Page images
PDF
EPUB

Fanny the damsel's name, as chaste as fair,
Each virgin's envy, and each swain's despair;
To charm her ear the rival shepherds sing,
Blow the soft flute, and wake the trembling string;
For her they leave their wand'ring flocks to rove,
Whilst Fanny's name resounds through ev'ry grove,
And spreads on ev'ry tree, enclos'd in knots of love;
As Fielding's now, her eyes all hearts inflame,
Like her in beauty, as alike in name.

'T was when the summer Sun, now mounted high, With fiercer beams had scorch'd the glowing sky, Beneath the covert of a cooling shade,

To shun the heat, this lovely nymph was laid;
The sultry weather o'er her cheeks had spread
A blush, that added to their native red,
And her fair breast, as polish'd marble white,
Was half conceal'd, and half expos'd to sight:
Folus, the mighty god whom winds obey,
Observ'd the bounteous maid, as thus she lay;
O'er all her charms he gaz'd with fond delight,
And suck'd in poison at the dang'rous sight;
He sighs, he burns; at last declares his pain,
But still he sighs, and still he wooes in vain ;
The cruel nymph, regardless of his moan,
Minds not his flame, uneasy with her own;
But still complains, that he who rul'd the air
Would not command one Zephyr to repair
Around her face, nor gentle breeze to play
Through the dark glade, to cool the sultry day;
By love incited, and the hopes of joy,
Th' ingenious god contriv'd this pretty toy,
With gales incessant to relieve her flame;
And call'd it Fan, from lovely Fanny's name.

CANTO II.

Now see, prepar'd to lead the sprightly dance, The lovely nymphs and well-dress'd youths advance;

The spacious room receives each jovial guest,
And the floor shakes with pleasing weight op-
press'd:

Thick rang'd on ev'ry side, with various dyes
The fair in glossy silks our sight surprise;
So, in a garden bath'd with genial show'rs,
A thousand sorts of variegated flow'rs,
Jonquils, carnations, pinks, and tulips rise,
And in a gay confusion charm our eyes.
High o'er their heads, with numerous candles bright,
Large sconces shed their sparkling beams of light,
Their sparkling beams, that still more brightly glow,
Reflected back from gems and eyes below:
Unnumber'd fans to cool the crowded fair,
With breathing Zephyrs move the circling air;
The sprightly fiddle, and the sounding lyre,
Each youthful breast with gen'rous warmth inspire;
Fraught with all joys the blissful moments fly,
Whilst music melts the ear, and beauty charms

the eye.

Now let the youth, to whose superior place It first belongs the splendid ball to grace, With humble bow and ready hand prepare Forth from the crowd to lead his chosen fair; The fair shall not his kind request deny, But to the pleasing toil with equal ardour fly. But stay, rash pair, nor yet untaught advance, First hear the Muse, ere you attempt to dance:

By art directed o'er the foaming tide',
Secure from rocks the painted vessels glide;
By art the chariot scours the dusty plain,
Springs at the whip, and hears the strait'ning rein ';
To art our bodies must obedient prove,
If e'er we hope with graceful ease to move.
Long was the dancing art unfix'd and free,
Hence lost in errour and uncertainty;
No precepts did it mind, or rules obey,
But ev'ry master taught a different way;
Hence ere each new-born dance was fully try'd,
The lovely product ev'n in blooming dy'd;
Through various hands in wild confusion tost,
Its steps were alter'd, and its beauties lost;
Till Fuillet, the pride of Gallia, rose,
And did the dance in characters compose;
Each lovely grace by certain marks he taught,
And ev'ry step in lasting volumes wrote:
Hence o'er the world this pleasing art shall spread,
And ev'ry dance in ev'ry clime be read,
By distant masters shall each step be seen,
Though mountains rise, and oceans roar between;
Hence, with her sister arts, shall dancing claim
An equal right to universal fame;
And Isaac's Rigadoon shall live as long,
As Raphael's painting, or as Virgil's song.
Wise Nature ever, with a prudent hand,
Dispenses various gifts to ev'ry land;
To ev'ry nation frugally imparts

A genius fit for some peculiar arts;
To trade the Dutch incline, the Swiss to arms,
Music and verse are soft Italia's charms;
Britannia justly glories to have found
Lands unexplor'd, and sail'd the globe around;
But none will sure presume to rival France,
Whether she forms or executes the dance;
To her exalted genius 't is we owe
The sprightly Rigadoon and Louvre slow,
The Borée, and Courant unpractis'd long
'Th' immortal Minuet, and smooth Bretagne,
With all those dances of illustrious fame,
Which from their native country take their name 4;
With these let ev'ry ball be first begun,
Nor Country-dance intrude till these are done.

