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The fawning cats compassionate his case,
To all his 'plaints the sleeping curs reply,
Cou'd I (he cry'd) express, how bright a grace Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wash'd face; Thou wou'dít, COLEMIRA, grant what I implore, And yield me love, or wash thy face no more.
Ah! who can see, and seeing, not admire,
But sure no chamber-damsel can compare,
Oh! how I long, how ardently desire, To view those rosy fingers strike the lyre ! For late, when bees to change their climes began, How did I see 'em thrum the frying-pan!
With her! I lou'd not envy G-his queerly
Ah! how it does my drooping heart rejoice, When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice! How wou'd that voice exceed the village-bell ; Wou'dst thou but sing, “ I like thee passing well!”
When from the hearth she bade the pointers go, How soft! how easy did her accents flow! “ Get out, she cry’d, when strangers come to sup, “ One ne'er can raise those snoring devils up.”
Then, full of wrath, she kick'd each lazy brute, Alas! I envy'd even that falute : 'Twas sure misplac'd, -Shock said, or seem'd to say, He had as lief, I had the kick, as they.
If she the mystic bellows take in hand,
· But shou'd the fame this rougher aid refuse, And only gentler med’cines be of use; With full-blown cheeks she ends the doubtful strife, Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life.
Such arts, as these, exalt the drooping fire, But in my breast a fiercer flame inspire : I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er, And swell thy cheeks, and pout thy lips no more!
With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen ; When this proud damsel has more humble been, When with nice airs she hoist the pan-cake round, And dropt it, hapless fair! upon the ground. .
Look,with what charming grace!what winning tricks! The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks ! So bright she makes the candlesticks she handles, Oft have I said, there were no need of candles.
But thou, my fair! who never wou'dft approve, Or hear, the tender story of Or mind, how burns my raging breast,--a button Perhaps art dreaming of-a breast of mutton.
Thus faid, and wept the fad desponding swain, Revealing to the sable walls his pain : But nymphs are free with those they shou'd deny ; To those, they love, more exquisitely coy!
Now chirping crickets raise their tinkling voice,
The Rape of the Trap.
A BALLAD, 1737.
'T The mufes
WAS in a land of learning,
The muses fav’rite ci ,
As-tempt one to be witty.
All in a college-study,
Where books were in great plenty:
Than I cou'd write-in twenty.
Corporeal food, 'tis granted,
Serves vermin less refin'd, Sir;
And he prey'd on the food of the mind, Sir;
His breakfast, half the morning
He constantly attended; And when the bell rung For ev'ning-song,
His dinner scarce was eaded!
He spar'd not ev'n heroics,
On which we poets pride us ;
Than-all the world beside does.
In books of geo-graphy,
He made the maps to futter:
And a kingdom, bread and butter.
But if some mawkish potion
Might chance to over-dose him,
Of logick—to compose him
A trap, in haste and anger,
Was bought, you need not doubt on't ;
He cou'd not, I think, get out on's.
With cheese, not books, 'twas baited,
The fact-I'll not belye it-
Minds books, when he has other dict.
* By BLACKMORE.