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BENEATH the fhadow of a beaver hat,
Meek Caleb at a filent meeting fat;
His eye-balls oft' forgot the holy trance,
While Tabitha demure return'd the glance.
The meeting ended, Caleb filence broke,
And Tabitha her inward yearnings spoke.
Caleb.
Beloved, fee how all things follow love;
Lamb fondleth lamb, and dove difports with dove;
Yet fondled lambs their innocence fecure,
And none can call the turtle's bill impure.
O fairest of our fifters, let me be
The billing dove and fondling lamb to thee.
Tabitha.
But, Caleb, know that birds of gentle mind
Elect a mate among the fober kind;
Not the mockaws, all deck'd in fcarlet pride,
Entice their mild and modeft hearts afide;
But thou, vain man beguil'd by Popish shows,
Doatcft on ribbands, flounces, furbelows.
If thy falfe heart be fond of tawdry dyes,
Go, wed the painted arch in fummer-skies;
Such love will like the rainbow's hue decay,
Strong at the first, but paffeth soon away.
Caleb.
Name not the frailties of my youthful days,
When vice misled me through the harlot's ways;
When I with wanton look the fex beheld,
And nature with each wanton look rebell'd;
Then party-colour'd pride my heart might move
With lace, the net to catch unhallow'd love.
All fuch like love is fading as the flower,
Springs in a day, and withereth in an hour:
But now I feel the fpoufal love within,
And spousal love no fifter holds a fin.
Tabitha.
I know thou longest for the flaunting maid,
Thy falfehood own, and fay I am betray'd;
The tongue of man is blifter'd o'er with lies,
But truth is ever read in woman's eyes.
O that my lip obey'd a tongue like thine!
Or that thine eye bewray'd a love like mine!
How bitter are thy words! forbear to tease,
I too might blame-but love delights to pleafe.
Why should I tell thee, that, when laft the fun
Painted the downy peach of Newington,
Jofiah led thee through the garden's walk,
And mingled melting kiffes with his talk?
eyes afide:
Ah, jeajoufy! turn, turn thine
How can I fee that watch adorn thy fide?
For verily no gift the fifters take,
For luft of gain, but for the giver's fake.
Tabitha.
I own, Jofiah gave the golden toy,
Which did the righteous hand of Quare employ.
When Caleb hath affign'd fome happy day,
I look on this, and chide the hours delay:
And, when Jofiah would his love pursue,
On this I look, and fhun his wanton view.
Man but in vain with trinkets tries to move;
The only prefent love demands is love.
Caleb.
Ah, Tabitha, to hear thefe words of thine,
My pulfe beats high, as if enflam'd with wine!
When to the brethren first with fervent zeal
The fpirit mov'd the yearnings to reveal,
How did I joy thy trembling lip to fee
Red as the cherry from the Kentish tree!
When ecftafy had warm'd thy look fo meek,
[eyes!
Gardens of rofes blushed on thy cheek!
With what fweet transport didft thou roll thine
How did thy words provoke the brethren's fighs!
Words that with holy fighs might others move,
But, Tabitha, my fighs were fighs of love.
Tabitha.
Is Tabitha beyond her wishes bleft?
Does no proud worldly dame divide thy breast?
Then hear me, Caleb, witness what I speak,
This folemn promife death alone can break :
Sooner I would bedeck my brow with lace,
And with immodeft favourites fhade my face,
Sooner like Babylon's lewd whore be dreft
In flaring diamonds and a fcarlet vest,
Or make a curtfey in Cathedral pew,
Than prove inconftant, while my Caleb's trne.
Caleb.
When I prove falfe, and Tabitha forfake,
Teachers fhall dance a jig at country wake;
Brethren unbeaver'd then fhall bow their head,
And with profane mince pics our babes be fed.
Tabitha.
If that Jofiah were with paffion fir'd,
Warm as the zeal of youth when first inspir'd;
In fteady love though he might perfevere,
Unchanging as the decent garb we wear,
And thou wert fickle as the wind that blows,
Light as the feather on the head of beaux;
Yet I for thee would all thy fex refign:
Sifters, take all the reft-be Caleb mine.
