"Well then, I vows and
purtefts, I thinks you, fir, a very, very handfome gentleman."
Pellet, had no fooner dropped the money in her hand, than Sally declared that fhe was afraid the fhould be miffed, and "fhe was mortal forry, but she must go."
"Nonfenfe!" Pellet cried; "this kifs
convinces how I love you."
His kiffes, it is true, were fweet; but they would not find her in tea and sugar, which fhe had to buy herself.
Pellet remonstrated, he pleaded his purchafe-money: the girl laughed at him, was more coy than ever, and had her hand on the lock of the door, with the intention of quitting the room. When her lover found that entreaties were useless, apprehensive that forcing the fair damfel would only alarm the inn, he coolly difmiffed her, saying,
"The longer my purfe is, the more ardently you will love me; but faith, you would drain the purse of a nabob. So fare
well, Sally. But if you catch me again, I'l give you leave to pronounce Pellet the d-d'ft flat that ever came into the devil's territories, Newmarket."
She is my faint to her my prayers are made,
With oft-repeated gifts of flowers and tears.
IN the courfe of the following evening, Emma read the verfes which had been given to her on the race-ground, by the gentleman whom she had first known in the character of the Poet.
They were entitled, "Verfes on an Unfortunate young Man, a Lunatic;" and fhe read as follows:
"Sure 'twas the Maniac's voice,
Which oft at night my broken flumbers crofs.
Again, as Luna fhines, I hear the groan,
And notes furpaffing Philomel's fad moan,
As when the warbles to the liftening grove,
Robb'd of the tender pledges of her love.
"Tis Florio's voice, well have I known the youth,
The child of virtue, the firm friend of truth.
His eyes expreffive fhew'd the foul's recefs;
Blefs'd in himself, he knew each friend to bless.
Thofe eyes, with joy which once were wont to beam,
Now round his chamber dart a difmal gleam.
His cheeks fair health once ting'd with rofy hue,
His form as lofty cedar fair to view,
His gait exprefs'd the image of his God,
Subject to death he like an angel trod.
His forehead open, iv'ry row of teeth,
His auburn hair and fwectly fmelling breath;
All thefe, impreffive, fhew'd the plastic art,
His form was perfect, noble was his heart.
Where are the jefts that tables fet in roar,
Where is that wit that feem'd to heaven to foar?
Beauteous he was, as fome fweet flowers of May,
Which fcent the air when Phoebus darts his ray.
He raves! he raves! I hear the clanking chain,
Grief gnaws his heart and turns his joy to pain.
How wide the diffrence now, unhappy youth,
Weep, O my mufe! declare the fatal truth.
That Being, oft, his tongue knows not to feek,
Who, cloth'd in majesty, upholds the weak.
The fun to others fheds his cheerful rays,
In gloomy nights he waftes unnumber'd days.
For what are years to him? Months, hours, the fame,
He'd raying rend his horrid ghaftly frame.
The fun fhines not on him, but thro" his grate
Juft gives one ray to fhew his mournful fate.
Nor will the hapless youth his wounds disclose,
For how can be distinguish friends from foes?
In the dark cell he lies ftretch'd out on straws,
Sad alien even to his country's laws.
Pale are his cheeks, his eyes are set in night,
Or else bespeak grief, anguish, madness, fright.
Left to himself in folitude to weep,
He rarely taftes the friendly gifts of fleep.
Hither your tortures bring, your iron lock,
And at his quivering heart, barbarians, knock:
Force may do much, yet fure he's human still,
Your brother-proudly add not ill to ill.
Chang'd is that form which pleas'd, those looks of fire,
That beam'd with joy, or fann'd the warm defire.
Relentless fate! love drives him to and fro,
And death's the fource from which his forrows flow.
Laura, he fighs; alas! fhe hears no more,
A youthful victim on an unknown fhore.
O fatal change! fweet prey of fell disease,
This the deftroying angel must appease.
This, that thy friends the ftricken deer should fly,
Bid thee go weep, leave thee on ftraw to die,
Unhous'd, uncomforted, yet ftill unchang'd,
Thy mind bright thoughts can utter; but derang'd.
Alas, he's mad! in his diftemper'd brain
Judgment oft links the yet unbroken chain.
Half famifh'd, tafting half enjoyed rest,
From his drear cell has Florio love exprefs'à
|