Yet ev'ry friend partakes my store, 'Tis four-score pleasures to my heart: You ask what party I pursue? Perhaps you mean "whose fool are you?" Badges of slavery at best! I've too much grace to play the knave, I love my country from my soul, Yet always pity, where I can, Abhor the guilt, but mourn the man. Weekly Amusement. SONG. SWEET are the charms of her I love, More fragrant than the damask rose, Soft as the down of turtle-dove, Gentle as winds when zephyr blows, Refreshing as descending rains To sun-burnt climes and thirsty plains. True as the needle to the pole, Whose swelling tides obey the moon; From ev'ry other charmer free, My life and love shall follow thee. The lamb the flow'ry thyme devours, Of verdant spring, her notes renews; Nature must change her beauteous face, As winter to the spring gives place, Summer th' approach of autumn flies: No change in love the seasons bring, Love only knows perpetual spring. Devouring time, with stealing pace, Death, only, with his cruel dart The gentle godhead can remove, And drive him from the bleeding heart,i To mingle with the blest above; Where, known to all his kindred train, He finds a lasting rest from pain. Love, and his sister fair, the Soul, Twin-born, from heav'n together came; Love will the universe control, When dying seasons lose their name; Divine abodes shall own his pow'r, When time and death shall be no more. Booth. SONG. BANISH'D by your severe command, I make an awful, sad retreat, No, there I'll charm the list'ning throng, My passion tell in plaintive song, With inbred sighs, the grateful swains But, should some curious youth demand Why from my beauteous theme I stray, With what confusion should I stand, What wou'd my charmer have me say? THE QUEEN OF FRANCE TO HER CHILDREN, JUST BEFORE HER EXECUTION. FROM my prison with joy could I go, And with smiles meet the savage decree, Were it only to sleep from my woe, Since the grave holds no terrors for me. But from you, O my children, to part! Ye draw me to earth, and my heart Sighs for life, and shrinks back from the tomb. List, list not to calumny's lie, For I know not of guilt or its fears; And when at my fate ye will sigh, My ghost shall rejoice in your tears. In blessings, ah! take my last breath! Peter Pindar. |