Poetry. caufe; but as every one had not his trumpet, his advice was wafted away and scattered by the winds. You give good counfel, faid Afhtaroth. though it cannot be heard. You fee, were it not for want of knowing one another, the one might acquire fame and the other riches, and the wants of both be removed. His inftruments prefented him with feveral other objects no lefs curious and interefting. Sometimes he faw a man equally tirefome to himself and troublefome to others; who, in order tó procure company, would go to the Palais Royal, and ask a number of perfons to dine with him, though fcarcely acquainted with their names; while at the fame moment, in the garden of the Thuilleries, a worthy man, who was half famifhed, could meet with no invitation. Sometimes he faw an honest man in the atmoft diftress, because he was un 127 able to borrow a trifling fum on unexceptionable fecurity; and at the next inftant a rich ufurer in the greateft uneafinefs, becaufe he could not lend his money to advantage. Perpetually the fame reflection recurred: all this is for want of knowing one another. Well, faid Surival, and what is the moral of this exhibition? What your conclufion? 1 conclude, replied Afhtaroth, that Nature hath furnished men with all that is neceffary to render them happy, and that it is their own fault if they are not fo. True, returned Surival; all I have to fay is, that though men, undoubtedly, have among them whatever is neceffary to their happiness, yet they are likely to be but little the better for Nature's kindnefs, unless you furnifh them with your telescope and trumpet, to enable them to difcover where what they want is to be found. G An Old Heroic Ballad. Now Cummynge, faid he, mete my arm, REYELYGHTE was creepynge up the This fword fhall drink thy lyfe. eafte, And ftealynge through the fkye, When Cummynge on the Reddynge hill The rattlynge of their armour brighte Then Cummynge blewe a mightye blast, It rollynge owre the valleys spread, And owre the heathe the found was hearde A thousand hands, a thousand glaives, The foemen on the Reddynge hill Come on, faid Cummynge to his men, To meete the foe, then up the hill, And owre each fhoulder Cummynge wore Now arrowes flew and helmets rang, And every fword a fword oppos'd; Sterne Maurice, Cumberlande's brave son, Through Scotlande have I trode in arms That 'twyxt thy father's houfe and mine More had he faid, but Cummynge bauld And with a ftroke across the neck How, Maurice, art thou fall'n! he faidé, Thy body in the earthe shall lie, Thy deeds afcende the skyes! Then Lorn advanc'd in front of stryfe But when he faw Lord Maurice low, Rothfay and I this day have foughte, Brave Flemynge too doth lyfeleffe lye Young Murray's lease of lyfe is out, partynge breathe. Never Never fhall Rofs's yellow locks Revenge their deathes, quothe ruddye Lorn; Quothe Cummynge, ftop the bluidye fword, Owre yonder hill they feeke their way, Then owre the fmokynge field was hearde Revenge uppon a rock did stande, And from his furious bluid-run eyes, But when the battle's heat was owre, His flowynge garments droppynge bluide, And thofe were they owre Reddynge hill May Scotlande's hardy race prevaile If on our fields they raise a firyfe, Dumbarton, Aug. 6. A Parody on Sly Old Hodge, in the Wives W Reveng'd, I. *** S******, fam'd for maxims fage, Lamented fad this wicked age, With fly old Hodge all must agree, To mend the times and fashions horrid, With fly old Hodge, &c. III. He pelted hard both Belle and Beau, With fly old Hodge, &c. IV. 'Gainft fcandal W*** was wond'rous loud, Sufannab and the Elders. Modernized from To force Sufanna to their arms, Yet, haply, had the parties been SONG. I. I Hard by the object of my love, Inform her that thou art a figh, If, limpid rivʼlet, thou runn'st near In the Popish calendar. |