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The fervants chuckled at the door,
And all was clamour and uproar.
Rover, who now began to quake,
As confcious of his foul mistake,
Trufts to his heels to fave his life;

The fquire fneaks home, and beats his wife.

The Devil outwitted. A Tale.

A

SOMERVILLE.

VICAR liv'd on this fide Trent,
Religious, learn'd, benevolent;
Pure was his life in deed, word, thought,
A comment on the truths he taught:
His parish large, his income small,
Yet feldom wanted wherewithal;
For against ev'ry merry tide
Madam would carefully provide.
A painful paftor; but his theep,
Alas! within no bounds would keep;
A fcabby flock, that ev'ry day
Ran riot, and would go aftray.
He thump'd his cushion, fretted, vex'd,
Thumb'd o'er again each useful text;
Rebuk'd, exhorted, all in vain;
His parish was the more profane:
The fcrubs would have their wicked will,
And cunning Satan triumph'd still.
At last, when each expedient fail'd,
And serious measures nought avail'd,
It came into his head, to try
The force of wit and raillery.
The good man was by nature gay,
Could gibe and joke as well as pray;
Not like fome hide-bound folk, who chafe
fmile from their dull face,
Each merry
And think pride zeal, ill-nature grace.
At christenings and each jovial feast,
He fingled out the sinful beast;
Let all his pointed arrows fly,
Told this and that, look'd very fly,
And left mafters to apply.
my

His tales were humorous, often true,
And now and then set off to view
With lucky fictions and sheer wit,
That pierc'd where truth could never hit.
The laugh was always on his fide,
While paffive fools by turns deride;
And, giggling thus at one another,
Each jecring lout reform'd his brother;
Till the whole parish was with ease
Sham'd into virtue by degrees.
Then be advis'd, and try a tale,
When Chryfoftom and Austin fail.

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lawless

Taught by their fuff rings, grew devout:
An embally to Jove they fent,

And begg'd his highnefs would bestow
Some fettled form of government,
A king to rule the fens below.

Jove, finiling, grants their odd request ;
A king th' indulgent pow'r beftow'd,
Such as might fuit their genius beft:
A beam of a prodigious size,

With all its cumbrous load,
Came tumbling from the fkies.
The waters dath against the shore,
The hollow caverns roar :

The rocks return the dreadful found,
Convulfions fhake the ground.
The multitude with horror fled,
And in his oozy bed

Each skulking coward hid his head.
When all is now grown calm again,
And fmoothly glides the liquid plain,
A frog mo e refolute and bold,
Peeping with caution from his hold,
Recover'd from his firft furprize,
As o'er the wave his head he popp'd,
He faw-but fcarce believ'd his eyes,
On the fame bank where first he dropp'd,
Th' imperial lubber lies,

Stretch'd at his eafe, careleis, content:
Is this the monarch Jove has fent,
Said he, our warlike troops to lead ?
Ay, 'tis a glorious prince indeed!
By fuch an active general led,

The routed mice our arm fhall dread,
Subdued fhall quit their claim:
Old Homer fhall recant his lays,

For us new trophies raise,

Sing our victorious arms, and juftify our fame.
Then laughing impudently loud,

He foon alarm'd the daftard crowd.
The croaking nations with contempt
Behold the worthlefs indolent.

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On wings of winds fwift scandal flies,
Libels, lampoons, and lyes,
Hoarfe treafons, tunelefs blafphemies.
With active leap at laft upon his back they ftride,
And on the royal loggerhead in triumph ride.

Once more to Jove they pray'rs address'd,
And once more Jove grants their request :
A ftork he fends of monftrous fize,
Red lightning Blashes in his eyes.
Rul'd by no block, as heretofore,
The gazing crowds prefs'd to his court;
Admire his ftately mien, his haughty port,
And only not adore.

Addreffes of congratulation,

Sent from each loyal corporation,

Full fraught with truth and sense,
Exhaufted all their eloquence.

But now, alas! 'twas night; kings must have meat
The Grand Vizier firft goes to pot;

Three Baffas next, happy their lot!
Gain'd Paradife by being eat.

