Guineas will sink the rising sighs,
And ev'ry ill destroy.
They'll go beyond the Doctor's pill
In gaining precious health;
And, let the wise say what they will,
My only God is wealth.
(A hint to Married Ladies.)
With cheeks bedew'd with drops of pearl
Sad Psyche sought the grove,
Where she her tresses used to curl
With innocence and love.
Sweet Modesty, a rural maid,
O'ertook the weeping fair
Ask'd why in loose attire she stray'd,
And why diffus'd her hair?
I Cupid seek o'er hill and dell,
From me the god is fled;
And what's the cause I cannot tell,
He shuns the nuptial bed.
Dry up thy tears, and cease to moan,
Return'd the Sylvan chaste;
Accept of me this magic zone,
And bind it round thy waist.
Tie up thy locks, thy dress improve,
And soon the change thou'lt see,
Psyche shall cease to follow Love,
And Love shall follow thee.
The zone about her waist she ties;
Each tress a ringlet flows;
Her bosom's hid from vulgar eyes;
Each cheek displays a rose.
Now in the streams surveys her face,
And smiles at charms so fair;
The while she studied ev'ry grace,
Love came and found her there.
Enraptur'd, to her arms he flew :
With joy she blest the change,
Improv'd the causes from whence it grew,
And Love forgot to range.
Ye wedded dames, my hint descry,
Nor blame the friendly part;
The slattern makes the lover fly,
While neatness chains the heart,
Written on that most Excellent Example of Housekeeping, Mistress Nicely.
She was a woman peerless in her station,
With household virtues wedded to her name,
Spotless in linen, clear-starched in her fame,
And pure and grass-bleached in her reputation.
Whence in my castle of imagination,
She bides for evermore, the dainty dame,
To keep its draperies from shame,
And all dream furniture in preservation.
There walketh she with keys all silver bright,
In perfect hose and shoes of seemly black.
Clad in clean damask and pure lily white,
And decent order follows in her track.
The polish'd plate grows lustrous in her sight,
And glossy floors and tables shine her back.
ON THE DOWAGER DUCHESS OF RUTLAND.
(Then Marchioness of Granby,) said to be by the Right Hon. Charles Jumes Fox.
Ye meteors, who with mad career
Have rov'd thro' fashion's atmosphere;
And thou, young, fair, fantastic Devon,
Wild as the comet in mid-heaven,-
Hide your diminish'd heads! nor stay
T'usurp the shining realms of day:
For see, th' unsully'd morning light,
With beams more constant and more bright,
Her splendid course begins to run,
And all creation hails the sun.
ON A GENTLEMAN WITH TWO WATCHES.
Fribble, alas! I fear it much
In some foul crime is catch'd-
Why so!-Because his guilt is such,
You see he's double watch'd.
ON THE PLEASURE OF A PIPE.
Charm of the solitude I love,
My pleasing pipe; my glowing stove!
My head of rheum is purged by thee,
My heart of vain anxiety.
Tobacco fav'rite of my soul !
When round my head thy vapours roll,
When lost in air they vanish too,
An emblem of my life I view.
I view, and hence, instructed, learn,
To what myself shall shortly turn-
Myself, a kindled coal to-day,
That wastes in smoke, and fleets away.
Swiftly as then, confusing thought,
Alas! I vanish into naught.
My father left ten thousand pounds,
And will'd it all to me;
My friends, like sun-flies, flock'd around,
As kind as kind could be.
This sent a buck, and that a hare,
And some the Lord knows what;
In short, I thought I could declare,
No man such friends had got.
They ate my mutton-drank my wine,
In truth, so kind were they,
That be the weather wet or fine,
They'd dine with me next day,
They came-and like the circling year,
The circling glass went round;
Till something whisper'd in my ear,
"Ah, poor ten thousand pound!
"Pshaw stuff!" cried I, "I'll hear it not;
Besides, such friends are mine,
That what they have will be my lot,
So push about the wine!"
The glasses rung-the jest prevail'd,
'Twas summer every day!
Till, like a flower by blight assail'd,
My thousands dropt away.
Alas! and so my friends dropt off,
Like rose-leaves from the stem;
My fallen state but met their scoff,
And I no more saw them!
One friend, one honest friend remain'd,
When all the locusts flew,
One that ne'er shrunk, nor friendship feign'd,
My faithful dog 'twas you!
GOLD governs all without pretence,
And would be GOD, but L prevents.
CRIES Sue to Will, 'midst matrimonial strife, "Curs'd be the hour I first became your wife." "By all the powers," said Will," but that's too bad, You've curs'd the only civil hour we've had.”
THE CHANGES OF LIFE.
In a window of a room in the Tower of London is written
R. Walpole,
Underneath are the following lines.
Good, unexpected-evil, unforeseen,
Appear by turns as fortune shifts the scene.
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