Sidor som bilder

Fill out my friend, the dean of Derry,
A bumper of conventual sherry!

Give Ridge and Hickey, generous souls !
Of whisky punch convivial bowls;
But let the kindred Burkes regale
With potent draughts of Wicklow ale;
To C*****k next in order turn ye,

him with the vines of Ferney!
Now, Doctor, you're an honest sticker,
So take your glass, and choose your liquor;
Wilt have it steep'd in Alpine snows,
Or damask'd at Silenus' nose ?
With Wakefield's vicar sip your tea,
Or to Thalia drink with me?
And, Doctor, I would have you know it,
An honest, I, though humble poet;
I scorn the sneaker like a toad,
Who drives his cart the Dover road,
There, traitor to his country's trade,
Smuggles vile scraps of French brocade:
Hence with all such! for you and I
By English wares will live and die.
Come, draw your chair, and stir the fire:
Here, boy!-a pot of Thrale's entire!


A Tale.
SECLUDED from domestic strife,
Jack Bookworm led a college life;
A fellowship at twenty-five
Made him the happiest man alive;

3 Dr. Barnard.


He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke,
And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.

Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,
Could any accident impair?
Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix
Our swain, arrived at thirty-six ?
O, had the archer ne'er come down


a country town! Or Flavia been content to stop At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop. 0, had her eyes forgot to blaze! Or Jack had wanted eyes


gaze. 0! -But let exclamation cease; Her presence banish'd all his

peace : So with decorum all things carried, Miss frown'd and blush' and then was-married,

Need we expose to vulgar sight
The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains closed around?
Let it suffice, that each had charms:
He clasp'd a goddess in his arms;
And, though she felt his usage rough,
Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

The honeymoon like lightning flew;
The second brought its transports too;
A third, a fourth were not amiss;
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss :
But when, a twelvemonth pass'd away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
But still the worst remain'd behind,
That very face had robb’d her mind.

Skill'd in no other arts was she But dressing, patching, repartee; And, just as humour rose or fell, By turns a slattern or a belle; 'Tis true she dress’d with modern grace, Half naked at a ball or race; But when at home, at board or bed, Five greasy nightcaps wrapp'd her head. Could so much beauty condescend To be a dull domestic friend? Could any curtain lectures bring To decency so fine a thing? In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting; By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting. Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy Of powder'd coxcombs at her levee; The squire and captain took their stations, And twenty other near relations. Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke A sigh in suffocating smoke; While all their hours were pass'd between Insulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown: He fancies every vice she shows Or thins her lip or points her nose : Whenever rage or envy rise, How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes! He knows not how, but so it is, Her face is grown a knowing phiz; And, though her fops are wondrous civil, He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now to perplex the ravel'd noose, As each a different way pursues,

While sullen or loquacious strife
Promised to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's transient flower,
Lo! the smallpox, whose horrid glare
Level'd its terrors at the fair;
And, riling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright:
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste and creams
To smooth her skin or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens:
The squire himself was seen to yield,
And e’en the captain quit the field.

Poor madam, now condemn’d to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old;
With modesty her cheeks were dyed,
Humility displaces pride;
For tawdry finery is seen

person ever neatly clean:
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good nature every day:
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.



LOGICIANS have but ill defined
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius,
By ratiocinations specious,
Have strove to prove with great precision,
With definition and division,
Homo est ratione preditum;
But for my soul I cannot credit them:
And must in spite of them maintain
That man and all his ways are vain;
And that this boasted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature :
This instinct is a surer guide
Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;
And that brute beasts are far before them,
Deus est anima brutorum.
Who ever knew an honest brute
At law his neighbour prosecute;
Bring action for assault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O’er plains they ramble unconfined,
No politics disturb their mind;
They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court:
They never to the levee go
To treat as dearest friend a foe;
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,
Nor draw the quill to write for Bob;

« FöregåendeFortsätt »