Each cautious bard, ere he attempts to sing,
First gently flutt'ring tries his tender wing;
And if he finds that with uncommon fire
The Muses all his raptur'd soul inspire,
At once to Heav'n he soars in lofty odes,
And sings alone of heroes and of gods;
But if he trembling fears a flight so high,
He then descends to softer elegy;
And if in elegy he can't succeed,
In past'ral he may tune the oaten reed:
So should the dancer, ere he tries to move,
With care his strength, his weight, and genius prove;
Then, if he finds kind Nature's gifts impart
Endowments proper for the dancing art,
If in himself he feels together join'd
An active body and ambitious mind,
In nimble Rigadoons he may advance,
Or in the Louvre's slow majestic dance;

[blocks in formation]

If these he fears to reach, with easy pace
Let him the Minuet's circling mazes trace:
Is this too hard? this too let him forbear,
And to the Country-dance confine his care.

Would you in dancing ev'ry fault avoid,
To keep true time be first your thoughts employ'd;
All other errours they in vain shall mend,
Who in this one important point offend;
For this, when now united hand in hand
Eager to start the youthful couple stand,
Let them a while their nimble feet restrain,
And with soft taps beat time to ev'ry strain:
So for the race prepar'd two coursers' stand,
And with impatient pawings spurn the sand.
In vain a master shall employ his care,
Where nature has once fix'd a clumsy air;
Rather let such, to country sports confin'd,
Pursue the flying hare or tim'rous hind:
Nor yet, while I the rural 'squire despise,
A mien effeminate would I advise :
With equal scorn I would the fop deride,
Nor let him dance,but on the woman's side.
And you, fair nymphs, avoid with equal care
A stupid dulness, and a coquet air;
Neither with eyes, that ever love the ground,
Asleep, like spinning tops, run round and round,
Nor yet with giddy looks and wanton pride,
Stare all around, and skip from side to side.
True dancing, like true wit, is best express'd
By nature only to advantage dress'd;
"T is not a nimble bound, or caper high,
That can pretend to please a curious eye,
Good judges no such tumblers' tricks regard,
Or think them beautiful, because they're hard.
"T is not enough that ev'ry stander-by
No glaring errours in your steps can spy,
The dance and music must so nicely meet,
Each note should seem an echo to your feet;
A nameless grace must in each movement dwell,
Which words can ne'er express, or precepts tell,
Not to be taught, but ever to be seen
In Flavia's air, and Chloe's easy mien ;
"T is such an air that makes her thousands fall,
When Fielding dances at a birthnight ball;
Smooth as Camilla she skims o'er the plain,
And flies like her through crowds of heroes slain.
Now when the Minuet, oft repeated o'er,
(Like all terrestrial joys) can please no more,
And ev'ry nymph, refusing to expand
Her charms, declines the circulating hand;
Then let the jovial Country-dance begin,
And the loud fiddles call each straggler in:
But ere they come, permit me to disclose
How first, as legends tell, this pastime rose.

In ancient times (such times are now no more) When Albion's crown illustrious Arthur wore, In some fair op'ning glade, each summer's night, Where the pale Moon diffus'd her silver light, On the soft carpet of a grassy field The sporting Fairies their assemblies held: Some lightly tripping with their pigmy queen, In circling ringlets mark'd the level green, Some with soft notes bade mellow pipes resound, And music warble through the groves around; Oft lonely shepherds by the forest side, Belated peasants oft their revels spy'd, And home returning o'er their nut-brown ale, Their guests diverted with the wondrous tale. Instructed hence, throughout the British isle, And foud to imitate the pleasing toil,

Round where the trembling May-pole fix'd on high
Uplifts its flow'ry honours to the sky,
The ruddy maids and sun-burnt swains resort,
And practise ev'ry night the lovely sport;
On ev'ry side Folian artists stand,

Whose active elbows swelling winds command;
The swelling winds harmonious pipes inspire,
And blow in ev'ry breast a gen'rous fire.

