Sidor som bilder

The ocean, when calm, may delight you;

But should a bold tempest arise,
The billows, enraged, would affright you,

Loud objects of awful surprise.
'Tis thus when good humour diffuses

Its beams o'er the face of the fair; With rapture his heart a man loses,

While frowns turn love to despair.


Yes, Colin, 'tis granted, you flutter in lace,

You whisper and dance with the fair ;
But merit advances, 'tis yours to give place;

Stand off, and at distance revere:
Nor tease the sweet maid with your jargon of chat,

By her side as you saunter along; Your taste-your complexion—your this—and

your that,

Nor lisp out the end of your song.
For folly and fashion you barter good sense

(If sense ever fell to your share), 'Tis enough you could pert petit maître commence,

Laugh-loiter—and lie with an air. No end

you can answer; affections you've none; Made only for prattle and play: Like a butterfly, bask'd for a while in the sun,

You'll die undistinguish'd away,




ADVANCE to Fame-advance reveald!

Let conscious worth be bold :
Why have you lain so long conceal'd,

And hid Peruvian gold?
Dan Phæbus did with joy discern

Your genius brought to light;
And many a Somebody should learn,

From Nobody to write.



From my critical court, at a quarterly meeting; To my Harrowgate subjects this embassy greeting :

Whereas, from the veteran poets complaint isTheir works are no longer consider'd as dainties; And Shakspeare and Congreve, Farquhar and

others, The tragical - comical—farcical brothers, Petition us oft for some gents and some ladies [is). (Our subjects, no doubt, since dramatic their trade

We govern their stational stage by direction, And send them to you for your friendly protection;

Robertson, an actor belonging to the York company.

"Tis Apollo invites, with some ladies (the Muses), We denounce him immensely ill bred that refuses. Be it known, by the by, from our Helicon

fountain, Enrich'd by the soil of Parnassus's mountain, Your Harrowgate water directly proceeding, Produces fine sense, with true taste and good breeding

[question : Talk of taste-none but heathens will call it in Yet some insolent wits might advance a sug

gestion, While our deputies daily invite all the neighbours, But find no Mæcenas to smile on their labours. Thus far we've proceeded your favour to curry, And could tell


much more, but we write in a hurry,




The silver moon's enamour'd beam

Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,

And kiss reflected light.
To beds of state go, balmly Sleep!

(Tis where you've seldom been), May's vigil while the shepherds keep

With Kate of Aberdeen.
Upon the green the virgins wait,

In rosy chaplets gay,
Till morn unbar her golden gate,

And give the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,

The promised May, when seen, Not half so fragrant, half so fair,

As Kate of Aberdeen. Strike


the tabor's boldest notes, We'll rouse the nodding grove; The nested birds shall raise their throats,

And bail the maid I love:
And see--the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green:
Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,

Where midnight fairies rove,
Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead,

Or tune the reed to love:
For see! the rosy May draws nigh ;

She claims a virgin queen;
And hark! the happy shepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.


The courtly bard, in verse sublime,

May praise the toasted belle;
A country maid (in careless rhyme)

I sing-my Kitty Fell!
When larks forsake the flowery plain,

And love's sweet numbers swell,
My pipe shall join their morning strain,

In praise of Kitty Fell.
Where woodbines twist their fragrant shade,

And noontide beams repel, I'll rest me on the tufted mead,

And sing of Kitty Fell. When moonbeams dance among the boughs

That lodge sweet Philomel, I'll pour with her


tuneful Vows,
And pant for Kitty Fell.
The pale-faced pedant burns his books;

The sage forsakes his cell :
The soldier smooths his martial looks,

And sighs for Kitty Fell.

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