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My girl, forget thine earthly woe,

And think on God and blifs:
For fo, at leaft, fhall not thy foule
Its heavenly bridegroom mifs."
"O mother, mother! what is bliffe,
And what the fiendis celle?
With him 'tis heaven any where,
Without my William, helle.

"Go out, go out, my lamp of life;
In endless darknefs die:
Without him I must loathe the earth,
Without him fcorne the fkye."

And so despaire did rave and rage
Athwarte her boiling veins;
Against the Providence of Heaven
She hurlde her impious strains.

She bet her breaste, and wrung her hands,
And rollde her tearleffe eye,

From rife of morne, till the pale flars
Again did freeke the fkye.

When harke! abroade fhe hearde the trampe
Of nimble-hoofed fteed;

She hearde a knighte with clank alight,

And climb the staire in speede.

And foon the herde a tinkling hande,

That twirled at the pin;

And thro' her door, that open'd not,
These words were breathed in.

What ho! what ho! thy dore undoe;
Art watching or asleepe?

My love, doft yet remember mee,

And doft thou laugh or weep?"

"Ah! William here fo late at night!
Oh! I have watchte and wak'd:
Whence doft thou come? For thy return
My herte has forely ak'd."

"At midnight only we may ride;

I come o'er land and sea:

I mounted late, but foone I go;

Aryfe, and come with me."

"

"O William, enter firft my bowre,

And give me one embrace:

The blafts athwarte the hawthorne hiss 3

Awayte a little space."

"The

"The blafts athwarte the hawthorn hifs,

I

may not harboure here;

My fpurre is fharpe, my courfer pawes,
My houre of flighte is nere.

All as thou lyeft upon thy couch,
Aryfe, and mounte behinde;
To-night we'le ride a thousand miles,
The bridal bed to finde."

"How, ride to-night a thousand miles?
Thy love thou doft bemocke:
Eleven is the ftroke that still

Rings on within the clocke."

"Looke up; the moone is bright, and we
Outftride the earthlie men:

I'll take thee to the bridal bed,
And night fhall end but then."

"And where is, then, thy houfe and home;
And where thy bridal bed?"
"Tis narrow, filent, chilly, dark;

Far hence I reft my head."

"And is there any room for mee, Wherein that I may creepe,"

"There's room enough for thee and mee,

Wherein that wee may fleepe.

All as thou ly'ft upon thy couch,
Aryfe, no longer ftop;

The wedding guefts thy coming waite,
The chamber dore is ope."

All in her farke, as there fhe lay,
Upon his horse she sprung:
And with her lily hands fo pale
About her William clung.

And hurry-fkurry forth they go,
Unheeding wet or dry;

And horfe and rider fnort and blow,

And sparkling pebbles fly.

How fwift the flood, the mead, the wood,

Aright, aleft, are gone!

The bridges thunder as they pass,

But earthlie fowne is none.

Tramp, tramp, açrofs the land they speede;

Splash, fplath, across the fee;

"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;

Doft feare to ride with mee?

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The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte;
Doft quake the blast to stem?

Doft fhudder, mayde, to feeke the dead ?"

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No, no, but what of them?

How glumlie fownes yon dirgye fong!
Night-ravens flappe the wing,
What knell doth flowlie toll ding-dong?
The pfalmes of death who fing?

It creeps, the fwarthie funeral traine,
The corfe is onn the beere ;

Like croke of todes from lonely moores,
The chaunte doth meet the eere."

"Go, bear her corfe when midnight's paft,
With fong, and tear, and wayle;

I've gott my wife, I take her home,

My howre of wedlocke hayl.

Lead forth, O clarke, the chaunting quire,

To fwell our nuptial fong:

Come, priefte, and reade the bleffing foone;

For bed, for bed we long."

They heede his calle, and husht the fowne;
The biere was feene no more;

And followde him ore feeld and flood

Yet fafter than before.

Hallo! hallo! away they goe,
Unheeding wet or drye;

And horfe and rider fnort and blowe,
And fparkling pebbles flye.

