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You laugh-'tis well-The tale applied,
May make you laugh on t'other side,
'Renounce the world-the preacher cries;
We do a multitude replies.
While one as innocent regards
A snug and friendly game at cards;
And one, whatever you may say,
Can see no evil in a play;
Some lové à concert or a race;
And others shooting, and the chace,
Revil'd and lov'd, renounc'd and follow'd,
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he :
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.
MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S
YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless fav'rites shed
O share Maria's grief!
Her fav'rite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassin'd by a thief.
190 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well taught he all the sounds express'd
Of flagelet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the sleekest mole,
His bosom of the hue
With which Aurora decks the skies
When piping winds shall soon arise
To sweep away the dew.
Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
props of smooth-shaven wood,
Large built and lattic'd well.
Well lattic'd-but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peal'd and dried,
The swains their baskets make.
Night veil'd the pole; all seem'd secure,
When led by instinct, sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout,
And badger-colour'd hide.
He, ent'ring at the study door
Its ample area 'gan explore ;
And something in the wind
Conjectur'd, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest;
In sleep he seem'd to view
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
And screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.
For aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-
Ah muse! forbear to speak
Minute the horrors that ensu'd;
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood—
He left poor Bully's beak.
O had he made that too his prey;
That beak, whence issu'd many a lay
Of such mellifluous tone,
Might have repaid him well I wote,
For silencing so sweet a throat,
Fast stuck within his own.
Maria weeps the muses mourn—
So when by Bacchanalians torn,
On Thracean Hebrus' side,
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell,
His head alone remain'd to tell
The cruel death he died.
The Rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r
Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew
I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapp'd it-it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner a while; And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
REAS'NING at ev'ry step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.
One silent eve I wander'd late,
And heard the voice of love:
The turtle thus address'd her mate,
And sooth'd the list'ning dove:
Our mutual bond of faith and truth,
No time shall disengage,
Those blessings of our early youth
Shall cheer our latest age:
While innocence without disguise,
And constancy sincere,
Shall fill the circles of those eyes,
And mine can read them there.
Those ills that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er be felt by me,
Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shar'd with thee.
When lightnings flash among the trees,
Or kites are hov'ring near,
I fear lest thee alone they seize,
And know no other fear.
'Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Resolv'd a union form'd for life,
Death never shall divide.
But ch! if fickle and unchaste,
(Forgive a transient thought,)
Thou could become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot,
No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak;
Denied th' endearments of thine eye,
This widow'd heart would break