RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. THOMAS CHATTERTON. 79 Sae haud your tongue an' say nae mair, - RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERI tell ye 't was a rat." "Me haud my tongue for you, Guidwife! I'll be maister o' this house, I saw it as plain as een could see, "If you're the maister o' the house, An' I ken best what's i' the house, "Weel, weel, Guidwife, gae mak the brose, While John sat toastin' his taes. They suppit an' suppit an' suppit the brose, An' aye their lips played smack; They suppit an' suppit an' suppit the brose IDAN. [1751-1816.] HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD HAD I a heart for falsehood framed, To you no soul shall bear deceit, Your charms would make me true: No stranger offer wrong; But friends in all the aged you'll meet, For when they learn that you have blest For friends in all the aged you'll meet, THOMAS CHATTERTON. [1752-1770.] THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA. O, SING unto my roundelay! O, drop the briny tear with me! Dance no more at holiday, Like a running river be. Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Black his hair as the winter night, White his neck as the summer snow, Gone to his death-bed, Sweet his tongue as throstle's note, Gone to his death-bed, Hark! the raven flaps his wing Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. See the white moon shines on high; Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Here, upon my true-love's grave, All the sorrows of a maid. Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. With my hands I'll bind the briers Gone to his death-bed, Come with acorn cup and thorn, Dance by night, or feast by day. Gone to his death-bed, GEORGE CRABBE. [1754-1832.] ISAAC ASHFORD. NEXT to these ladies, but in naught allied, A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died. Noble he was, contemning all things mean, His truth unquestioned and his soul serene: Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid: At no man's question Isaac looked dismayed: Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace; Truth, simple truth, was written in his face; Yet while the serious thought his soul approved, Cheerful he seemed, and gentleness he loved; To bliss domestic he his heart resigned, And with the firmest, had the fondest mind. Were others joyful, he looked smiling on, And gave allowance where he needed none; Good he refused with future ill to buy, Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh. A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast No envy stung, no jealousy distressed (Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind To miss one favor which their neighbors find); Yet far was he from stoic pride removed; He felt humanely, and he warmly loved. I marked his action when his infant died, And his old neighbor for offence was tried; The still tears, stealing down that furrowed cheek, Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak. If pride were his, 't was not their vulgar pride Who, in their base contempt, the great deride; |