Caleb.
Though I had all that finful love affords,
And all the concubines of all the lords,
Whofe couches creak with whoredom's finful fhame,
Whofe velvet chairs are with adultery lame;
Ev'n in the harlot's hall, I would not fip
The dew of lewdness from her lying lip;
I'd fhun her paths, upon thy mouth to dwell,
More fweet than powder which the merchants fell.
O folace me with kiffes pure like thine!
Enjoy, ye lords, the wanton concubine.
The fpring now calls us forth; come, fifter, come,
To fee the primrose and the daily bloom.
Let ceremony bind the worldly pair;
Sifters esteem the brethren's words fincere.
Efpoufals are but forms. O lead me hence, For fecret love can never give offence.
Then hand in hand the loving mates withdraw : True love is nature unrefirain'd by law. This tenet all the holy fect allows; So Tabitha took earnest of a spouse.
LONG had Panthea felt love's fecret fmart,
And hope and fear alternate rul'd her heart;
Confenting glances had her flame confest.
In woman's eyes her very foul's expreft.
Perjur'd Alexis faw the blufhing maid,
He faw, he fwore, he conquer'd, and betray'd.
Another love now calls him from her arms,
His fickle heart another beauty warms;
Those oaths, oft' whisper'd in Panthea's ears,
He now again to Galatea fwears.
Beneath a beech th' abandon'd virgin laid,
In grateful folitude enjoys the fhade;
There with faint voice the breath'd thefe moving
While fighing zephyrs fhar'd her amorous pains.
Pale fettled forrow hangs upon my brow,
Dead are my charms; Alexis breaks his vow!
Think, think, dear fhepherd, on the days you
knew,
When I was happy, when my fwain was true; Think how thy looks and tongue are form'd to
And think yet more-that all my fault was love.
Ah, could you view me in this wretched ftate,
You might not love me, but you could not hate.
Could you behold me in this confcious fhade,
Where first thy vows, where firft my love was
paid,
Worn out with watching, fullen with despair,
And fee each eye fwell with a gushing tear;
Could you behold me on this moffy bed,
From my pale check the lively crimson fled,
Which in my fofter hours you oft' have fworn,
With rofy beauty far outblush'd the morn;
Could you untouch'd this wretched object bear,
And would not loft Panthea claim a tear? [fteal,
You could not, fure-tears from your eyes would
And unawares thy tender foul reveal.
Ah no thy foul with cruelty is fraught,
No tenderness disturbs thy favage thought;
'Sooner fhall tigers fpare the trembling lambs,
And wolves with pity hear their bleating dams;
Sooner fhall vultures from their quarry fly;
Than falfe Alexis for Panthea sigh.
$
Thy bofom ne'er a tender thought confest,
Sure ftubborn flint has arm'd thy cruel breaft;
But hardest flints are worn by frequent rains,
And the foft drops diffolve their folid veins ;
While thy relentless heart more hard appears,
And is not foften'd by a flood of tears.
Ah, what is love! Panthea's joys are gone,
Her liberty, her peace, her reafon, flown!
And when I view me in the watery glass,
I find Panthea now, not what she was.
As northern winds the new-blown roses blaft,
And on the ground their fading ruins caft;
As fudden blights corrupt the ripen'd grain,
And of its verdure fpoil the mournful plain;
So hapless love on blocming features preys,
So hapless love deftroys our peaceful days.
Come, gentle fleep, relieve thefe weary'd eyes,
All forrew in thy foft embraces dies :
There, fpite of all thy perjur'd vows, I find
Faithlefs Alexis languishingly kind.
Sometimes he leads me by the mazy ftream,
And pleafingly deludes me in my dream;
Sometimes he guides me to the fecret grove,
Where at our looks, and all our talk is love.
Oh, could I thus confume each tedious day,
And in fweet flumbers dream my life away!
But fleep, which now no more relieves these eyes,
To my fad foul the dear deceit denies.
Why does the fun dart forth its cheerful rays?
