Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whisp'ring winds soon lull'd asleep.
Tow'red cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend:
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
MIRTH AND MELANCHOLY.
Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper;
And other of such vinegar aspect,
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
MOB. (Folly of trusting to)
What would you have, you curs,
That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ;
Where foxes, geese: You are no surer, no,
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is,
To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, And curse that justice did it.
Deserves your hate; and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead,
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye!
Trust ye?
With every minute you do change a mind;
And call him noble, that was now your hate,
Him vile, that was your garland.
MODESTY. (Described)
Yet innocence and virgin modesty,
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth,
P That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.
Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retir'd,
The more desirable, or, to say all,
Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought,
Wrought in her so, that seeing me she turn'd;
I followed her; she what was honour knew,
And with obsequious majesty approv'd
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubim :
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
SHAKSPEARE.
(Murdered Person described)
But, see, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eyeballs further out than when he liv'd,
Staring full ghastly, like a strangled man:
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strug-
gling;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd.
Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking:
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd.
It cannot be, but he was murder'd here;
The least of all these signs were probable.
MUSE. (Haunts of)
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep;
Isles, that crown th' Egean deep;
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Mæander's amber waves
In ling'ring lab'rinths creep,
How do your tuneful echoes languish !
Mute but to the voice of anguish !
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath'd around;
Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a solemn sound.
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature:
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, statagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.
NARCISSUS. (Character of)
Narcissus the Tartarian club disclaims;
Nay, a free mason with some terror names:
Omits no duty, nor can envy say
He miss'd these many years the church or play;
He makes no noise in parliament 'tis true;
But pays his debt and visit when 'tis due :
His character and gloves are ever clean;
And then he can outbow the bowing dean!
A smile eternal on his lip he wears,
Which equally the wise and worthless shares,
In gay fatigues this most undaunted chief,
Patient of idleness beyond belief,
Most charitably lends the town his face
For ornament, in ev'ry public place :
As sure as cards he to the assembly comes,
And is the furniture of drawing-rooms.
When ombre calls, his hand and heart are free; And, join'd to two, he fails not-to make three. YOUNG.
NATURE. (Her Bounties)
I care not, Fortune! what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face: You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave. Of fancy, reason, virtue nought can me bereave. THOMSON.
NATURE. (Her Charms)
O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields, All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even : All that the mountain's shelt'ring bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of heaven,
O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven? BEATTIE.
NATURE. (Her Wants few)
Man's rich with little, were his judgment true; Nature is frugal, and her wants are few ; Those few wants answered bring sincere delights, But fools create themselves new appetites. Fancy and pride seek things at vast expense, Which relish nor to reason nor to sense. When surfeit or unthankfulness destroys, In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys,
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