« AnteriorContinuar »
To Miss Blount, on her leaving the Town, after the Coronation
As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire;
Up to her godly garret after sev'n,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Then gives a smacking buss, and cries-No works!
Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse,
In some fair evening, on your elbow laid,
Before you pass th' imaginary sights
Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd Knights;
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls.
Look sow'r, and hum a tune—as you may now.
The Universal Prayer
FATHER of All! in ev'ry Age,
In ev'ry Clime ador'd,
By Saint, by Savage, and by Sage,
Thou Great First Cause, least understood:
Who all my Sense confin'd
To know but this, that Thou art Good,
Lines Written in Windsor Forest
ALL hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade! Scene of my youthful loves and happier hours! Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd.
And gently press'd my hand, and said ‘Be ours!— Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:
At Court thou may'st be liked, but nothing gain: Stock thou may'st buy and sell, but always lose, And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.'