Sips the warm fragrance of the greenhouse bowers,
And tastes the myrtle and the citron's flowers;
At length returning to the wonted comb,
Prefers to all his little straw-built home.

CXXXI. WILLIAM BROOME.

POVERTY AND POETRY.

'Twas said of old how one Amphion
Could by his verses tame a lion,
And by his strange enchanting tunes
Make bears or wolves dance rigadoons,
His songs could call the timber down,
And form it into house or town:
But it is plain that in these times
No house is raised by poet's rhymes;
They for themselves can only rear
A few wild castles in the air.
Poor are the brethren of the bays,
Down from high strains to Ekes and Ayes;
The Muses too are virgins yet,

And may be-till they portions get.

Yet still the doating rhymer dreams,

And sings of Helicon's bright streams :
But Helicon, for all his clatter,

Yields only uninspiring water:

Yet, e'en athirst, he sweetly sings.

Of Nectar and Elysian springs.

CXXXII. LADY M. W. MONTAGU,

THE DOVES.

See how that pair of billing doves

With open murmurs own their loves :
And heedless of censorious eyes,
Pursue their unpolluted joys:
No fears of future want molest
The downy quiet of their nest;
No interest joined the happy pair,
Securely blest in Nature's care,
While her dear dictates they pursue:
For constancy is nature too.

Can all the doctrine of our schools,
Our maxims, our religious rules;
Can learning to your lives ensure
Virtue so bright, or bliss so pure ?
The great Creator's happy ends,
Virtue and pleasure ever blends;
In vain the church and court have tried
The united essence to divide:

Alike they find their wild mistake,
The pedant priest, the giddy rake.

CXXXIII. CHARLES COFFEY.
THE COBBLER.

Of all the trades from east to west,
The cobbler's, past contending,
Is like in time to prove the best,
Which every day is mending.
How great his praise who can amend
The soles of all his neighbours,

Nor is unmindful of his end,

But to his last still labours

CXXXIV. CHARLES MACKLIN.

1. MORALS.

My scheme, though mocked by knave, coquette, and fool,
To thinking minds must prove this golden rule:
In all pursuits--but chiefly in a wife,

Not wealth, but morals, make the happy life.

2. SONG.

Let other men sing of their goddesses bright,
That darken the day, and enlighten the night;
I sing of a woman— but such flesh and blood,
One touch of her finger would do your heart good.
Ten times in each day to my charmer I come,
To tell her my passion, but can't, I'm struck dumb:
For Cupid, he seizes my heart by surprise.
And my tongue falls asleep at the sight of her eyes.
Her little dog Pompey my rival I see :

She kisses and hugs him, and frowns upon me:
Then pr'ythee, dear Charlotte, abuse not your charm
Instead of a lap-dog take me to your arms.

CXXXV. BYROM.

1. COLIN AND PHOEBE.

Despairing beside a clear stream

A shepherd forsaken was laid,
And while a false nymph was his theme,
A willow supported his head.
The wind that blew over the plain,

To his sighs with a sigh did reply,
And the brook, in return to his pain,
Ran mournfully murmuring by.
Alas! silly swain that I was;

(Thus sadly complaining he cried) When first I beheld that fair face,

'Twere better by far I had died. She talked, and I blessed her dear tongue When she smiled, it was pleasure too great: I listened, and cried, when she sung,

Was nightingale ever so sweet?

How foolish was I to believe

She could doat on so lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve To forsake the fine folk of the town!

To think that a beauty so gay

So kind and so constant would prove :

Or go clad like our maidens in grey,

Or live in a cottage on love!

What though I have skill to complain,

Though the Muses my temples have crown'd What though, when they hear my soft strain,

The virgins sit weeping around?

Ah Colin, thy hopes are in vain,

Thy pipe and thy laurel resign;

Thy fair one inclines to a swain

All

Whose music is sweeter than thine.
you, my companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betrayed,

Whatever I suffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false maid.

Though through the wide world I should range, "Tis in vain from my fortune to fly ;

'Twas hers to be false and to change,
'Tis mine to be constant-and die.
If, while my hard fate I sustain,

In her breast any pity is found ;
Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,
And see me laid low in the ground,
The last humble boon that I crave,

Is to shade me with cypress and yew:
And when she looks down on my grave,
Let her own that her shepherd was true,
Then to her new love let her go,

And deck her in golden array:

Be finest at every fine show.

And frolic it all the long day:
While Colin, forgotten and gone,

No more shall be talked off or seen,
Unless when, beneath the pale moon,

His ghost shall glide over the green.

2. THE COUNTRY FELLOWS AND THE ASS.
A country fellow and his son, they tell
In modern fables, had an ass to sell:
For this intent, they turned it out to play,
And fed so well, that by the destined day
They brought the creature into sleek repair,
And drove it gently to a neighbouring fair.
As they were jogging on, a rural class

Was heard to say, "Look! look there, at that ass !
And those two blockheads trudging on each side,
They have not, either of 'em, sense to ride :
Asses all three!" And thus the country folks
On man and boy began to cut their jokes.
Th' old fellow minded nothing that they said,
But every word stuck in the young one's head;
And thus began their comment thereupon:
"Ne'er heed'em, lad," "Nay, father, do get on."
"Not I indeed." "Why, then let me, I pray."
Well, do; and see what prating tongues will say."
The boy was mounted; and they had not got
Much further on, before another knot,

Just as the ass was pacing by, pad, pad,
Cried, “O! that lazy booby of a lad!
How unconcernedly the gaping brute
Lets the poor aged fellow walk a-foot."
Down came the son on hearing this account,

And begged, and prayed, and made his father mount! Till a third party, on a further stretch,

"See! See!" exclaimed, "that old hard-hearted wretch! How like a justice there he sits, or squire;

While the poor lad keeps wading through the mire."

Stop!" cried the lad, still vexed in deeper mind,

"Stop, father, stop; let me get on behind.”

This done, they thought they certainly should please.
Escape reproaches, and be both at ease;
For having tried each practicable way,
What could be left for jokers now to say ?
Still disappointed by succeeding tone,
"Hark ye, you fellows! Is that ass your owI
Get off! for shame! or one of you at least!
You both deserve to carry the poor beast!
Ready to drop down dead upon the road,
With such a huge unconscionable load."
On this they both dismounted; and, some say,
Contrived to carry, like a truss of hay,
The ass between them; prints, they add, are seen,
With man and lad, and slinging ass between ;
Others omit that fancy in the print,

As overstraining an ingenious hint.

The copy that we follow, says, the man

Rubbed down the ass, and took to his first plan.
Walked to the fair, and sold him, got his price,
And gave his son this pertinent advice:
"Let talkers talk; stick thou to what is best;
To think of pleasing all-is all a jest."

CXXXVI. SOMERVILLE.

1. HARE-HUNTING.

Hark! from yon covert, where those tow'ring oaks
Above the humble copse aspiring rise,

What glorious triumphs burst in ev'ry gale