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With wine he replenish'd his veins,
And made his philosophy reel ;
Turn'd round like a chariot-wheel.
Aristotle, that master of arts,
Had been but a dunce without wine ; And what we ascribe to his parts,
Is due to the juice of the vine ; His belly, most writers agree,
Was big as a watering-trough ; He therefore leap'd into the sea,
Because he'd have liquor enough.
Old Plato was reckon'd divine,
He fondly to wisdom was prone ; But had it not been for good wine,
His merits had never been known, By wine we are generous made,
It furnishes fancy with wings, Without it we ne'er shou'd have had
Philosophers, poets, or kings.
LUCY and COL IN.
F Leister, fam'd for maidens fair,
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so sweet a face :
Impair'd her rosy hue,
And eyes of glofly blue.
Oh! have you feen a lily pale,
When beating rains defcend ? So droop'd the flow.consuming maid,
Her life was near an end.
Take heed ye easy fair ;
Yc perjur'd swains, beware.
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring ; And fhrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing :
The folemn boding found,
The virgins weeping round:
" I hear a voice you cannot hear,
" Which says, I must not stay ; o I fee a hand you cannot see,
66. Which beckons' me away.
“ By a false heart and broken vows,
“ In early youth I die ; “ Was I to blame, because his bride
66 Was thrice as rich as I?
« Ah Colin! give not her thy vows,
« Vows due to me alone ? “ Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
" Nor think him all thy own. " To-morrow in the church to wed,
Impatient both prepare : " But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
" That Lucy will be there.
“ Then bear my corse, my comrades dear,
“ This bridegroom blithe to meet : “ He in his wedding-trim so gay,
" I in my winding sheet." She spoke, she dy'd: her corse was born,
The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding.trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts !
How were these nuptials kept !
And all the village wept.
At once his bosom fwell ;
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride (ah bride no more !
The varying crimson fed,
She saw her husband dead.
Convey'd by trembling fwains,
For ever now remains.
Oft at his grave, the conftant hind,
And plighted maids are seen,
They deck the facred green.
This hallow'd spot forbear ;
And fear to meet him here.
SONG 218 .
THE BIRD. THE
HE bird, that hears her nestlings cry, And flies abroad for fuod, Returns impatient through the sky
To nurse the callow brood : The tender mother knows no joy,
But bodes a thousand harms,
And fickens for the darling boy,
While abfent from her arms.
Such fondness with impatience join'd,
My faithful bosom fires,
All fimiles are vain,
Or to relieve my pain.
The faint with fervent zeal inspird
*For heav'n and joys divine, The faint is not with rapture fir’d,
More pure, more warm than mine. I take what liberty I dare,
'Twere impious to say more ; Convey my longings to the fair,
The goddess. I adore.
A Dish OF
ALL Sorts. UARDIAN angels now protect meFrom the man that I love, thu' my heart I dis..
guise, I can freely distinguish
The fun from the east, tips the mountains with gold,