Thus taught, at first the Country-dance began, And hence to cities and to courts it ran; Succeeding ages did in time impart Various improvements to the lovely art; From fields and groves to palaces remov'd, Great ones the pleasing exercise approv'd: Hence the loud fiddle, and shrill trumpet's sounds, Are made companions of the dancer's bounds; Hence gems and silks, brocades and ribbons join, To make the ball with perfect lustre shine.

So rude at first the tragic Muse appear'd,
Her voice alone by rustic rabble heard;
Where twisting trees a cooling arbour made,
The pleas'd spectators sat beneath the shade;
The homely stage with rushes green was strew'd,
And in a cart the strolling actors rode :
Till time at length improv'd the great design,
And bade the scenes with painted landscapes shine;
Then art did all the bright machines dispose,
And theatres of Parian marble rose,

Then mimic thunder shook the canvass sky,
And gods descended from their tow'rs on high.
With caution now let ev'ry youth prepare
To choose a partner from the mingled fair;
Vain would be here th' instructing Muse's voice,
If she pretended to direct his choice:
Beauty alone by fancy is express'd,

And charms in diff'rent forms each diff'rent breast;
A snowy skin this am'rous youth admires,
Whilst nut-brown cheeks another's bosom fires;
Small waists and slender limbs some hearts insnare,
Whilst others love the more substantial fair.

But let not outward charms your judgment sway,
Your reason rather than your eyes obey,
And in the dance as in the marriage noose,
Rather for merit, than for beauty, choose:
Be her your choice, who knows with perfect skill
When she should move, and when she should be still,
Who uninstructed can perform her share,
And kindly half the pleasing burden bear,
Unhappy is that hopeless wretch's fate,
Who, fetter'd in the matrimonial state
With a poor, simple, unexperienc'd wife,
Is forc'd to lead the tedious dance of life:
And such is his, with such a partner join'd,
A moving puppet, but without a mind:
Still must his hand be pointing out the way,
Yet ne'er can teach so fast as she can stray;
Beneath her follies he must ever groan,
And ever blush for errours not his own.

But now behold, united hand in hand, Rang'd on each side, the well-pair'd couples stand! Each youthful bosom beating with delight Waits the brisk signal for the pleasing sight; While lovely eyes, that flash unusual rays, And snowy bosoms, pull'd above the stays, Quick busy hands, and bridling heads, declare The fond impatience of the starting fair. And see, the sprightly dance is now begun! Now here, now there the giddy maze they run, Now with slow steps they pace the circling ring, Now all confus'd, too swift for sight they spring;

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

WRITTEN IN THE EARL OF OXFORD'S LIBRARY.

So, in a wheel with rapid fury tost,

The undistinguish'd spokes are in the motion lost.
The dancer here no more requires a guide,
To no strict steps his nimble feet are ty'd,
The Muse's precepts here would useless be,
Where all is fancy'd, unconfin'd, and free;
Let him but to the Music's voice attend,
By this instructed he can ne'er offend;
If to his share it falls the dance to lead,
In well-known paths he may be sure to tread;
If others lead, let him their motions view,
And in their steps the winding maze pursue.
In every Country-dance a serious mind,
Turn'd for reflection, can a moral find,
In hunt-the-squirrel thus the nymph we view,
Seeks when we fly, but flies when we pursue:
Thus in round-dances where our partners change,
And unconfin'd from fair to fair we range,

As soon as one from his own consort flies,
Another seizes on the lovely prize;

A while the fav'rite youth enjoys her charms,
Till the next comer steals her from his arms,
New ones succeed, the last is still her care;
How true an emblem of th' inconstant fair!
Where can philosophers, and sages wise,
Who read the curious volumes of the skies,
A model more exact than dancing name
Of the creation's universal frame?
Where worlds unnumber'd o'er th' ethereal way
In a bright regular confusion stray;

Now here, now there they whirl along the sky,
Now near approach, and now far distant fly,
Now meet in the same order they begun,
And then the great celestial dance is done.

Where can the mor'list find a juster plan
Of the vain labours, and the life of man?

A while through justling crowds we toil and sweat,
And eagerly pursue we know not what,
Then when our trifling short-liv'd race is run,
Quite tir'd sit down, just where we first begun.
Though to your arms kind Fate's indulgent care
Has giv'n a partner exquisitely fair,

Let not her charms so much engage your heart,
That you neglect the skilful dancer's part;
Be not, when you the tuneful notes should hear,
Still whisp'ring idle prattle in her ear;
When you should be employ'd, be not at play,
Nor for your joys all other steps delay;
But when the finish'd dance you once have done,
And with applause through ev'ry couple run,
There rest a while; there snatch the fleeting bliss,
The tender whisper, and the balmy kiss;
Each secret wish, each softer hope confess,
And her moist palm with eager fingers press;
With smiles the fair shall hear your warm de-
sires,

When music melts her soul, and dancing fires.