How fwifte the hill, how fwifte the dale,
Aright, aleft, are gone!

By hedge and tree, by thorpe and towne,
They gallop, gallop on.

Tramp, tramp, acrofs the land they speede;
Splash, fplash, acroffe the fee;
"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;

Doft fear to ride with mee?

Look up, look up, an airy crewe

In roundel daunces reele:

The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte,

Mayft dimlie fee them wheele.

Come to, come to, ye goftlie crew,

Come to, and follow mee,

And daunce for us the wedding daunce,

When we in bed fhall be."

And

And brush, brush, brush, the ghoftlie crew,
Come wheeling ore their heads,
All ruftling like the wither'd leaves,
That wyde the wirlwind spreads.
Halloo! halleo! away they go,
Unheeding wet or dry;

And horfe and rider fnort and blowe,
And sparkling pebbles flye.

And all that in the moon fhyne lay,
Behynde them fled afar;

And backwarde fcudded overhead
The sky and every star.

Tramp, tramp, across the lande they speede;
Splash, fplafh, across the fea
"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;

Doft fear to ride with mee?

I weene the cock prepares to crowe;
The fand will foone be runne :
I fnuffe the earlye morning aire;
Downe, downe! our work is done.
The dead, the dead can ryde apace;
Oure wed-bed here is fit:

Oure race is ridde, our journey ore,
Oure endleffe union knit."

And lo! an yren-grated gate

Soon biggens to their viewe:

He crackte his whyppe; the clangynge boltes,

The doores afunder flewe.

They pafs, and 'twas on graves they trode;

""Tis hither we are bounde :"

And many a tombstone goftlie white
Lay inn the moonfhyne round.

And when hee from his fteede alytte,
His armour, black as cinder,
Did moulder, moulder all awaye,
As were it made of tinder.

His head became a naked fcull;
Nor haire nor eyne had hee.

His body grew a skeleton,
Whilome fo blythe of blee.

And att his drye and boney heele
No fpur was left to be;

And inn his witherde hande you might

The feythe and houre-glafle fee.

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And lo! his fteede did thin to smoke,

And charnel fires outbreathe;

And pal'd, and bleach'd, then vanish'd quite
The mayde f om undernethe.

And hollow howlings hung in aire,

And fhrekes from vaults arofe.
Then knew the mayde the mighte no more
Her living eyes unclofe.

But onwarde to the judgement-feat,
Thro' myfte and moonlightc dreare,

The goftlie crewe their flyghte perfewe,
And hollowe inn her eare:-

"Be patient; tho' thyne herte shoulde breke,
Arrayne not Heven's decree;

Thou nowe art of thie bodie refte,
Thie foule forgiven bee!"

From the PLEADERS

Mr. SURREBUTTER's commencement in his legal career.
GUIDE, a Didactic Poem in two books.

W

HOE'ER has drawn a Special Plea,

Has heard of old TOM TEWKESBURY,
Deaf as a poft, and thick as Mustard,
He aim'd at Wit, and bawl'd and blufter'd,
And died a Nifi prius Leader-

That Genius was my SPECIAL PLEADER-
That great man's office I attended
By HAWK and BUZZARD recommended,
Attorneys both of wondrous fkill

To pluck the Goofe, and drive the Quill;
Three years I fat his fmoky room in,
Pens, paper, ink, and pounce confuming,
The fourth, when Effign Day begun,
Joyful I hail'd th' aufpicious Sun,
Bade TEWKESBURY and Clerk adieu,
(Purification, Eighty-two)

Of both I wash'd my hands; and though
With nothing for my cath to fhew,
But Precedents fo fcrawl'd and blurr'd,
I fcarce could read one fingle word,
Nor in my books of Common Place
One feature of the law could trace,
Save BUZZARD's nofe and vifage thin,
And HAWK's deficiency of Chin,
Which I while lolling at my ease
Was wont to draw inttead of Pleas ;

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