226 ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU Let my obedience then excuse Nor some reproof yourself refuse If killing birds be such a crime, What think you, Sir, of killing Time With verse address'd to me! FROM A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, Late Rector of St. Mary Woolnoth. [Dated May 28, 1782. ̧ SAYS the pipe to the snuff-box, I can't understand, What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face, That you are in fashion all over the land, Do but see what a pretty contemplative air Or, at least would suppose them the wise men of Gotham. My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses, While you are a nuisance where'er you ap pear; 828 FROM A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. There is nothing but sniv'ling and blowing of noses, Such a noise as turns any man s stomach to hear. Then lifting his lid in a delicate way, And op'ning his mouth with a smile quite engaging, The box in reply was heard plainly to say, What a silly dispute is this we are waging! If you have a little of merit to claim, You may think the sweet-smelling Virginian weed, And I, if I seem to deserve any blame, The before-mentioned drug in apology plead. Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own, No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus, We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone, But of any thing else they may choose to pu in us. TO MARY. [Autumn of 1793.] THE twentieth year is well nigh past My Mary Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary. Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, Have wound themselves about this heart My Mary' Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream, Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary. Thy silver locks once auburn bright, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, My Mary! My Mary' |