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Their colours and their sash he wore,
And in the fatal dress was found : And now he must that death endure
Which gives the brave the keenest wound. How pale was then his true-love's cheek,
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear! For never yet did Alpine snows
So pale or yet so chill appear.
• O Dawson, monarch of my heart; • Think not thy death shall eud our loves,
• For thou and I will never part. • Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
* And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, O George, without a pray'r for thee
• My orisons should nerer close. The gracious prince that gave him life
• Would crown a never-dying flame, And ev'ry tender babe I bore
• Should learn to lisp the giver's name. • But tho' he should be dragg'd in scorn
• To yonder ignominious tree, • He shall not want one constant friend
• To share the cruel fate's decree.' O then her mourning coach was call’d;
The sledge mov'd slowly on before ; Tho' borne in a triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her fav'rite more.
The terrible behests of law,
With calm and stedfast eye she saw.
Which she had fondly lov'd so long, And stified was that tuneful breath
Which in her praise had sweetly sung,
And sever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd; And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-sick head repos'd. And ravish'd was that constant heart
She did to ev'ry heart prefer; For tho' it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her. Amid those unrelenting flames
She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas moulder'd into dust,
Yet, yet, (she cry'd,) I follow thee. . My death, my death alone, can shew
"The pure, the lasting love I bore: • Accept, O Heaven! of woes like ours,
• And let us, let us weep no more ! The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd; The maid drew back her languid head,
And, sighing forth his name, expir'd. Tho' justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall we hear a tale
So sad, so tender, yet so true.
I told my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few; While falt'ring accents spoke my fear, That Flavia might not prove sincere. Of crops destroy'd by vernal cold, And vagrant sheep that left my fold : Of these she heard, yet bore to hear; And is not Flavia then sincere?
How chang'd by Fortune's fickle wind,
WAY! let nought to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move thy fear;
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy care.
With pompous titles grace our blood;
And to be noble, we'll be good.
No mighty treasures we possess,
And be content without excess.
Sufficient for our wishes give;
And that's the only life to live.
Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke,
How they admire such little folk. Thro' youth and age, in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread; Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures,
Whilst round my knees they fondly clung, To see them look their mother's features,
To hear 'em lisp their mother's tongue ! And when with envy time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys, You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.
ADVICE TO A LADY. 1731.
Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear,
Hard is the fortune that your sex attends;
What is your sex's earliest, latest care,
Nor make to dangerous wit a vain pretence,