Why do the woods refound with warbling lays?
Why does the rofe her grateful fragrance yield,
And yellow cowflips paint the smiling field?
Why do the streams with murmuring mufic flow,
And why do groves their friendly fhade beftow?
Let fable clouds the cheerful fun deface,
Let mournful filence feize the feather'd race;
No more, ye roles, grateful fragrance yield,
Droop, droop, ye cowflips, in the biafted field;
No more, ye ftreams, with murmuring mufic
flow,
And let not groves a friendly fhade bestow:
With fympathifing grief let nature mourn,
And never know the youthful spring's return
And fhall I never more Alexis fee?
Then what is fpring, or grove, or stream, to me?
Why fport the fkipping lambs on yonder plain?
Why do the birds their tuneful voices ftrain?
Why frifk thofe heifers in the cooling grove?
Their happier life is ignorant of love.
Oh, lead me to fome melancholy cave,
To lull my forrows in a living grave;
From the dark rock where dashing waters fall,
And creeping ivy hangs the craggy wall;
Where I may wafte in tears my hours away,
And never know the seasons or the day?
Die, die, Panthea-fly this hateful grove;
For what is life without the fwain I love?
Now Phœbus rofe, and with his early beams
Wak'd flumbering Delia from her pleafing dreams;
Her wishes by her fancy were fupply'd,
And in her fleep the nuptial knot was ty'd.
With fecret joy the faw the morning ray
Chequer the floor, and through the curtains play;
The happy morn that fhall her blifs complete,
And all her rivals' envious hopes defeat.
In hafte fhe rofe, forgetful of her prayers,
Flew to the glafs, and practis'd o'er her airs:
Her new-fet jewels round her robe are plac'd,
Some in a brilliant buckle bind her waist,
Some round her neck a circling light difplay,
Some in her hair diffufe a trembling ray;
The filver knot o'erlooks the Mechlin lace,
And adds becoming beauties to her face;
Brocaded flowers o'er the gay mantua shine,
And the rich flays her taper shape confine;
Thus all her drefs exerts a graceful pride,
And sporting loves furround th' expecting bride;
For Daphnis now attends the blufhing maid,
Before the priest the folemn vows are paid;
This day, which ends at once all Delia's cares,
Shall fwell a thousand eyes with fecret tears.
Ceafe, Araminta, 'tis in vain to grieve,
Canft thou from Hymen's bonds the youth re-
trieve?
Difdain his perjuries, and no longer mourn :
Recal my love, and find a fure return.
But fill the wretched maid no comfort knows,
And with refentment cherishes her woes:
Alone the pines, and, in thefe mournful strains,
Of Daphnis' vows, and her own fate complains:
Was it for this I fparkled at the Play,
And loiter'd in the Ring whole hours away?
When if thy chariot in the circle fione,
Our mutual paffion by our looks was known:
Through the gay crowd my watchful glances flew,
Where'er I país, thy grateful eyes purfue. [pain;
"Ah, faithlefs youth! too well you faw my
"For eyes the language of the foul explain
Think, Daphnis, think that fearce five days are
fled,
[you faid;
Since (O falfe tongue!) thofe treacherous things
How did you praise my fhape and graceful air:
And woman thinks all compliments fincere.
Didit thou not then in rapture fpeak thy flame,
And in foft fighs breathe Araminta's name ?
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Didft thou not then with oaths thy paffion prove, And with an awful trembling, fay--love? (pain; "Ah, faithless youth! too well you faw my "For eyes the language of the foul explain."
How could't thou thus, ungrateful youth, de-
ceive?
How could I thus, unguarded maid, believe?
Sure thou canft well recal that fatal night,
When fubtle love first enter'd at my fight:
When in the dance I was thy partner chofe,
Gods! what a rapture in my bofom rofe!
My trembling hand my fudden joy confefs'd,
My glowing cheeks a wounded heart express'd;
My looks fpoke love; while you, with answering
In killing glances made as kind replies. [faid,
Think, Daphnis, think what tender things you
Think what confufion all my foul betray'd.