Thus mix'd with love, the pleasing toil pursue,
Till the unwelcome morn appears in view;
Then, when approaching day its beams displays,
And the dull candles shine with fainter rays,
Then, when the Su. just rises o'er the deep,
And each bright eye is almost set in sleep,
With ready hand obsequious youths prepare
Safe to her coach to lead each chosen fair,
And guard her from the morn's inclement air:
Let a warm hood enwrap her lovely head,
And o'er her neck a handkerchief be spread,
Around her shoulders let this arm be cast,
Whilst that from cold defends her slender waist;
VOL. XVII

593

With kisses warm her balmy lips shall glow,
Unchill'd by nightly damps or wintry snow,
While gen'rous white-wine, mull'd with ginger warm,
Safely protects her inward frame from harm.
But ever let my lovely pupils fear

To chill their mantling blood with cold small-beer,
Ah, thoughtless fair! the tempting draught refuse,
When thus forewarn'd by my experienc'd Muse:
Let the sad consequence your thoughts employ,
Nor hazard future pains, for present joy;
Destruction lurks within the pois'nous dose,
A fatal fever, or a pimpled nose.

Thus through each precept of the dancing art
The Muse has play'd the kind instructor's part,
Through every maze her pupils she has led,
And pointed out the surest paths to tread;
No more remains; no more the goddess sings,
But drops her pinions, and unfurls her wings;
On downy beds the weary'd dancers lie,
And sleep's silk cords tie down each drowsy eye,
Delightful dreains their pleasing sports restore,
And ev'n in sleep they seem to dance once more.
And now the work completely finish'd lies,
Which the devouring teeth of time defies;
Whilst birds in air, or fish in streams we find,
Or damsels fret with aged partners join'd;
As long as nymphs shall with attentive ear
A fiddle rather than a sermon hear:

So long the brightest eyes shall oft peruse
These useful lines of my instructive Muse;
Each belle shall wear them wrote upon her fan,
And each bright beau shall read them-if he can.

WRITTEN IN THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE EARL OF OXFORD'S LIBRARY
AT WIMPLE',
AN. 1729.

WHO, uninspir'd, can tread this sacred ground,
With all the sons of fame encompass'd round?
Where, crown'd with wreaths of ever-verdant bays,
Each sister art her willing charms displays:
Mellow'd by time, here beauteous paintings glow,
There marble busts illustrious faces show:
And in old coins are little heroes seen,
With venerable rust of ages green:

I Wimple Hall, with the estate round it, was formerly the possession of the Cutts family, an ancient family in the county of Cambridge, and a descendant of which was the gallant lord Cutts, who so frequently distinguished himself in the several sieges and battles during the war in which the great duke of Marlborough commanded.-This estate was sold by the Cutts family to the famous sir John Cutler, who settled it on the marriage of his daughter with lord Radnor. Lord Radnor afterwards sold it to John Hollis, duke of Newcastle, in the partition of whose estates it came to the earl of Oxford, who married his only daughter. This he made his country residence, and here was kept his famous library till the time of his death. After his death, it was sold by his family to the chancellor lord Hardwicke, from whom it descended to the present earl Hardwicke.

૨૧

T

Around, unwounded by the teeth of age,
By gothic fire, and persecution's rage,
Perfect and fair unnumber'd volumes stand,
By Providence preserv'd for Oxford's hand.

Whilst thus within these magic walls I stray,
At once all climes and ages I survey:
On fancy's wings I fly from shore to shore,
Recall past time, and live whole eras o'er:
Converse with heroes fam'd in ancient song,
And bards, by whom those heroes breathe so long:
Observe the quick migrations learning makes,
How harass'd nations trembling she forsakes,
And hastes away to build her downy nest
In happier climes, with peace and plenty bless'd.
See how, in fam'd Augustus' golden days,
Wit triumphs, crown'd with universal praise!
Approaches thrones with a majestic air,

The prince's mistress, and the statesman's care.
Mecenas shines in ev'ry classic page,
Mecanas, once the Harley of his age.
Nor with less glory she her charms display'd,
In Albion once when royal Anna sway'd.

