And when his evangelic face
To fcrape he did begin,
They ferv'd him for a looking glass,
That he mightn't cut his chin.
They ferv'd him for a shoulder clout
Whereon his blade to clean,
Which stood inftead of mercury,
To make the mirror fhine.
Thus the grand fummit of her fong
The muse expiring reaches,
Quite dazzled with the glorious theme,
The splendor of the breeches.
Oh crown our Parfon then with laurels
And honour his invention,
Does he not more than Parfon Bate
Deferve to have a penfion?
Straps, razors, mirrors buy no more,
No more let tradesmen cheat us,
For that which warms the Parfon's rump
Is his fhaving apparatus.
E mountains fo dreary and dread,
To whom I fo often repair,
In pity fall down on my head,
And fnatch me at once from defpair.
In mercy, ye skies, to my woes,
Let your thunders avengingly roll,
And death kindly hush to repofe
The Ætna that bursts on my foul.
Twelve moons have I fcarcely been wed,
And honour'd with Beverly's name;
Yet how has the conjugal bed
Been steep'd in pollution and fhame!
To the fondeft and worthieft youth,
All spotted and perjur'd I ftand;
And this ring, which once fwore to my truth,
Now deadens, thro' guilt, on my hand
Perdition quick fall on the hour
That first I faw Clerimont's face,
And fatally gave him a power
To plunge me in endless disgrace.
From Time's fwiftly filvering wing
This inftant O let it be torn ;
And pluck from remembrance a fting,
Too bitter by far to be borne.
Once white as the moon's pureft ray,
This bofom could consciously heave,
Defpife every thought to betray,
And detest every wish to deceive.
Once crown'd with contentment and reft,
My days held the happiest race;
And the night faw me equally bleft,
In my Beverly's honest embrace.
But now, one continued difguife,
I'm hackney'd in falfehood and art;
And teach every glance of my eyes
To conceal every wish of my heart.
To meet with poor Beverly's kifs.
What transport appears in my air!
Tho' his breaft, once the pillow of bliss,
Swells only with death and despair.
If a look is by accident caught,
I'm fill'd with a thousand alarms;
And Clerimont fires every thought,
When I melt e'en in Beverly's arms.
-Great Ruler of all things above,
Whom Father of Mercies we deem, Let duty direct me to love
Where reafon compells my efteem. Yet how to thy throne fhall I run; For pardon, how can I exclaim; When every renewal of fun
Beholds a renewal of fhame!
Nay, now while the guilt I deteft,
My confcience fo dreadfully wrings;
This Clerimont grows on my breaft,
And infenfibly twifts round the ftrings.
Distraction, this instant repair,
And feize the least atom of brain;.
For nature no longer can bear
This incredible fulness of pain!
Let Mercy employ its own time,
I dare not look upward that way;
For unless I defift from my crime,
"Tis blafphemy furely to pray.
DIRG E..
OW the head thou lily fair,
Bow the head in mournful guife;
Sickly turn thy fhining white,
Bend thy ftalk and never rise.
Shed thy leaves thou lovely rofe,
Shed thy leaves so fweet and gay;
Spread them wide on the cold earth,
Quickly let them fade away.
Fragrant woodbine all untwine,
All untwine from yonder bower;
Drag thy branches on the ground,
Stain with duft each tender flower.
For, woe is me! the gentle knot,
That did in willing durance bind
My EMMA and her happy fwain,
By cruel death is now untwin'd.
Her head with dim half-clofed eyes,
Is bowed upon her breaft of fnow;
And cold and faded are those cheeks,
That wont with chearful red to glow.
And mute is that harmonious voice,
That wont to breathe the founds of love;
And lifelefs are those beauteous limbs,
That with fuch ease and grace did move.
And I of all my blifs bereft,
Lonely and fad must ever moan;
Dead to each joy the world can give,
Alive to memory alone.
Written upon a Pedestal beneath a row of elms in
a meadow near Richmond Ferry, belonging to RICHARD OWEN CAMBRIDGE, Esq.
E green-hair'd nymphs! whom Pan allows To guard from harm these favour'd boughs; Ye blue-eyed Naiads of the stream,
That footh the warm poetic dream;
Ye elves and fprights, that thronging round,
When midnight darkens all the ground,
In antic measures uncontroul'd,
Your fairy fports and revels hold,
and down, where-e'er ye pass,
many a ringlet print the grass;
If e'er the bard hath hail'd your power
At morn's grey dawn, or evening hour;
If e'er by moonlight on the plain
Your ears have caught th' enraptur'd strain ;
From every floweret's velvet head,
From reverend Thames's oozy bed,
From these mofs'd. elms, where prifon'd deep,
Conceal'd from human eyes, ye fleep,
If these your haunts be worth your care,
Awake, arife, and hear my prayer!
O banish from this peaceful plain
The perjur'd nymph, the faithlefs fwain,
The ftubborn heart, that fcorns to bow,
And harsh rejects the honeft vow;
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