I'd write, and write again; I care not;
But, as I feel, indeed I dare not.
Then Cox let loose his silver tongue;
O d-n it, David, you are wrong:
While independent Plummer cry'd,
He'd not vote plump on either side.
E'en Boon, who ne'er inclines to satire,
With modest sense and much good nature,
Cou'd not but say there was some blame,
And sweet Eliza blush'd the same.
My wife look'd grave, but made it known
The right to vex me was her own.
Our landlord shook his sides and shoulders,
Both at the scolded and the scolders:
For that to him is always best,
Which raises and supports the jest.
No baited bear was e'er so worry'd ;
I took my hat, and home I hurry'd,
Resolv'd, as well as I was able,
To ask your pardon in a Fable;
The best excuse my prudence knows,
For answ'ring your choice verse in prose.
A monkey of the sprightly kind
Could mock and mimic half mankind :
Cou'd twist him to a thousand shapes;
In short, a perfect jackanapes.
At once our mimic Pug display'd
His talents in the summer shade,
By chance a nightingale was there,
Well pleas'd the farce to see and hear.
His joy began his notes to raise ;
He warbled forth the monkey's praise.
Pug, too much flatter'd, thought it wrong,
Not to return his thanks in song;
And such a fit of squalling took him,
Beasts, birds, and nightingale forsook him.
An owl, who in a hole was dreaming,
Was rais'd at once with all this screaming;
Who-o-hoo! hoo! neighbour, curse your clatter!
Zounds! are you murder'd,? what's the matter?
The monkey to his senses brought,
And must'ring what he had of thought,
Told to the owl his silly tale,
How he had scar'd the nightingale.
Grave Madge began to roll her eyes,
And being what she seem'd, most wise,
Thus spoke-Thou empty-headed thing,
Skip, grin, and chatter-never sing;
Wou'd you, without a voice, or ear,
Tune up, when Philomel is near ?
Nature her pleasure has made known,
That nightingales shou'd sing alone.
COLONEL CLIVE,
[Afterwards Lord,]
ON HIS ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND.
GREAT as from Porus' conquest, Philip's son,
Glorious as Cortez from new Indies won,
Midst trumpets loud acclaim, and cannons roar,
Welcome, illustrious Clive, to Britain's shore.
From eastern dawning, swift as Phoebus' rays,
We now behold thy full meridian blaze.
Proud of that chief, at whose impetuous course
Old Ganges trembled to his distant source;
Who, like fam'd Warwick, master of the crown,
On loftiest Nabobs look'd superior down,
And made the fierce Mogul, with conscious fear,
Startle, and deem a second Nadir near.
To thee her safety twice Bengalia owes,
Alike from Indian, and Batavian foes ;
Hence in no dungeon now her sons remain,
Nor of a new Amboyna's fate complain !
And see! with wreaths by glorious toils acquir'd, Kind Heaven rewards the genius it inspir'd; Bestows thee all thy fondest wish could claim, Unenvied fortune, and unspotted fame;
Thy aged sire's embrace, thy sovereign's praise, And from a stranger-muse unpurchas'd lays.
MR. THOMSON,
Who had procured him a Benefit-Night.
REFLECTING on thy worth, methinks I find
Thy varied Seasons in their author's mind.
Spring opes her blossoms, various as thy Muse,
And, like thy soft compassion, sheds her dews.
Summer's hot drought in thy expression glows,
And o'er each page a tawny ripeness throws.
Autumn's rich fruits th' instructed reader gains,
Who tastes the meaning purpose of thy strains.
Winter-but that no semblance takes from thee;
That hoary season yields a type of me.
Shatter'd by time's bleak storms I withering lay,
Leafless, and whitening in a cold decay!
Yet shall my propless ivy, pale and bent,
Bless the short sunshine which thy pity lent.
|