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And

And this, faid he, and this is mine,
And this, by right divine:
In fhort, 'twas all for public weal,
He swallow'd half a nation at a meal.
Again they beg Almighty Jove,
This cruel tyrant to remove.
With fierce refentment in his eyes,
The frowning Thunderer replies:
Thofe evils which yourselves create,
Rafh fools ye now repent too late;
Made wretched by the public voice,
Not through neceflity, but choice!

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Epitaph on Mifs Baft, in Pancras Church-yard.
Go, Spotless Ho our and unfullied Truth;

Go, fmiling Incence and blooming Youth;
Go, female Sweetnefs, join'd with manly Sense;
Go, winning Wit that never gave offence;
Go, foft Humanity, that blefs'd the poor;

Be gone! nor wreft from Heaven fome heavier Go, faint-eyed Patience, from affliction's door

curse,

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In jus

SOMERVILLE.

Acres procurrunt, magnum fpectaculum uterque.

TWO comrades, as grave authors fay
(But in what chapter, page, or line,
Ye critics, if ye please. define),
Had found an oyfter in their way.
Conteft and foul debate aroje :

Both view'd at once with greedy eyes,
Both challeng'd the delicious prize,
And high words foon improv'd to blows.
Actions on actions hence fucceed,'

Each hero's obftinately ftout,

Green bags and parchments fly about,
Pleadings are drawn, and counfl fee'd.
The parfon of the place, good man!
Whofe kind and charitable heart
In human ills ftill bore a part,
Thrice fhook his head, and thus began:
Neighbours and friends, refer to me

This doughty matter in difpute,
I'll foon decide th' important fuit,
And finish all without a fee.
Give me the oyster then-'tis well-
He opens it, and at one fup
Gulp's the contefted trifle up,
And filing gives to each a fhell.
Henceforth let foolith difcord ccafe,

Your oyfter 's good as e'er was eat
T thank you for my dainty treat;
God bless you both, and live in peace.
MORA L.

Yem

men of Norfolk and of Wales,
From this learn common fenfe;
Nor thruft your neight curs into gaols
For ev'ry flight offence.

HOR.

Go, Medefty, that never wore a frown;
Go, Virtue, and receive thy heavenly crown.
Not from a ftranger came this heart-felt verfe;
The friend infcribes thy tomb whole tears be-
dew'd thy hearfe.

Ode.

THOMSON.

TELL me, thou foul of her 1 love,

Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled?
To what delightful worid above,
Appointed for the happy dead?
Or doft thou free at pleasure roam,
And fometimes thare the lover's woe;
Where, void of thee, his cheeriefs home
Can now, alas! no comfort know?
O! if thou hover'ft round my walk,
While, under every well-known tree,
I to thy fancied thadow talk,

And every tear is full of thee;
Should then the weary eye of grief,
Befide fome fympathetic ftream,
In flumber find a short relief,

O visit thou my foothing dream!

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SONGS, BALLADS, &c. &c.

§ 1. Song.
Lord LYTTELTON.
AY, Myra, why is gentle Love
A ftranger to that mind,
Which pity and efteem can move,
Which can be just and kind?
Is it because you fear to share

The ills that love molest,
The jealous doubt, the tender care,
That rack the am'rous breaft?
Alas! by fome degree of woe

We ev'ry blifs muft gain:
The heart can ne'er a tranfport know,
That never feels a pain.

§ 2. Song.

GO, lovely rofe!

WALLER.

Tell her that waftes her time, and me,
That now fhe knows,

When I resemble her to thee,
How fweet and fair fhe feems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And fhuns to have her graces fpied,
That hadft thou sprung
In deferts, where no mén abide,
Thou must have uncommended died,
Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retir'd;
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be defir'd,
And not blufh fo to be admir'd.

Then die that the

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:

How finall a part of time they fhare,
That are fo wondrous fweet and fair,

§ 3. Song. L'Amour Timide. MOORE. in that breaft, fo good, so pure, Compaffion ever lov'd to dwell,

Pity the forrows I endure,

The cause I must not, dare not tell.

That grief that on my quiet preys,

For though the Mufes fhould prove kind,
And fill our empty brain;

Yet if rough Neptune roufe the wind

To wave the azure main,
Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,
Roll up and down our ships at fea.
With a fa, &c.