You call'd my graceful presence Cynthia's air;
And, when I fung, the fyrens charm'd your ear:
My flame, blown up by flattery, stronger grew;
A gale of love in every whisper flew.
["pain;
"Ah, faithlefs youth! too well you faw my "For eyes the language of the foul explain."
Whene'er I drefs'd, my maid, who knew my
flame,
Cherish'd my paffion with thy lovely name;
Thy picture in her talk fo lively grew,
That thy dear image rose before my view;
She dwelt whole hours upon thy fhape and mien,
And wounded Delia's fame, to footh my fpleen:
When the beheld me at the name grow pale,
Strait to thy charms fhe chang'd her artful tale;
And, when thy matchlefs charms were quite run
o'er,
I bid her tell the pleafing tale once more.
Oh, Daphnis from thy Araminta fled!
Oh, to my love for ever, ever dead!
Like death, his nuptials all my hope remove,
And ever part me from the man I love. [" pain;
"Ah, faithlefs youth! too well you faw my
"For eyes the language of the foul explain."
O might I by my cruel fate be thrown,
In fome retreat far from this hateful town!
Vain drefs and glaring equipage, adieu !
Let happier nymphs those empty fhows purfue.
Me let fome melancholy fhade furround,
Where not the print of human step is found.
In the gay dance my feet no more fhall move,
But bear me faintly through the lonely grove.
No more thefe hands fhall o'er the fpinnet bound,
And from the fleeping ftrings call forth the found:
Mufic, adieu! farewell, Italian airs
The croaking raven now fhall footh my cares.
On fome old ruin, loft in thought, I reit,
And think how Araminta once was bleft;
There o'er and o'er thy letters I perufe,
And all my grief in one kind fentence lofe;
Some tender Ine by chance my woe beguiles,
And on my cheek a fhort liv'd pleafure fmiles.
Why is this dawn of joy? flow, tears, again!
Vain are thefe oaths, and all thefe vows are vain;
Daphnis, alas the Gordian knot has ty'd;
Nor force nor cunning can the band divide [plain,
"Ah, faithlefs youth fir ce eyes the foul ex-
Why knew I not that artful tongue could feign."
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SHOCK's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no
Ye mufes, mourn; ye chambermaids, deplore.
Unhappy Shock! yet more unhappy fair,
Doom'd to furvive thy joy and only care!
Thy wretched fingers now no more fhall deck,
And tie the favourite ribband round his neck;
No more thy hand shall smooth his glossy hair,
And comb the wavings of his pendent ear.
Yet cease thy flowing grief, forfaken maid;
All mortal pleasures in a moment fade;
Our fureft hope is in an hour destroy'd;
And love, beft gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd.
Methinks I fee her frantic with despair,
Her ftreaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing
hair;
Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor bestrow,
And her torn fan gives real figns of woe.
Hence fuperftition, that tormenting guest,
That haunts with fancy'd fears the coward breast;
No dread events upon this fate attend,
Stream eyes no more, no more thy treffes rend.
Though certain omens oft' forewarn a ftate,
And dying lions show the monarch's fate;
Why should fuch fears bid Cælia's forrow rife?
For, when a lap-dog falls, no lover dies.
Ceafe, Calia, ceafe; reftrain thy flowing tears;
Some warmer paffion will difpel thy cares.
In man you'll find a more substantial blifs,
More grateful toying, and a sweeter kifs.
He's dead. Oh lay him gently in the ground! And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd: "Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid : "Who fawn'd like man, but ne'er like man be"tray'd."
SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Sufan came aboard.
Oh where fhall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial failors, tell me true,
If my fweet William fails among the crew.
William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He figh'd, and caft his eyes below:
The cord flides swiftly through his glowing hands, And (quick as lightning) on the deck be ftands.
So the fweet lark, high pois'd in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast
(If chance his mate's fhrill call he hear),
And drops at once into her neft.
The nobleft captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip thofe kifles sweet.
