In sooth the sorrow of such days When he that takes and he that pays Are both alike distress'd. Now all unwelcome at his gates The clumsy swains alight, With rueful faces and baid pates- And well he may, for well he knows So in they come-each makes his leg, And not to quit a score. "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, Yet, not to give offence or grieve, Holds up the cloth before. The punch goes round, and they are dull Like barrels with their bellies full, 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 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; "Twould cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sum Without the clowns that pay. 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, Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside Both heart and head; and couldst with musick sweet Of Attick phrase and senatorial tone, Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN. Author of the Botanick Garden.' TWO Poets* (poets by report, Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court! They best can judge a poet's worth, We therefore pleas'd extol thy song, No envy mingles with our praise, They would-they must at thine. With an unjaundic'd eye ; And deem the Bard, whoe'er he be, And howsoever known, Who would not twine a wreath for Thee, Unworthy of his own. * Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompamied these lines. ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER HANGINGS. THE birds put off their ev'ry hue, To dress a room for Montagu. The Peacock sends his heav'nly dyes, The Pheasant plumes, which round infold Shall drench again or discompose, But, screen'd from ev'ry storm that blows, To the same patroness resort, Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought VOL. I. 18* |