-shows he fung, and Punch's feats,
Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cheats.

Then fad he fung the Children in the Wood:
Ah, barb'rous uncle, ftain'd with infant blood!
How blackberrys they pluck'd in defarts wild,
And fearless at the glittering fauchion smil'd;
Their little corps the robin-red-breafts found, 95
And ftrow'd with pious bill the leaves around.
Ah gentle birds! if this verse lasts fo long,
Your names fhall live for ever in my song.

For Buxom Joan he fung the doubtful strife, How the fly failor made the maid a wife.

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To louder ftrains he rais'd his voice, to tell
What woeful wars in Chevy-chace befell,
When Piercy drove the deer with hound and horn,
Wars to be wept by children yet unborn!

Ah With'rington, more years thy life had crown'd,
If thou had'ft never heard the horn or hound!
Yet fhall the Squire, who fought on bloody stumps,
By future bards be wail'd in doleful dumps.

Line

97. Fortunati ambo, fi quid mea carmina possunt,

Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo.

VIRG.

99. A Song in the comedy of Love for Love, beginning

All in the land of Effex next he chaunts, How to fleek mares ftarch quakers turn gallants; How the grave brother stood on bank fo green. Happy for him if mares had never been!

Then he was feiz'd with a religious qualm, And on a fudden fung the hundredth pfalm.

He fung of Taffey Welch, and Sawney Scot, 115 Lilly-bullero, and the Irish Trot.

Why should I tell of Bateman or of Shore,
Or Wantley's Dragon flain by valiant Moore,
The Bow'r of Rofamond, or Robin Hood,
And how the grafs now grows where Troy town flood?

His carols ceas'd: the lift'ning maids and swains
Seem still to hear fome foft imperfect strains.
Sudden he rofe; and, as he reels along,
Swears kiffes sweet should well reward his fong.
The damfels laughing fly: the giddy clown
Again upon a wheat-fheaf drops adown;

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The pow'r that guards the drunk, his fleep attends, Till, ruddy, like his face, the fun defcends.

Line

109. A Song of Sir J. Denham's. See his Poems.

112. Et fortunatam, fi nunquam armenta fuissent,

Pafipbaen.

VIRG.

117. Quid loquar aut Scyllam nifi, &c.

VIRG.

17. Old English ballads.

THE BIRTH OF THE SQUIRE.

AN ECLOGUE.

IN IMITATION OF THE POLLIO OF VIRGIL.

BY THE SAME.

5

YE fylvan Muses, loftier strains recite,
Not all in fhades and humble cotts delight.
Hark! the bells ring; along the distant grounds
The driving gales convey the fwelling founds;
Th' attentive swain, forgetful of his work,
With gaping wonder, leans upon his fork.
What fudden news alarms the waking morn?
To the glad Squire a hopeful heir is born.
Mourn, mourn, ye ftags, and all ye beasts of chace;
This hour destruction brings on all your race: 10
See the pleas'd tenants duteous off'rings bear,
Turkeys and geefe, and grocers sweetest ware;
With the new health the pond'rous tankard flows,
And old October reddens ev'ry nose.

Beagles and spaniels round his cradle stand,
Kifs his moift lip, and gently lick his hand.
He joys to hear the shrill horn's echoing sounds,
And learns to lifp the names of all the hounds.

15

With frothy ale to make his cup o'erflow,
Barley fhall in paternal acres grow;

The bee fhall fip the fragrant dew from flow'rs,
To give metheglin for his morning hours;
For him the cluftring hop fhall climb the poles,
And his own orchard sparkle in his bowls.

20

26

His Sire's exploits he now with wonder hears, The monftrous tales indulge his greedy ears; How, when youth ftrung his nerves, and warm'd

his veins,

He rode the mighty Nimrod of the plains.
He leads the staring infant through the hall,

Points out the horny spoils that grace the wall; 30 Tells, how this ftag through three whole countys fled,

35

What rivers swam, where bay'd, and where he bled.
Now he the wonders of the fox repeats,
Describes the defp'rate chace, and all his cheats;
How in one day, beneath his furious speed,
He tir'd feven courfers of the fleetest breed;
How high the pale he leapt, how wide the ditch,
When the hound tore the haunches of the *witch!
These ftories, which descend from son to son,
The forward boy fhall one day make his own. 40

* The most common accident to Sportsmen; to hunt a witch in the shape of a hare.

Ah, too fond mother, think the time draws nigh, That calls the darling from thy tender eye; How fhall his spirit brook the rigid rules, And the long tyranny of grammar-schools? Let younger brothers o'er dull authors plod, Lafh'd into Latin by the tingling rod; No, let him never feel that fmart disgrace: Why should he wifer prove than all his race?

45

When rip'ning youth with down o'erfhades his chin,

And ev'ry female eye incites to fin;

50

The milk-maid (thoughtless of her future shame)
With fmacking lip fhall raise his guilty flame;
The dairy, barn, the hay-loft, and the grove,
Shall oft' be conscious of their ftolen love.
But think, Prifcilla, on that dreadful time,

55

When pangs and watry qualms shall own thy crime. How wilt thou tremble, when thy nipple's preft, To see the white drops bathe thy fwelling breaft! Nine moons fhall publickly divulge thy fhame, And the young Squire foreftall a father's name.

When twice twelve times the reaper's sweeping

hand

With levell'd harvests has bestrown the land;
On fam'd St. Hubert's feaft, his winding horn

Shall cheer the joyful hound, and wake the morn!
This memorable day his eager speed

Shall urge with bloody heel the rising steed.

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