And view the sea of boiling, foaming wort; When lo! (a very serious matter) His star of most malignant nature [for't; Sous'd him plump in; who did not thank him For loud the Drayman roar'd, and vainly toil'd; Lord! what was done? Attend-you'll hear : Compassionating the poor beer, The Brewer scorn'd to give it a bad name : Not to a single soul he told it, But, like the former, calmly sold it; When, strange to tell, it won immortal' fame. A customer, call'd PETER POT, Was to be favour'd with this christian beer, Proceeds to THRALE's-proclaims its praise: "Ne'er drank such beer in my born days! A glorious, glorious brew! liked ev'ry where "So pleas'd were folks-Sir,hundreds I can name; "So let me always have the very same. "Your name is up, Sir; you may lie abed"You've hit the nail at last upon the head." "Well, MASTERPOT,"quoth MISTERTHRALE, "I'm glad the beer had such a sale "Depend on't, it shall be my constant plan "To make the next as near it as I can." What could be fairer? Yet, God wot, This answer pleas'd not PETER POT. "As near it as you can!" cried Por 66 Why not the very same?—why not? "Put in the same materials, and 'twill do." "Damme," quoth THRALE, enrag'd, "dost "think "I'll make my conscience always wink, "And boil a Drayman ev'ry time I brow ?” ODE TO TIME. Occasioned by seeing the Ruins of an old Castle. THOU, who 'mid the world-involving gloom Sitt'st on yon solitary spire! Or slowly shak'st the sounding dome,.. Or hear'st the wildly-warbling lyre; Bids distant times unrol, And marks the flight of each revolving year, That saw the race of glory run, That mark'd Ambition's setting sun, tear? I. 2. Cast o'er yon trackless waste thy wand'ring eye: Just trembling through the bending sky, That o'er yon murmuring flood When, by pale Cynthia's silver ray, All wild he wander'd o'er the lonely dale, And taught the list'ning Moon the melancholy tale. I. 3. Ye wilds where heaven-rapt Fancy roves! Ye low-brow'd vaults, ye gloomy cells! Ye caves, where night-bred Silence dwells! Ghosts that in yon lonely hall Lightly glance along the wall; Or beneath yon ivy'd tow'r, At the silent midnight hour, On Night's dull serious ear rebound, That mourns the ceaseless lapse of life-consuming years? II. 1. O call th' inspiring glorious hour to view, Pour'd on the heart-struck flying Dane! |