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THE POPLAR FIELD.
HE poplars are felled; farewell to the shade,
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade 1 The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.
Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view
The blackbird has fled to another retreat,
My fugitive years are all hasting away,
"Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
ON THE HIGH PRICE OF FISH.
No lobster on earth,
To me would be worth
So, dear Madam, wait
At a reasonable rate,
Till the French and the Dutch
And then send as much
VERSES PRINTED BY HIMSELF, ON A FLOOD AT OLNEY, 12TH AUGUST 1782.
O watch the storms, and hear the sky
Give all our almanacks the lie :
With charitable aid to drag
MARY AND JOHN.
F John marries Mary, and Mary alone,
'Tis a very good match between Mary and John.
Should John wed a score, oh the claws and the scratches 1 It can't be a match :—'tis a bundle of matches.
TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS,
EAR PRESIDENT, whose art sublime
Gives perpetuity to time,
Thus say the sisterhood: We come—
First strike a curve, a graceful bow, Then slope it to a point below; Your outline easy, airy, light, Filled up becomes a paper kite. Let independence, sanguine, horrid, Blaze like a meteor in the forehead : Beneath (but lay aside your graces) Draw six-and-twenty rueful faces, Each with a staring, steadfast eye, Fixed on his great and good ally, France flies the kite—'tis on the wing— Britannia's lightning cuts the string. The wind that raised it, ere it ceases, Just rends it into thirteen pieces, Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, And lays them all at George's feet. Iberia, trembling from afar, Renounces the confederate war; Her efforts and her arts o'ercome, France calls her shatter'd navies home. Repenting Holland learns to mourn The Sacred treaties she has torn ; Astonishment and awe profound Are stamp'd upon the nations round ; Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose.
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED,
I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau If birds confabulate or no ;
'Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable;
And even the child who knows no better
It chanced then on a winter's day, But warm and bright and calm as May, The birds conceiving a design To forestall sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove Assembled on affairs of love, And with much twitter and much chatter Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bullfinch, who could boast More years and wisdom than the most, Entreated, opening wide his beak, A moment's liberty to speak; And silence publicly enjoined, Delivered briefly thus his mind:
“My friends ! be cautious how ye treat The subject #. which we meet ; I fear we shall have winter yet.”
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing and satin *. A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried What marriage means, thus pert replied:
“Methinks the gentleman,” quoth she, “Opposite in the apple tree, By his good will would keep us single Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle; Or (which is likelier to befall) Till death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado; My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?”