And ravish'd was that constant heart
She did to ev'ry heart prefer,

For though it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her,

Amid those unrelenting flames
She bore this constant heart to see,
But when 't was moulder'd into dust,
“Yet, yet,” she cry'd, “ I follow thee.

66 My death, my death alone can show
"The pure, the lasting love I bore: -
"Accept, O Heav'n! of woes like ours,
"And let us, let us weep no more."

The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And, sighing forth his name, expir'd.

Tho' justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds is due,
For seldom shall she hear a tale

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70

75

So sad, so tender, yet so true.

80

A BALLAD.

Trahit sua quemque voluptas.

HOR

PROVERBIALIZ'D

Every one to his liking.

FROMLincoln to London rodeforth our young squire,
To bring down a wife whom the swains might admire;
But in spite of whatever the mortal could say,
The goddess objected the length of the way.

5

To give up the op'ra, the park, and the ball,
For to view the stag's horns in an old country hall;
To have neither China nor India to see,
Nor a laceman to plague in a morning-not she!

To forsake the dear playhouse, Quin, Garrick, and Clive,

Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive; To forego the full box for his lonesome abode, 11 OHeav'ns! she should faint,she should die on theroad!

To forget the gay fashions and gestures of France, And to leave dear Auguste in the midst of the dance, And Harlequin too!-'t was in vain to require it, 15 And she wonder'd how folks had the face to desire it.

She might yield to resign the sweet singers of RuckWhere the citizen matron seduces her cuckold; [holt, But Ranelagh soon would her footsteps recall, 19 And the music, the lamps, and the glare, of Vauxhall.

To be sure she could breathe no where else than in
Town;
Thus she talk'd like a wit,and he look'd like a clown;
But the while honest Harry despair'd to succeed,
A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

I

SONG*.

TOLD my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few,
While falt'ring accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.

Of crops destroy'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold,
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere ?

How, chang'd by Fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and shed a gen'rous tear;
And is not Flavia then sincere ?

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5

10

*The following Songs were written chiefly between the year 1737 and 1742.

How, if she deign'd my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for dress;

This, too, she heard, and smil'd to hear;
And Flavia, sure, must be sincere.

Go shear your flocks, ye jovial Swains!
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Despoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.

SONG. THE LANDSCAPE.

How pleas'd within my native bow'rs
Erewhile I pass'd the day!

Was ever scene so deck'd with flow'rs?
Were ever flow'rs so gay?

How sweetly smil'd the hill, the vale,
And all the Landscape round!
The river gliding down the dale,
The hill with beeches crown'd!

But now, when urg'd by tender woes,

I speed to meet my dear,

That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.

Volume II.

F

20

10

No more, since Daphne was my theme,
Their wonted charms I see;

That verdant hill and silver stream
Divide my love and me.

16

SONG.

YE gentle Nymphs and gen'rous Dames
That rule o'er ev'ry British mind!
Be sure ye sooth their am'rous flames,
Be sure your laws are not unkind :"

For hard it is to wear their bloom
In unremitting sighs away,

To mourn the night's oppressive gloom,
And faintly bless the rising day. ·

And cruel 't were a free-born swain,
A British youth, should vainly moan,
Who scornful of a tyrant's chain,
Submits to yours, and yours alone.

Nor pointed spear nor links of steel
Could e'er those gallant minds subdue,
Who Beauty's wounds with pleasure feel,
And boast the fetters wrought by you.

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