O ruthful fcene! when from a nook obfcure,
His little fifter doth his peril fee:
All playful as she fate, fhe grows demure;
She finds full foon her wonted spirits flee;
She meditates a pray'r to set him free:
Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny,
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree)
To her fad grief that fwells in either eye,
And wrings her so that all for pity she could die.
No longer can fhe now her fhrieks command;
And hardly the forbears thro' aweful fear,
To ruhen forth, and, with prefumptuous hand,
To stay harsh justice in its mid career.
On thee the calls, on thee her parent dear!
(Ah! too remote to ward the shameful blow!)
She fees no kind domeftic visage near,
And foon a flood of tears begins to flow;
And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe.
But ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace? Or what device his loud laments explain ? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain? The plenteous fhow'r that does his cheek diftain ?. When he, in abject wife, implores the dame, Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gain ; Or when from high fhe levels well her aim, And, thro' the thatch, his cries each falling ftroke proclaim.
The other tribe, aghaft, with fore dismay,
Attend, and conn their tasks with mickle care :
By turns, aftony'd, ev'ry twig survey,
And, from their fellow's hateful wounds, beware;
Knowing, I wift, how each the fame may share ;
'Till fear has taught them a performance meet,
And to the well-known cheft the dame repair;
Whence oft with sugar'd cates fhe doth 'em greet,
And ginger-bread y-rare; now, certes, doubly fweet!
See to their feats they hye with merry glee,
And in befeemly order fitten there ;
All but the wight of bum y-galled, he
Abhorreth bench and ftool, and fourm, and chair;
(This hand in mouth y-fix'd, that rends his hair ;)
And eke with fnubs profound, and heaving breast,
Convulfions intermitting! doos declare
His grievous wrong; his dame's unjust behest ;
And fcorns her offer'd love, and fhuns to be carefs'd.
His face befprent with liquid crystal shines,
His blooming face that feems a purple flow'r,
Which low to earth its drooping head declines,
All fmear'd and fully'd by a vernal show'r.
O the hard bofoms of defpotic pow'r!
All, all, but fhe, the author of his fhame,
All, all, but she, regret this mournful hour:
Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r, fhall claim,
If fo I deem aright, tranfcending worth and fame.
Behind fome door, in melancholy thought,
Mindless of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines;
Ne for his fellow's joyaunce careth aught,
But to the wind all merriment resigns;
And deems it fhame, if he to peace inclines;
And many a fullen look afcance is fent,
Which for his dame's annoyance he defigns;
And still the more to pleasure him she's bent,
The more doth he, perverfe, her haviour paft refent.
Ah me! how much I fear left pride it be!
But if that pride it be, which thus infpires,
Beware, ye dames, with nice difcernment fee,
Ye quench not too the fparks of nobler fires:
Ah! better far than all the mufes' lyres,
All coward arts, is valour's gen'rous heat;
The firm fixt breaft which fit and right requires,
Like VERNON's patriot foul; more justly great
Than craft that pimps for ill, or flow'ry falfe deceit.
Yet nurs'd with skill, what dazzling fruits appear!
Ev'n now fagacious forefight points to show
A little bench of heedlefs bifhops here,
And there a chancellour in embryo,
Or bard fublime, if bard may e'er be fo,
AS MILTON, SHAKESPEAR, names that ne'er shall die! Tho' now he crawl along the ground fo low,
Nor weeting how the mufe fhou'd foar on high,
Wifheth, poor ftarv'ling elf! his paper kite may fly.
And this perhaps, who, cens'ring the defign,
Low lays the house which that of cards doth build,
Shall DENNIS be!' if rigid fates incline,
And many an epic to his rage shall yield;
And many a poet quit th' Aonian field;
And, four'd by age, profound he shall appear,
As he who now with 'fdainful fury thrill'd
Surveys mine work; and levels many a fneer,
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What ftuffis here?"
But now DAN PHOEBUS gains the middle skie,
And liberty unbars her prifon-door;
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,
And now the graffy cirque han cover'd o'er
With boift'rous revel-rout and wild uproar;
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run,
Heav'n fhield their fhort-liv'd paftimes, I implore!
For well may freedom, erft fo dearly won,
Appear to British elf more gladfome than the fun.
Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade,
And chafe gay flies, and cull the fairest flow'rs;
For when my bones in grafs-green fods are laid;
For never may ye tafte more careless hours
In knightly castles, or in ladies bow'rs.
O vain to feek delight in earthly thing!
But most in courts where proud ambition tow'rs;
Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can spring
Beneath the pompous dome of kefar or of king.
See in each fprite fome various bent appear!
Thefe rudely carol moft incondite lay;
Thofe faunt'ring on the green, with jocund leer
Salute the ftranger paffing on his way ;
Some builden fragile tenements of clay;
Some to the ftanding lake their courfes bend,
With pebbles fmooth at duck and drake to play;
Thilk to the huxter's fav'ry cottage tend,
In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to spend.
Here, as each season yields a different store,
Each feafon's ftores in order ranged been ;
Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,
Galling full fore th' unmoney'd wight, are feen;
And goofe-b'rie clad in liv'ry red or green;
And here of lovely dye, the cath'rine pear,
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween:
O may no wight e'er pennylefs come there,
Left fmit with ardent love he pine with hopeless care!
See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,
With thread fo white in tempting pofies ty'd,
Scatt ring like blooming maid their glances round,
With pamper'd look draw little eyes afide;
And must be bought, the' penury betide.
The plumb all azure and the nut all brown,
And here each feafon, do thofe cakes abide,
Whofe honour'd names th' inventive city own,
Rend'ring thro' Britain's ifle Salopia's praises known.*
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