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Wild Fancy whispers in her ear,
She whirls away the rolling year!
Youth, manhood comes ! she marks afar
A robe, a mitre, or a star!
Her heart leaps quick! elate with pride!.
Each prude's insulting dress out-vy'd!
Each neighbour's booby son, unseen,
Gnaws the pale lip with fruitless spleen!
Sudden she starts! some rival dress'd,
Swims in the loosely-floating vest,
Her bosom heaves a sullen groan :-
Ah! was that charming suit my own! :-*
Such joy (soon check'd with killing smart) ..
Shot thro' the swain's exulting heart; . . .
He hears the reaper's sprightly song:
The rustling sickle sweeps along ;
His barns with swelling sheaves are stor'd,
Gay Plenty crowns the festive board ;
He cries in triumph with a smile, safe 'I VI
. For hopes like these who would not toil, Y. VII.
* That neither flatter, nor beguile?!! Bolt
Just as he spoke the word,--behold fortuito A gaudy thing o'erlaid with gold; : 5'rgaritet sh! So gay, so rich (tho' strange to tell !) ,pinupa'ge No butterfly look'd half so well. 10pt Tract sitA
Struck with the glittring vest he wore,
The clown's rude eye-ball star'd him o'er; .
Sly Envy mark'd the secret snare,
Then pick'd a chosen dart with care; . .
Of power to edge the quickest pain;.
Then plung'd it reeking in his brain,
Inflam'd with fury and surprise,
Red anger flashes from his eyes :
* Must I,' he cried, and scratch'd his head, • Supply this prattling thing with bread ? • Must farmers sweat, and wear their clothes, • To furnish equipage for beaux ? • We, drudges doom'd to ceaseless toil, • For others tear the stubborn soil, • Our thoughts suspense and fears inflame, • Wretched and slav'd beyond a name; • While these amid the balmy bower, • Spend in soft ease the fleeting hour; • How fine they look! what charms they shew, • Ah! would that I were but a Beau!'
And soon--most wond'rous to relate,-
He heir became to an estate.
His furrow'd brow became more smooth,
He ap'd the blooming pride of youth;
His hair in wavy tresses flow'd,
His cheek with fine vermilion glow'd ;
Not like our modern pigmy race,
With wither'd limbs, and meagre face,
But plump and spruce he'd match a score;
Such were the Beaux in days of yore.
Gay pleasure danc'd in every limb,
He skimm'd along with airy swim;
But rapt in dreams of bliss, the Fool
Forgot his pocket, and his soul.
When thus transform’d, our glittering Beau Survey'd himself from top to toe,
Struck at the change with vast surprise,
He stares, and scarce believes his eyes.
But when he found that all was sure,
He cock'd his hat, and frown'd and swore ;
Applauded by the wond’ring throng,
The sullen hero strode along :
And, while the swains in rude amaze,
Mark his high port with stupid gaze, .
With solemn pace he onward trod,
And deign'd,—yet scarcely deign'd--to nod.
But now to town he takes his way,
And sees the court, the park, the play :::
Attends the Fair, admir'd by all,
Leads the gay dance, and rules the ball.
* Ah! what a shape! fair Daphne cries,
• How fine his mien ! how bright his eyes !*
Thus all admire the charms they see,
His cane that dangled at his knee,
His box and hat they view together,
Some prais'd the paint, and some the feather ;
No English tailor's clumsy fist
E'er match'd the sleeve that grac'd his wrist;
The lace from Brussels last ;-by chance
He pick'd the brilliant up in France.
His coat so trim ! so neat his shoe!
His limbs so shap'd to strut, or-bow!.
Fashion, you'd think, to shew her power,
Had left dear Paris half an hour.
But, ah! what grief the Muse proceeds:
What power can mend the vulgar's deeds!
One night a coachman set him down,
Then rudely ask'd him-half a crown.
He search'd his pocket,— sad reverse ! -
His pocket held—an empty purse !
What should he do?-all aid withdrawn!
Cane, box, and watch were sent to pawn;
His brilliant too-alas! that went-
Gain'd a few crowns—at cent per cent !
No friend his money can afford:
He gam'd ,-a sharper swept the board.
Then scorn'd by all to ease his pain,
He turn'd his hand-to plough again.
By Mrs. Thrale, afterwards Mrs. Piozzi.
The tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground; 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increas'd with years So much, that, in our latter stages, When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, The greatest love of life appears. ;;
This great affection to believe, :
Which all confess, but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale.
When mirth went round, and all were gay
On neighbour Dobson's wedding day,
Death call'd aside the jocund groom
With him into another room;
And looking grave - you must, says he,
• Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.'
•With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you!' the hapless husband cry'd:
Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard ;
• Besides, in truth, I'm not prepar'd:
• My thoughts on other matters go ;
• This is my Wedding-day, you know.'
What more he urg'd I have not heard ;
His reasons could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spar'd,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look,
His hour-glass trembling while he spoke;
• Neighbour,' he said, “ Farewel!! no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
• And, farther, to avoid all blame .
• Of cruelty upon my name,
• To give you time for preparation, ,
* And fit you for your future station,.