Then, if we write not by each poft,
Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our fhips are loft

By Dutchmen or by wind:

Our tears we 'll fend a fpeedier way,
The tide fhall bring them twice a day.
With a fa, &c.

The king, with wonder and furprise,
Will fwear the feas grow bold;
Because the tides will higher rife,

Than e'er they did of old:

But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.
With a fa, &c.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our fad and dismal story;

The Dutch would fcorn fo weak a foe,
And quit their fort at Goree :

For what refiftance can they find

From men who 've left their hearts behind? With a fa, &c.

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be you to us but kind;

Let Dutchmen yapour. Spaniards curse,
No forrow we fhall find:

'Tis then no matter how things go,

Or who's our friend, or who's our foc.
With a fa, &c.

To pafs our tedious hours away,
We throw a merry main;

Or elfe at ferious ombre play;

But why thould we in vain

Each other's ruin thus purfue?
We were undone when we left you.
With a fa, &c.

That rends my heart, that checks my tongue, But now our fears tempeftuous grow,

I fear will last me all my days,

But feel it will not last me long.

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you understand

How hard it is to write;

The Mufes now, and Neptune too, We must implore to write to you. With a fa la, la, la, la, la.

And caft our hopes away;

Whilft you, regardless of our woc,

Sit carclefs at a play :

Perhaps permit fome happier man

To kits your hand, or flirt your fan.

With a fa, &c.

When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in ev'ry note;

As if it figh'd with each man's care
For being fo remote :

Written at fea, the firft Dutch war, 1665, the night before an engagement.

Think then how often love we've made To you, when all those tunes were play'd. With a fa, &c.

In justice you cannot refuse

To think of our diftrefs;
When we for hopes of honour lose

Our certain happiness:
All thofe defigns are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.
With a fa, &c.

And now we've told you all our loves,
And likewife all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity for our tears;
Let's hear of no inconftancy,

We have too much of that at fea.

With a fa, &c.

§ 5. Song.

Lord LANSDOWNE.

WHY, cruel creature, why so bent

To vex a tender heart?

To gold and title you relent;

Love throws in vain his dart.

Let glittering fops in courts be great,
For pay let armies move :
Beauty fhould have no other bait
But gentle vows and love.
If on thofe endless charms you lay
The value that's their due;
Kings are themselves too poor to pay,

A thousand worlds too few.

But if a paffion without vice,
Without difguife or art,
Ah, Celia ! if true love 's your price,
Behold it in my heart.

§ 6. Song. Sir CAR SCROOPE. ONE pight, when all the village flept, Myrtillo's fad despair

The wretched fhepherd waking kept,
To tell the woods his care;
Begone (faid he), fond thoughts, begone!
Eyes, give your forrows o'er !
Why fhould you waste your tears for one
Who thinks on you no more?
Yet, O ye birds, ye flocks, ye pow'rs
That dwell within this grove,
Can tell how many tender hours
We here have pafs'd in love!
Yon stars above (my cruel foes!)
Have heard how the has fworn,
A thousand times, that like to thofe
Her flame fhould ever burn!
But, fince she's loft, O let me have

My with, and quickly die;
In this cold bank I'll make a grave,
And there for ever lie:
Sad nightingales the watch fhall keep,
And kindly here complain. -
Then down the shepherd lay to fleep,
But never rofe again,

7. A Paftoral Elegy

AH, Damon, dear fhepherd, adieu!
By love and firft nature allied,
Together in fondness we grew;

Ah, would we together had died!
For thy faith, which refembled my own,
For thy foul, which was fpotlefs and true,
For the joys we together have known,
Ah Damon, dear shepherd, adieu !
What blifs can hereafter be mine?
Whomever engaging I see,

To his friendship I ne'er can incline,

For fear I fhould mourn him like thee.

Though the Mufes fhould crown me with art,
Though honour and fortune fhould join;
Since thou art denied to my heart,

What blifs can hereafter be mine?
Ah Damon, dear fhepherd, farewel!
Thy grave with fad ofiers I'll bind ;
Though no more in one cottage we dwell,
1 can keep thee for ever in mind.
Each morning I'll visit alone

His afhes who lov'd me fo well,

And murmur each eve o'er his stone,
"Ah Damon, dear fhepherd, farewel!"

MOORE.

