The Thimble: An Heroi-comical Poem, in Four Cantos

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J. Shuckburgh, and sold, 1744 - 27
 

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Strona 18 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure ; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again ; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
Strona 20 - Zeal he (hot the Dart, That fatal lodg'd deep funk in Fannias Heart. Then thrice was heard the wounded Virgin's Groan ; And thrice the Parrot fcream'd his hideous Moan ; Thrice bark'd the Lap-Dog from his downy Bed, And thrice the Kitten rear'd her drowfy Head ! Alas ! how ihort-liv'd is all human Power ! The Pride of Years is blafted in an Hour : All the gay Plans of Conqueft, all the Schemes, The Maid had form'd, are fled like Morning Dreams ; The Baron ihall pofièfs her Beauty's Store, And Fanny...
Strona 2 - Fanniuj that waft wont to wield The pointed Spear, without the bofly Shield] Thrice happy Fannia, in the Gift beftow'd, The Thimble Shield, the Labour of a God ! But now her Charms had fwell'd the Trump of Fame, And ipread to diftant Tea-Tables her Name ; IMITATIONS. • Envy itfelf was dumb, in Wonder loft, And Factions ftrove which ihould applaud you moft.
Strona 3 - Twas he could all the Tender Virgins move, Smooth were his Words, for ev'ry Word was Love: Loaded with Lace, and deck'd in silken State, He strutted, insignificantly great! Affected pomp, and Equipage, and Shew, And all the Nothings that compound a Beau! He danc'd, and sung, took Snuff, and crack'da Fan, And at the best but border 'd upon Man.
Strona 1 - ... Reader, to whose Candour and Judgment I submit the following Poem." [vii-viii] What Art Divine the shining Thimble found, To shield the Finger militant around, Now first my Verse reveals: Ye Virgins, hear, Attend, ye Matrons, and ye Belles, give Ear; For you the Infant Muse essays to sing, For you she flutters on her tender Wing; To you the tributary Strains belong, "Then take at once the Poet and the Song.
Strona 3 - ... Scar . . . Unhappy Fannia, that wast wont to wield The pointed Spear, without the bossy Shield! Thrice happy Fannia, in the Gift bestow'd, The Thimble Shield, the Labour of a God! But now her Charms had swell'd the Trump of Fame, And spread to distant Tea-Tables her Name. [p. 2] For Fannia triumphed in her Beauty's Arts, And view'd with Scorn whole Hecatombs of Hearts! But...
Strona 7 - Embryo Flower; Six Needles in tremendous Range appear, Each a dire Emblem of the Warrior's Spear! A while...
Strona 8 - ... Gift (as antient Memoirs say) A just Reward for many a well-work'd Day! With active haste her nimble Fingers move, Curl the gay Vine and form the mimick Grove; But as her Needle with resistless Force, Through doubl'd Plaits push'd on its rapid Course, The treach'rous Weapon broke, — the headless Dart Her Finger gor'd, and pierc'd her — to the Heart; The purple Blood distain'd her Arm around, And half her Soul came rushing through the Wound.
Strona 11 - Lies fbme near Friend upon his dying Bed ? Or has the Light'ning ftruck thy Monkey dead ? Has the fell Mercer juft produc'd his Score, And having...
Strona 21 - Needle still extend thy Fame, And Ages yet to come admire thy Name; The...

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