See Oxford smiles; and all the tuneful train,
In his Britannia's sons revive again;
Prior, like Horace, strikes the sounding strings,
And in harmonious Pope once more great Maro sings.
Again she waves her pinions to be gone,
And only hopes protection from his son:
Chas'd from the senate and the court she flies,
There craft and party zeal her place supplies.
Yet still, since fix'd in Wimple's happy plain,
(Her last retreat) she knows not to complain.
There in great Oxford's converse does engage
Th' instructed ear, and shames a vicious age;
Or in his consort's accents stands confess'd,
And charms with graceful ease each list'ning guest;
Or with her lov'd companions gladly ty'd,
Goodness sincere, and beauty void of pride,
Fixes her throne in Margaretta's face,
And from her lips acquires a new resistless grace.

2 Lady Margaret Cavendish Harley, afterwards married to William, the second duke of Portland.

BONFONIUS1, BAS. XI.

Exoptat se florem illum esse, quo uteretur amica.

ERGO, floscule, tu meæ puellæ

Hoc florente sinu usque conquiesces?
Ergo tu dominæ meæ papillis
Beatus nimis insidebis usque ?

O si, floscule, mî tuâ liceret
Ista sorte frui, et meæ puellæ
Incubare sinu, atque desidere
Hos inter globulos papillularum,

Non sic lentus inersque conquiescam,
Non sic insideam otiosus usque.
Sed toto spatio inquietus errem,
Et feram sinui, feramque collo
Mille basia, mille et huic et illi
Impingam globulo osculationes.

Nec mihi satis hæc putes futura:
Namque et discere curiosus optem,
Quid discriminis inter hunc et illum,
Et quantus tumor hujus illiusque;
Quantum albedine præstet hic vel ille;
Quantum duritie hic vel ille vincat;
Sinisterne globus, globusne dexter
Figura placeat rotundiore;

An dexter globus, an globus sinister
Papilla rubeat rubentiore:
Explorem quoque, quo beata ducat
Illa semita, quæ globos gemellos
Sic discriminat, et subesse clamat
Mellitum magis elegansque quiddam:
Indagem quoque, quicquid est latentis,
Et labar tacitus, ferarque sensim,
Usque Cypridis ad beata regna.

At mi Pancharidis meæ papillas
Nec summo licet ore suaviari,
Nec levi licet attigisse palmâ.

O fortem nimis asperam atque iniquam!
Tantillum illa negat mihi petenti,
Tantillum illa negat mihi scienti;
Quæ tantum huic tribuit nec id petenti,
Quæ tantum huic tribuit nec id scienti.

A poet of the sixteenth century, born at Clermont, in Auvergne, lieutenant general of Bar on the Seigne; who, of all the moderns, in his Latin

TO A NOSEGAY IN PANCHARILLA'S BREAST.

WRITTEN IN 1729.

Musr you alone then, happy flow'rs,
Ye short-liv'd sons of vernal show'rs,
Must you alone be still thus bless'd,
And dwell in Pancharilla's breast?
Oh would the gods but hear my pray'r,
To change my form and place me there!
I should not sure so quickly die,

I should not so unactive lie;
But ever wand'ring to and fro,
From this to that fair ball of snow,
Enjoy ten thousand thousand blisses,
And print on each ten thousand kisses.
Nor would I thus the task give o'er;
Curious new secrets to explore,
I'd never rest till I had found

Which globe was softest, which most round→
Which was most yielding, smooth, and white,
Or the left bosom, or the right;

Which was the warmest, easiest bed,
And which was tip'd with purest red.

Nor could I leave the beauteous scene,
Till I had trac'd the path between,
That milky way so smooth and even,
That promises to lead to Heav'n:
Lower and lower I 'd descend,
To find where it at last wou'd end;
Till fully bless'd I'd wand'ring rove
O'er all the fragrant Cyprian grove.

