For 'tis in Evesham's vale, or near it,
That folks with laughter tell and hear it.
The foil with annual plenty bleft
Was by young Corydon poffeft.
His youth alone I lay before
As most material to my story:
For ftrength and vigour too, he had them,
And 'twere not much amifs, to add them.
Thrice happy lout! whofe wide domain
Now green with grafs, now gilt with grain,
In ruffet robes of clover deep,
*Or thinly veil'd, and white with sheep;
Now fragrant with the bean's perfume,
Now purpled with the pulfe's bloom,
Might well with bright allusion store me;
-But happier bards have been before me!
Amongst the various year's increase,
The ftrippling own'd a field of peafe;
Which, when at night he ceas'd his labours,
Were haunted by fome female neighbours.
Each morn difcover'd to his fight
The shameful havock of the night:
Traces of this they left behind them,
But no inftructions where to find them.
The Devil's works are plain and evil,
But few or none have seen the Devil.
Old Noll, indeed, if we may credit
The words of Echard, who has faid it,
Contriv'd with Satan how to fool us;
And bargain'd face to face to rule us ;
But then old Noll was one in ten,
And fought him more than other men.
Our shepherd too, with like attention,
May meet the female fiends we mention.
He rose one morn at break of day,
And near the field in ambush lay:
When lo! a brace of girls appears,
The third, a matron much in years.
Smiling, amidit the peafe, the finners
Sate down to cull their future dinners;
And, caring little who might own them,
Made free as though themselves had sown them.
'Tis worth a fage's obfervation
How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had forc'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid!
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out of door;
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
If anger bid our youth revile,
Love form'd his features to a smile:
And knowing well 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a smiling face,
He in few words express'd his mind—
And none would deem them much unkind.
The amorous youth, for their offence,
Demanded instant recompence:
That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful Muse to name.
Yet, more this fentence to discover,
'Twas what Bet ** grants her lover,
When he, to make the ftrumpet willing,
Has fent his fortune to a fhilling.
Each stood a while, as 'twere fufpended,
And loth to do, what-each intended.
At length, with foft pathetic fighs,
The matron, bent with age, replies
'Tis vain to strive-justice, I know,
And our ill ftars, will have it fo-
But let my tears your wrath affuage,
And fhew fome deference for age!
I from a distant village came,
Am old, God knows, and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.
Our fhepherd, like the Phrygian swain,
When circled round on Ida's plain,
With goddeffes he stood fufpended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.
ODE to be performed by Dr. BRETTLE, and a Chorus of HALES-OWEN CITIZENS.
The Inftrumental Part, a Viol d' Amour.
AIR by the DOCTOR.
WAKE! I fay, awake good people!
And be for once alive and gay;
Come let's be merry; ftir the tipple;
How can you fleep,
Whilft I do play? how can you sleep, &c.
CHORUS of CITIZENS.
Pardon, O! pardon, great musician!
On drowsy fouls fome pity take!
For wondrous hard is our condition,
To drink thy beer,
Thy ftrains to hear;
And keep awake!
SOLO by the DOCTOR.
Hear but this ftrain-'twas made by Handel,
A wight of skill, and judgment deep!
Zoonters they're gone-Sal, bring a candle-
No, here is one, and he 's afleep.
HEN Celia, Love's eternal foe,
To rich old Gomez firft was marry'd;
And angry Cupid came to know,
His shafts had err'd, his bow miscarry'd; He figh'd, he wept, he hung his head,
On the cold ground, full fad, he laid him; When Plutus, there by fortune led,
In this defponding plight furvey'd him.
And fure, he cry'd, you 'll own at last
Your boasted power by mine exceeded:
Say, wretched boy, now all is past,
How little fhe your efforts heeded.
If with fuccefs you would affail,
Gild, Youngster, doubly gild your arrows: Little the feather'd shafts avail,
Though wing'd from Mamma's doves and fpar
What though each reed, each arrow grew, Where Venus bath'd herfelf; depend on 't, 'Twere more for ufe, for beauty too,
A diamond sparkled at the end on 't. Peace, Plutus, peace!—the boy reply'd; Were not my arts by your's infested,
I could each other power deride,
And rule this circle, unmolested.
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