Our couple weep two wifhes past,
And kindly join to form the last,
To ease the woman's aukward pain,
And get the ladle out again.
THIS Commoner has worth and parts,
Is prais'd for arms, or lov'd for arts;
His head achs for a coronet :
And who is blefs'd that is not great?
Some fenfe, and more estate, kind Heav'n
To this well-lotted peer has given :
What then? he must have rule and sway;
And all is wrong, till he's in play.
The miser must make up his plum,
And dares not touch the hoarded fum;
The fickly dotard wants a wife,
To draw off his last dregs of life.
Against our peace we arm our will:
Amidft our plenty, fomething, ftill,
For horfes, houses, pictures, planting,
To thee, to me, to him is wanting.
The cruel fomething unpoffefs'd
Corrodes, and leavens all the rest.
That fomething, if we could obtain,
Would foon create a future pain:
And to the coffin, from the cradle,
'Tis all a wish, and all a Ladle.
This poem is very fine; and, though in the fame ftrain with the preceding, is yet fuperior.
ancient times, as story tells,
The faints would often leave their cells,
And ftrole about, but hide their quality,
To try good people's hospitality.,
It happen'd on a winter night,
As authors of the legend write,
Two brother hermits, faints by trade,
Taking their tour in masquerade,
Difguis'd in tatter'd habits, went
To a small village down in Kent;
Where, in the ftrollers' canting strain,
They begg'd from door to door, in vain ;
Try'd ev'ry tone might pity win,
But not a foul would let 'em in.
Our wand'ring faints, in woful state,
Treated at this ungodly rate,
Having through all the village pass'd,
To a small cottage came at last;
Where dwelt a good old honest ye'man,
Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon,
Who kindly did thefe faints invite
In his poor hut to pass the night;
And then, the hospitable fire
Bid goody Baucis mend the fire ;
While he from out the chimney took
A flitch of bacon, off the hook,
And, freely, from the fatteft fide,
Cut out large flices, to be fry'd;.
Then stepp'd afide to fetch 'em drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful!) they found
"Twas ftill replenish'd to the top,
As if they had not touch'd a drop.
The good old couple were amaz❜d,
And often on each other gaz'd;
For both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry-what art!
Then foftly turn'd afide, to view
Whether the lights were burning blue.
The gentle pilgrims, foon aware on't,
Told them their calling, and their errand;
Good folks, you need not be afraid;
We are but Saints, the hermits faid;
No hurt fhall come to you or yours;
But, for that pack of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on chriftian ground,
They and their houfes fhall be drown'd;
Whilft you fhall fee your cottage rife,
And grow a church before your eyes.
They scarce had spoke, when, fair and soft,
The roof began to mount aloft;
Aloft rofe ev'ry beam and rafter;
The heavy wall climb'd flowly after.
The chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Became a steeple, with a spire.
The kettle to the top was hoist,
And there ftood fasten'd to a joist;
But with the upfide down, to show
Its inclination for below;
In vain, for a fuperior force,
Apply'd at bottom, ftops its course :
Doom'd ever in fufpence to dwell,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.
A wooden jack, which had almost
Loft, by difufe, the art to roaft,
A fudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by new inteftine wheels;
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion flower.
The flyer, though't had leaden feet,
Turn'd round fo quick, you scarce could fee't;
But, flacken'd by fome fecret pow'r,
Now hardly moves an inch an hour.
The jack and chimney, near ally'd,
Had never left each other's fide;
The chimney to a steeple grown,
The jack would not be left alone,
But up against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and ftill adher'd;
And, ftill, its love to houfhold cares,
By a fhrill voice, at noon declares,
VOL. II.
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