« ПретходнаНастави »
Till reading, I forget what day on,
Imprimis, pray observe his hat,
In the next place, his feet peruse,
Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Though ne'er so much awake before,
Now to apply, begin we then :
And here my simile almost tript,
1. Damns,' &c. : imitated by Byron in his lines on Rogers.
AN ELEGY1 ON THE DEATH OF A
1 Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
2 In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
Whene'er he went to pray.
3 A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes ;
When he put on his clothes.
4 And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
And curs of low degree.
5 This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
Went mad, and bit the man.
•• An Elegy: ' see · Vicar of Wakefield,' chap. xvii.
6 Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,
To bite so good a man.
7 The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To every Christian eye ;
They swore the man would die.
8 But soon a wonder came to light,
That show'd the rogues they lied ;
The dog it was that died.
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
1 Au me! when shall I marry me?
Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me ;
2 But I will rally and combat the ruiner :
Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover. She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.
1. Song :' preserved by Boswell.
STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.
1 AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.
2 0 Wolfe, to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think even conquest dear ; Quebec in vain shall teach our breasts to glow,
While thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
3 Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour filed,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead !
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
STANZAS ON WOMAN.
1 When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
2 The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
And wring his bosom-is, to die.