But ah! those wishes all are vain,
The fair one triumphs in my pain;
To flow'rs that know not to be bless'd
The nymph unveils her snowy breast;
While to her slave's desiring eyes
The heav'nly prospect she denies:
Too cruel fate, too cruel fair,
To place a senseless nosegay there,
And yet refuse my lips the bliss
To taste one dear transporting kiss.

poems approaches the nearest to the grace, ease, and softness of Tibullus.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

IN days, my lord, when mother Time,
Though now grown old, was in her prime,
When Saturn first began to rule,
And Jove was hardly come from school,
How happy was a country life!
How free from wickedness and strife!
Then each man liv'd upon his farm,
And thought aud did no mortal harm ;
On mossy banks fair virgins slept,
As harmless as the flocks they kept;
Then love was all they had to do,

And nymphs were chaste, and swains were true.
But now, whatever poets write,
"T is sure the case is alter'd quite,
Virtue no more in rural plains,
Or innocence, or peace remains;
But vice is in the cottage found,
And country girls are oft unsound;
Fierce party rage each village fires,
With wars of justices and 'squires;
Attorneys, for a barley-straw,
Whole ages hamper folks in law,
And ev'ry neighbour 's in a flame
About their rates, or tythes, or game:
Some quarrel for their hares and pigeons,
And some for diff'rence in religions:
Some hold their parson the best preacher,
The tinker some a better teacher;
These, to the church they fight for strangers,
Have faith in nothing but her dangers;
While those, a more believing people,
Can swallow all things--but a steeple.
But I, my lord, who, as you know,
Care little how these matters go,
And equally detest the strife
And usual joys of country life,
Have by good fortune little share
Of its diversious, or its care;
For seldom I with 'squires unite,
Who hunt all day and drink all night;
Nor reckon wonderful inviting
A quarter-sessions, or cock-fighting,
But then no farm I occupy,
With sheep to rot, and cows to die:
Nor rage I much, or much despair,
Though in my hedge I find a snare;

Nevil lord Lovelace was one of those with whom the author made a friendship on his first coming into the world, uninterrupted till his death, which happened at au early period of his life. There appear strong marks of his affection for him, in some letters wrote to his lordship's sister, the late lady Harry Beauclerc, now in the possession of her descendants.-He was a man of letters, a friend to the Muses, and highly fashioned according to the breeding of those days.

Nor view I, with due admiration,
All the high honours here in fashion;
The great commissions of the quorum,
Terrours to all who come before them;
Militia scarlet edg'd with gold,
Or the white staff high sheriffs hold;
The representative's caressing,
The judge's bow, the bishop's blessing;
Nor can I for my soul delight

In the dull feast of neighb'ring knight,
Who, if you send three days before,
In white gloves meets you at the door,
With superfluity of breeding

First makes you sick, and then with feeding:
Or if, with ceremony cloy'd,

You would next time such plagues avoid,
And visit without previous notice,

"John, John, a coach!-I can 't think who 't is,"
My lady cries, who spies your coach,
Ere you the avenue approach;
"Lord, how unlucky!-washing day!
And all the men are in the hay!"
Entrance to gain is something hard,
The dogs all bark, the gates are barr'd;
The yard 's with lines of linen cross'd,
The hall door's lock'd, the key is lost:
These difficulties all o'ercome,

We reach at length the drawing-room;
Then there's such trampling over-head,
Madam you 'd swear was brought to bed;
Miss in a hurry bursts her lock,
To get clean sleeves to hide her smock;
The servants run, the pewter clatters,
My lady dresses, calls, and chatters;
The cook-maid raves for want of butter,

Pigs squeak, fowls scream, and green geese flutter.
Now after three hours tedious waiting,

On all our neighbours' faults debating,
And having nine times view'd the garden,
In which there 's nothing worth a farthing,
In comes my lady and the pudden :
"You will excuse, sir,-on a sudden”-
Then, that we may have four and four,
The bacon, fowls, and collyflow'r
Their ancient unity divide,

The top one graces, one each side;
And by and by, the second course
Comes lagging like a distanc'd horse;
A salver then to church and king,
The butler swears, the glasses ring;
The cloth remov'd, the toasts go round,
Bawdy and politics abound;

And as the knight more tipsy waxes,
We damn all ministers and taxes.
At last the ruddy Sun quite sunk,
The coachman tolerably drunk,
Whirling o'er hillocks, ruts, and stones,
Enough to dislocate one's bones,
We home return, a wondrous token
Of Heaven's kind care, with limbs unbroken.
Afflict us not, ye gods, though sinners,
With many days like this, or dinners!

But if civilities thus tease me,
Nor business, nor diversions please me:
You'll ask, my lord, how time I spend ?
I answer, with a book or friend:
The circulating hours dividing
"Twixt reading, walking, eating, riding;
But books are still my highest joy,
These earliest please, and latest cloy.

[ocr errors]
« PreviousContinue »