"Happy to be no more perplexed!
My fate too threatens, I go next.
Dispatch me, sir, 'tis now too late,
Alas! to struggle with my fate!
Well, I'm convinced my time is come.
When young, a gipsy told my doom;
The beldame shook her palsied head,
As she perused my palm, and said,
"Of poison, pestilence, or war,
Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh,
You have no reason to beware.
Beware the coxcomb's idle prate;
Chiefly, my son, beware of that;
Be sure, when you behold him, fly
Out of all earshot, or you die!"

To Rufus' Hall we now draw near,
Where he was summoned to appear,
Refute the charge the plaintiff brought,
Or suffer judgment by default.
"For heaven's sake, if you love me, wait
One moment! I'll be with you straight."
Glad of a plausible pretence—
"Sir, I must beg you to dispense
With my attendance in the court.
My legs will surely suffer for't."—
"Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile!"
"Faith, sir, in law I have no skill.
Besides, I have no time to spare,
I must be going, you know where."
"Well, I protest, I'm doubtful now,
Whether to leave my suit or you!"
"Me, without scruple! (I reply)
Me, by all means, sir !"—"No, not I.
A lions. Monsieur I" 'Twere vain (you know)
To strive with a victorious foe.
So I reluctantly obey,
And follow, where he leads the way,

"You and Newcastle are so close;
Still hand and glove, sir, I suppose."
"Newcastle (let me tell you, sir,)
Has not his equal every where."
"Well. There indeed your fortune's made!
Faith, sir, you understand your trade..
Would you but give me your good word!
Just introduce me to my lord.
I should serve charmingly by way
Of second fiddle, as they say:
What think you, sir? 'twere a good jest.
'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest."—
"Sir, you mistake the matter far,
We have no second fiddles there."
'' Richer than I some folks may be:


More learned, but it hurts not me.

Friends though he has of different kind,

Each has his proper place assigned."

"Strange matters these alleged by you !"—

"Strange they may be, but they are true."—

"Well, then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever,

Now I long ten times more than ever

To be advanced extremely near

One of his shining character.

Have but the will—there wants no more,

'Tis plain enough you have the power.

His easy temper (that's the worst)

He knows, and is so shy at first.

But such a cavalier as you—

Lord, sir, you'll quickly bring him to!

Well; if I fail in my design,

Sir, it shall be no fault of mine.

If by the saucy servile tribe

Denied, what think you of a bribe?

Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow,

But try my luck again to-morrow.

Never attempt to visit him

But at the most convenient time,

Attend him on each levee day,

And there my humble duty pay.

Labour, like this, our want supplies;

And they must stoop, who mean to rise."

While thus he wittingly harangued,
For which you'll guess I wished him hanged,
Campley, a friend of mine, came by,
Who knew his humour more than I.
We stop, salute, and—" why so fast,
Friend Carlos? Whither all this haste?"
Fired at the thoughts of a reprieve,
I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve,
Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout,
Do everything but speak plain out:
While he, sad dog, from the beginning
Determined to mistake my meaning,
Instead of pitying my curse,
By jeering made it ten times worse.
"Campley, what secret (pray!) was that
You wanted to communicate?"
"I recollect. But 'tis no matter.
Carlos, we'll talk of that hereafter.
E'en let the secret rest. 'Twill tell
Another time, sir, just as well."

Was ever such a dismal day?
Unlucky cur, he steals away,
And leaves me, half bereft of life,
At mercy of the butcher's knife;
When sudden, shouting from afar,
See his antagonist appear!
The bailiff seized him quick as thought.
"Ho, Mr. Scoundrel! Are you caught?
Sir, you are witness to the arrest."
"Ay, marry, sir, I'll do my best."
The mob huzaas. Away they trudge,
Culprit and all, before the judge.
Meanwhile I luckily enough
Thanks to Apollo) got clear off.




And dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous heaven design'd

The choicest raptures to impart,
To feel the most refined;

Dwells there a wish in such a breast

Its nature to forego,
To smother in ignoble rest

At once both bliss and woe?

Far be the thought, and far the strain,
Which breathes the low desire,

How sweet soe'er the Terse complain,
Though Phcebus string the lyre.

Come then, fair maid (in nature wise),
Who, knowing them, can tell

From generous sympathy what joys
The glowing bosom swell;

In justice to the various powers
Of pleasing, which you share,

Join me, amid your silent hours,
To form the better prayer.

With lenient balm may Oberon hence

To fairy land be driven,
With every herb that blunts the sense

Mankind received from heaven.

"Oh! if my Sovereign Author pleases

Far be it from my fate,
To live unblest in torpid ease,

And slumber on in state;

Each tender tie of life defied,
Whence social pleasures spring;

Unmoved with all the world beside,
A solitary thing."

Some Alpine mountain wrapt in snow,
Thus braves the whirling blast,

Eternal winter doomed to know,
No genial spring to taste;

In vain warm suns their influence shed,

The zephyrs sport in vain,
He rears unchanged his barren head,

Whilst beauty decks the plain.

What though in scaly armour dress'd,

Indifference may repel
The shafts of woe, in such a breast

No joy can ever dwell.

Tis woven in the world's great plan,
And fix'd by Heaven's decree,

That all the true delights of man
Should spring from Sympathy.

'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws

Of nature we retain,
Our self-approving bosom draws

A pleasure from its pain.

Thus grief itself has comforts dear,

The sordid never know; And ecstasy attends the tear,

When virtue bids it flow.

For when it streams from that pure source,

No bribes the heart can win,
To check, or alter from its course

The luxury within.

Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves,

Who, if from labour eased, Extend no care beyond themselves,

Unpleasing and unpleased.

Let no low thought suggest the prayer!

Oh! grant, kind Heaven, to me, Long as I draw ethereal air,

Sweet Sensibility!

Where'er the heavenly nymph is seen,

With lustre-beaming eye,
A train, attendant on their queen,

(Her rosy chorus) fly.

The jocund Loves in Hymen's band,

With torches ever bright, And generous Friendship hand in hand,

With Pity's watery sight.

The gentler virtues too are join'd,
In youth immortal warm,

The soft relations which combined
Give life her every charm.

The Arts come smiling in the close,

And lend celestial fire;
The marble breathes, the canvas glows,

The Muses sweep the lyre.

"Still may my melting bosom cleave

To sufferings not my own;
And still the sigh responsive heave,

Where'er is heard a groan.

So Pity shall take Virtue's part,

Her natural ally,
And fashioning my softened heart,

Prepare it for the sky."

This artless vow may Heaven receive,

And you, fond maid, approve;
So may your guiding angel give

Whate'er you wish or love.

So may the rosy-fingered hours

Lead on the various year,
And every joy, which now is yours,

Extend a larger sphere.

And suns to come, as round they wheel,

Your golden moments bless,
With all a tender heart can feel,

Or lively fancy guess.



.... Ah miser,
Quanta laboras in Charybdi!

Horace, lib. i. ode 27.

Airy del Castro was as bold a knight
As ever earned a lady's love in fight.
Many he sought, but one above the rest
His tender heart victoriously impressed:
In fairy land was born the matchless dame,
The land of dreams, Hypothesis her name.
There fancy nursed her in ideal bowers,
And laid her soft in amaranthine flowers;
Delighted with her babe, the enchantress smiled,
And graced with all her gifts the favourite child.
Her wooed Sir Airy, by meandering streams,
In daily musings and in nightly dreams;
With all the flowers he found, he wove in haste
Wreaths for her brow, and girdles for her waist;
His time, his talents, and his ceaseless care

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