O Sufan, Sufan, lovely dear,
My vows fhall ever true remain; Let me kifs off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change, as ye lift, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that fill points to thee. Believe not what the landmen fay,
Who tempt with doubts thy conftant mind. They'll tell thee, failors, when away,
In every port a mistress find :
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee fo,
For thou art prefent wherefoe'er I go.
If to fair India's coaft we fail,
Thy eyes are feen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's fpicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory fo white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my foul fome charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Sufan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet, fafe from harms,
William fhall to his dear return.
Love turns afide the balls that round me fly,
Left precious tears fhould drop from Sufan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The fails their fwelling bofom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard :
They kifs'd, the figh'd, he hung his head. Her leffening boat unwilling rows to land: Adieu fhe cries; and wav'd her lily hand..
A BALLAD,
FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.
'TWAS when the feas were roaring With hollow blafts of wind; A damfel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclin'd. Wide o'er the foaming billows She caft a wiftful look; Her head was crown'd with willows, That trembled o'er the brook. Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days. Why didft thou, venturous lover, Why didst thou trust the seas;
Cease, ceafe, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?
The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Sees tempefts in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure,
To lofing of my dear?
Should you fome coaft be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you fo.
How can they fay that nature
Has nothing made in vain;
Why then beneath the water
Should hideous rocks remain ? No eyes the rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover, And leave the maid to weep. All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd fhe for her dear; Repay'd each blast with fighing, Each billow with a tear; When o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spy'd;
Then, like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head, and dy'd.
PHYLLIDA, that lov'd to dream
In the grove, or by the stream;
Sigh'd on velvet pillow.
What alas! fhould fill her head,
But a fountain, or a mead,
Water and a willow?
Love in cities never dwells,
He delights in rural cells
Which fweet woodbine covers.
What are your affemblies then?
There, 'tis true, we see more men;
But much fewer lovers.
Oh, how chang'd the profped grows!
Flocks and herds to fops and beaux,
Coxcombs without number!
Moon and ftars that fhone fo bright,
To the torch and waxen light,
And whole nights at ombre.
Pleasant as it is, to hear
Scandal tickling in our ear,
Ev'n of our own mothers;
In the chit-chat of the day,
To us is pay'd, when we're away,
What we lent to others.
Though the favourite teast I reign;
Wine, they fay, that prompts the vain,
Heightens defamation.
Mutt lave 'twixt spite and fear,
Every day grow handsomer,
And lofe my reputation?
Thus the fair to fighs gave way,
Her empty purse befide her lay.
Nymph, ah, cease thy forrow.
Though curft fortune frown to-night,
This odious town can give delight,
If you win to-morrow.
The fun was now withdrawn,
The shepherds home were fpcd;
The moon wide o'er the lawn
Her filver mantle spread;
When Damon stay'd behind,
And faunter'd in the grove.
Will ne'er a nymph be kind,
And give me love for love?
Oh! those were golden hours,
When love, devoid of cares,
In all Arcadia's bowers
Lodg'd fwains and nymphs by pairs; But now from wood and plain Flies every sprightly lafs; No joys for me remain,
In fhades, or on the grass. The winged boy draws near,
And thus the fwain reproves: While beauty revel'd here,
My game lay in the groves; At court I never fail
To fcatter round my arrows; Men fall as thick as hail,
And maidens love like sparrows.
Then, fwain, if me you need,
Straight lay your sheep-hook down; Throw by your oaten reed,
And hafte away to town.
So well I'm known at court,
None asks where Cupid dwells;
But readily refort
To Bellenden's or Lepell's.
DAPHNIS flood penfive in the shade,
With arms across, and head rechin'd;
Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid,
And fighs reliev'd his love-fick mind:
His tuneful pipe all broken lay;
Looks, fighs, and actions, feem'd to say,
My Chloe is unkind.
Why ring the woods with warbling throats?
Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains;
I faintly hear in your sweet notes
My Chloe's voice that wakes my pains: Yet why should you your fong for bear? Your mates delight your fong to hear; But Chloe mine difdains.
As thus he melancholy stood,
Dejected as the lonely dove,
Sweet founds broke gently through the wood. I feel the found; my heart-ftrings move.
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