§ 8. Song. HARK! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb !

Come, Lucy, it cries, come away;
The grave of thy Colin has room
To reft thee befide his cold clay.

I come, my dear shepherd, I come;
Ye friends and companions, adieu !
I hafte to my Colin's dark hoine,
To die on his bofom fo true.
All mournful the midnight bell rung,
When Lucy, fad Lucy arofe;
And forth to the green-turf fhe fprung,
Where Colin's pale afhes repofe.
All wet with the night's chilling dew,
Her bofom embrac'd the cold ground;
While ftormy winds over her blew,

And night-ravens croak'd all around.
How long, my lov'd Colin, fhe cried,

How long must thy Lucy complain?
How long shall the grave my love hide?
How long ere it join us again?
For thee thy fond thepherdefs liv'd,

With thee o'er the world would the flyi
For thee has the forrow'd and griev'd,
For thee would fhe lie down and die.
Alas! what avails it how dear

Thy Lucy was once to her swain ! Her face like the lily fo fair, And eyes that gave light to the plain! The fhepherd that lov'd her is gone, That face and thofe eyes charm no more; And Lucy, forgot and alone,

To death fhall her Colin deplore. While thus the lay funk in despair, And mourn'd to the echoes around, Inflam'd all at once grew the air,' And thunder fhook dreadful the ground.

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I hear the kind call, and obey,

O Colin, receive me, the cried : Then breathing a groan o'er his clay, She hung on his tomb-fone, and died.

$9. Song.

GAY.

TWAS when the feas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,

A damfel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.

Wide o'er the foaming billows
She caft a wistful look;

Her head was crown'd with willows
That trembled o'er the brook.
Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days:
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didft thou truft the feas?
Ceafe, ceafe, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah! what 's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast!
The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Views tempefts in defpair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To lofing of my dear!
Should you fome coaft be laid on,.
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.
How can they fay that nature
Has nothing made in vain?
Why then beneath the water
Do hideous rocks remain ?
No eyes thefe rocks discover,

That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wand'ring lover, And leave the maid to weep. All melancholy lying,

Thus wail'd the for her dear; Repaid each blast with fighing, Each billow with a tear: When, o'er the white wave ftooping, His floating corpse she spied ;

Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head, and died.

O! when thefe fair perfidious maids,
Whofe eyes our secret haunts infeft,
Their dear deftructive charms difplay;
Each glance my tender breaft invades,
And robs my wounded foul of reft,
As Tartars feize their destin'd prey.
In vain with love our bofoms glow:
Can all our tears, can all our fighs,
New luftre to those charms impart ?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where Nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art ?
Speak not of fate :-ah! change the theme
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flowers that round us bloom:
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream;
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the facred gloom.
Beauty has fuch refiftless power,
That even the chafte Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy;
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth fo lovely and fo coy!

§ 10. A Perfan Song of Hafız.
Sir WILLIAM JONES.
SWEET maid, if thou wouldst charm my fight,

And bid thefe arms thy neck infold;
That rofy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.
Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow,
And bid thy penfive heart be glad,
Whate'er the frowning zealots fay:
Tell them, their Eden cannot show
Aftream fo clear as Rocnabad,
A bower fo fweet as Mofellay.

But ah! fweet maid, my counsel hear
(Youth should attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders fage ) :
While mufic charms the ravifh'd ear;
While fparkling cups delight our eyes,
Be gay; and fcorn the frowns of age.
What cruel answer have I heard!
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet fay, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey fip?
Go boldly forth, my fimple lay,
Whofe accents flow with artlefs ease,
Like orient pearls at random ftrung:
Thy notes are fweet, the damfels fay;
But O! far fweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are fung.

§ 11. song.

HARD by the hall, our master's house, Where Merfey flows to meet the main ; Where woods, and winds, and waves dispose A lover to complain;

With arms acrofs, along the ftrand

Poor Lycon walk'd, and hung his head'; Viewing the footsteps in the fand Which a bright nymph had made. The tide, faid he, will foon erafe The marks fo lightly here impreft ; But time or tide will ne'er deface Her image in my breast. Am I fome favage beast of prey? Am I fome horrid monfter grown? That thus he flies fo fwift away, Or meets me with a frown?

That

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