Nor Ceres' care to guard the rising grain,
And spread the yellow plenty o'er the plain;
Ardenna's precepts every want supply:
The grateful lay what shepherd can deny?
A theme so pleasing, with the day begun,
Too soon were ended with the setting sun.
But see o'er yonder hill the parting ray,
And hark! our bleating flocks reprove our stay.
Dulcis odor lucri ex re qualibet.
AWAKE, my Muse, prepare a loftier theme;
The winding valley, and the dimpled stream
Delight not all: quit, quit the verdant field,
And try what dusty streets and alleys yield.
Where Avon wider flows and gathers fame,
Stands a fair town, and Warwick is its name;
For useful arts entitled once to share
The gentle Ethelfleda's guardian care:
Nor less for deeds of chivalry renown'd,
When her own Guy was with her laurels crown'd.
Now siren Sloth holds here her tranquil reign,
And binds in silken bonds the feeble train.
No frowning knights, in uncouth armour laced,
Seek now for monsters on the dreary waste :
In these soft scenes they chase a gentler prey,
No monsters! but as dangerous as they.
In different forms as sure destruction lies;
They have no claws 'tis true-but they have eyes.
Last of the toiling race there lived a pair,
Bred up in labour, and inured to care;
To
sweep the streets their task from sun to sun,
And seek the nastiness which others shun.
More plodding wight or dame you ne'er shall see,
He Gaffer Pestel hight, and Gammer she.
As at their door they sat one summer's day,
Old Pestel first essay'd the plaintive lay:
His gentle mate the plaintive lay return'd,
And thus alternately their cares they mourn'd—
Alas! was ever such fine weather seen,
How dusty are the roads, the streets how clean!
How long, ye Almanacs, will it be dry?
Empty my cart how long, and idle I?
E'en at the best the times are not so good
But 'tis hard work to scrape a livelihood.
The cattle in the stalls resign their life,
And balk the shambles, and the' unbloody knife.
While farmers sit at home in pensive gloom,
And turnpikes threaten to complete my doom.
Well! for the turnpike, that will do no hurt;
Some say the managers are friends to dirt.
But much I fear this murrain where 'twill end,
For sure the cattle did our door befriend.
Oft have I hail'd them, as they stalk'd along, Their fat the butchers pleased, but me their dung.
See what a little dab of dirt is here!
But yields all Warwick more, O tell me where? Yet, on this spot, though now so naked seen, Heaps upon heaps, and loads on loads, have been: Bigger, and bigger, the proud dunghill grew, Till my diminished house was hid from view.
Ah! Gaffer Pestel, what brave days were those,
When higher than our house our muckhill rose !
The growing mount I view'd with joyful eyes,
And mark'd what each load added to its size.
Wrapp'd in its fragrant steam we often sat,
And to its praises held delightful chat.
Nor did I e'er neglect my mite to pay,
To swell the goodly heap from day to day.
A cabbage once I bought; but small the cost-
Nor do I think the farthing all was lost.
Again you sold its well digested store,
To dung the garden where it grew before.
What though the beaux and powder'd coxcombs jeer'd,
And at the scavenger's employment sneer'd,
Yet then at night content I told my gains,
And thought well paid their malice and my pains.
Why toils the tradesman, but to swell his store?
Why craves the wealthy landlord still for more?
Why will our gentry flatter, fawn, and lie?
Why pack the' cards, and what d'ye call 't-the
All, all, the pleasing paths of gain pursue, [die?
And wade through thick and thin, as we folks do.
Sweet is the scent that from advantage springs,
And nothing dirty which good interest brings.
When goody Dobbins call'd me nasty bear, And talk'd of kennels, and the ducking chair, With patience I could hear the scolding quean, For sure 'twas dirtiness that kept me clean: Clean was my gown on Sundays, if not fine, Nor Mrs. **** 's cap so white as mine.
A slut in silk or kersey is the same,
Nor sweetest always is the finest dame.
Thus wail'd they pleasure past, and present
[theirs : While the starved hog join'd his complaint with To still his grunting different ways they tend, To West Street' he, and she to Cotton End 1.
WITH leaden foot Time creeps along,
While Delia is away,
With her, nor plaintive was the song,
Nor tedious was the day.
Ah! envious power! reverse my doom,
Now double thy career;
Strain every nerve, stretch every plume,
And rest them when she's here.
1 Names of the most remote and opposite parts of the town.
WHEN Nature joins a beauteous face
With shape, and air, and life, and grace,
To every imperfection blind,
I spy no blemish in the mind.
When wit flows pure from Stella's tongue,
Or animates the sprightly song,
Our hearts confess the power divine,
Nor lightly prize its mortal shrine.
Goodnature will a conquest gain,
Though wit and beauty sigh in vain.
When generous thoughts the breast inspire,
I wish its rank and fortunes higher.
When Sidney's charms again unite
To win the soul, and bless the sight;
Fair and learn'd, and good and great!
An earthly goddess is complete.
But when I see a sordid mind
With affluence and ill nature join'd,
And pride without a grain of sense,
And without beauty insolence,
The creature with contempt I view,
And sure 'tis like Miss-
-you know who.
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