The dinner comes, and down they sit: One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, One spits upon the floor, 40 Yet, not to give offence or grieve, Holds up the cloth before. The punch goes round, and they are dull, 45 Oh! why are farmers made so coarse, A kick that scarce would move a horse, Then let the boobies stay at home; 65 'Twould cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sum GRATITUDE. ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. THIS cap, that so stately appears, She gave it, and gave me beside, The ribbon with which it is tied. This wheel-footed studying chair, Contrived both for toil and repose, Wide-elbowed, and wadded with hair, In which I both scribble and dose, Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, And rival in lustre of that In which, or astronomy lies, Fair Cassiopeïa sat: These carpets, so soft to the foot, Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot, This table and mirror within, Secure from collision and dust, At which I oft shave cheek and chin, This moveable structure of shelves, For its beauty admired and its use, 330 25 20 15 ΙΟ 5 This china that decks the alcove, Has ne'er been revealed to us yet: All these are not half that I owe Benignity, friendship, and truth; 35 40 45 Much less could he alter her mind. Thus compassed about with the goods 50 I indulge my poetical moods In many such fancies as these; Poets' goods are not often so fine; The poets will swear that I dream 55 When I sing of the splendour of mine. THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT. TO MRS. THROCKMORTON. MARIA! I have every good For thee wished many a time, To wish thee fairer is no need, More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed From temper-flaws unsightly. What favour then not yet possessed To thy whole heart's desire? None here is happy but in part: There dwells some wish in every heart, That wish on some fair future day, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may) 5 ΙΟ 15 20 THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. FORCED from home and all its pleasures, To increase a stranger's treasures, O'er the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, 5 But, though slave they have enrolled me, Still in thought as free as ever, What are England's rights, I ask, ΙΟ Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task? Fleecy locks and black complexion Dwells in white and black the same. Why did all-creating Nature Make the plant for which we toil? Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there One who reigns on high? Has He bid you buy and sell us, Speaking from his throne, the sky? Ask him, if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Hark! He answers-Wild tornadoes, 15 20 25 30 Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, 35 By our sufferings, since ye brought us 45 All sustained by patience, taught us Only by a broken heart; |