VI. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar'd with the speed of its flight The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But, alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. VII. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, And I to my cabin repair. REPORT Of an adjudged Case, not to be found in any of the Books. I. BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to belong. II. So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, So fam'd for his talent in nicely discerning. III. In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, Which amounts to possession time out of mind. IV. Then holding the spectacles up to the court, Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle 242 As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. V. Again, would your lordship a moment suppose, ('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again,) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then? VI. On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. VII. Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how,) wise. VIII. So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or butThat, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By day-light or candle-light-Eyes should be shut. CATHARINA. Addressed to Miss Stapleton, now Mrs. Courtney SHE came-she is gone-we have met- The sun of that moment is set, And seems to have risen in vain. The last ev'ning ramble we made, By the nightingale warbling nigh. And much she was charm'd with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me, Who so lately had witness'd her own. My numbers that day she had sung, As only her musical tongue The longer I heard, I esteem'd Though the pleasures of London exceed Would feel herself happier here; For the close-woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times Than aught that the city can show So it is, when the mind is endu'd Since, then, in the rural recess The scene of her sensible choice! To inhabit a mansion remote From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, And by Philomel's annual note To measure the life that she leads. |