O, How could I venture to love one like thee,
Or thou not despise a poor conquest like me?
On Lords, thy admirers, could look with disdain ;
And, though I was nothing, yet pity my pain?
You said, when they teased you with nonsense and dress,
'When real the Passion, the vanity 's less!'
You saw through that silence, which others despise;
And, while Beaus were prating, read love in my eyes!
O, where is the Nymph that, like thee, can ne'er cloy;
Whose wit can enliven the dull pause of joy?
And when the sweet transport is all at an end,
From beautiful Mistress, turn sensible Friend?
When I see thee, I love thee; but hearing, adore!
I wonder, and think you a woman no more!
Till, mad with admiring, I cannot contain;
And kissing those lips, find you woman again!
In all that I write, I'll thy judgement require!
Thy taste shall correct, what thy love did inspire!
I'll kiss thee, and press thee, till youth is all o'er;
And then live on Friendship, when Passion 's no more!
THE Women all tell me, I'm false to my Lass; That I quit my poor CHLOE, and stick to my Glass! But to you, Men of Reason, my reasons I'll own; And if you don't like them, why, let them alone!
Although I have left her, the truth I'll declare!
I believe she was good; and am sure she was fair:
But goodness and charms in a Bumper I see,
That make it as good and as charming as she!
My CHLOE had dimples and smiles, I must own! But though she could smile; yet, in truth, she could frown:
But tell me, ye lovers of liquor divine!
Did you e'er see a frown in a Bumper of Wine?
Her lilies and roses were just in their prime;
Yet lilies and roses are conquered by time!
But in Wine, from its age such a benefit flows,
That we like it the better, the older it grows!
They tell me, my love would in time have been cloyed;
And that beauty 's insipid, when once 'tis enjoyed:
But in Wine I both time and enjoyment defy!
For the longer I drink, the more thirsty am I!
Let Murders, and Battles, and History prove
The mischiefs that wait upon Rivals in Love:
But, in drinking, thank Heaven! no Rival contends;
For the more we love liquor, the more we are friends!...
We shorten our days, when with Love we engage;
It brings on diseases, and hastens old age:
But Wine, from grim Death can its votaries save;
And keep out t'other leg, when there's one in the
grave!
Perhaps, like her Sex, ever false to their word,
She had left me, to get an estate, or a Lord:
But my Bumper, regarding no titles nor pelf,
Will stand by me, while I can't stand by myself!
Then, let my dear CHLOE no longer complain !
She's rid of her Lover; and I, of my pain!
For in Wine, mighty Wine! many comforts I spy!
Should you doubt what I say, take a Bumper and try!
THE morning is charming, all Nature is gay,
Away, my brave Boys! to your horses, away!
For the prime of our pleasure, and questing the Hare;
We have not so much as a moment to spare!
Hark! the merry-toned horn! how melodious it sounds To the musical song of the merry-mouthed hounds!
In yon stubble field, we shall find her below!
'Soho!' cries the Huntsman. Hark to him, 'Soho!'
See, see where she goes; and the hounds have a view!
Such harmony HANDEL himself never knew!
Gates, hedges, and ditches, to us are no bounds;
But the world is our own, while we follow the hounds!
Hold! Hold! 'Tis a double! Hark! hey! Tanner hye!
Though a thousand gainsay it, a thousand shall lie!
His beauty surpassing, his truth has been tried;
At the head of the pack, an infallible guide!
CHORUS.
To his cry, the wide welkin with thunder resounds;
The darling of hunters! the glory of hounds!
O'er highlands and lowlands and woodlands we fly:
Our horses full speed, and our hounds in full cry!
So matched are their mouths, and so even they run,
Like the Tune of the Spheres, and their race with the sun.
CHORUS.
Health, Joy, and Felicity dance in the Rounds;
And bless the gay circle of hunters and hounds!
The old hounds push forward, a very sure sign
That the Hare, though a stout one, begins to decline.
A chase of two hours or more she has led.
She's down! Look about you! They have her! 'Ware, dead!'
CHORUS.
How glorious a death! to be honoured with sounds
Of horns, and a shout to the chorus of hounds!
Here's a Health to all Hunters, and long be their lives!
May they never be crossed by their Sweethearts, or Wives!
May they rule their own Passions; and ever at rest,
As the most happy men, be they also the best!
And free from the care which the many surrounds,
See Heaven at the last-when they see no more hounds!
THE Muse and the Hero together are fired! The same noble views have their bosoms inspired! As Freedom they love, and for Glory contend, The Muse o'er the Hero still mourns as a friend. And here let the Muse, her poor tribute bequeath To one British Hero! 'Tis brave Captain DEATH!
His ship was the Terrible, dreadful to see! His crew were as brave and as gallant as he! Two hundred, or more, was their good complement; And, sure, braver fellows to sea never went! Each man was determined to spend his last breath In fighting for Britain, and brave Captain DEATH!
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