To study culture, and with artful toil The grain, or herb, or plant that each demands; To cherish virtue in an humble state, And share the joys your bounty may create; To mark the matchless workings of the power That shuts within its seed the future flower, Bids these in elegance of form excel, In colour these, and those delight the smell, Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet- Employs, shut out from more important views, THE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK, IN ESSEX. Verses addressed to a country clergyman complaining of the disagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the dues of the parsonage. COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, This priest he merry is and blithe When tithing time draws near. He then is full of fright and fears, For then the farmers come jog, jog, Each heart as heavy as a log, To make their payments good. In sooth, the sorrow of such days When he that takes and he that pays Now all unwelcome at his gates The clumsy swains alight, And well he may, for well he knows So in they come-each makes his leg, And how does miss and madam do, The little boy and all?' All tight and well. And how do you, Good Mr. What-d'ye-call?' The dinner comes, and down they sit: One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, One spits upon the floor, Yet, not to give offence or grieve, The punch goes round, and they are dull Like barrels with their bellies full, They only weigh the heavier. At length the busy time begins. Come, neighbours, we must wag-' The money chinks, down drop their chins, Each lugging out his bag. One talks of mildew and of frost, And one of storms of hail, And one of pigs, that he has lost By maggots at the tail. Quoth one, A rarer man than you O why are farmers made so coarse, A kick, that scarce would move a horse, Then let the boobies stay at home; SONNET ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, Esq. On his emphatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of Lords. COWPER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard, Legends prolix delivers in the ears (Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers, Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, Thy generous powers; but silence honour'd thee, Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard. Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside Both heart and head; and couldst with music sweet Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide |