Libs, Notus, Aufter:† these in frowns array'd; The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell Where comely peace of mind and decent order dwell. A ruffet ftole was o'er her shoulders thrown, A ruffet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air; 'Twas fimple ruffet, but it was her own; And think, no doubt, fhe been the greatest wight on ground. Albeit ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth, Ne pompous title did debauch her ear, Goody, Good Woman, Goffip, n'Aunt, forsooth, But there was eke a mind which did that title love. One ancient hen he took delight to feed, + The south-west wind, south, &c. Such favour did her paft deportment claim: And if neglect had lavish'd on the ground Fragment of bread she would collect the fame; For well fhe knew, and quaintly could expound, What fin it were to waste the smallest crumb the found, Herbs, too, she knew, and well of each could speak, That in her garden fipt the filv'ry dew; Where no vain flow'r disclos'd a gaudy streak, That gives dim eyes to wand'ring leagues around, And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound ; And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume. A facred fhelter for its branches here, Where, edg'd with gold, its glitt'ring skirts appear, Nor eyer would the more with thane and lordling dwell. Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, Hymned fuch pfalms as Sternhold forth did mete: If winter 'twere, the to her hearth did cleave: But in her garden found her summer seat : Sweet melody! to hear her then repeatHow Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a fong entreat, All for the nonce, untuning every string, Up-hung their useless lyres-fmall heart had they to [fing. For the was juft, and friend to virtuous lore, And pass'd much time in truly virtuous deed; And in those elfins' ears would oft deplore The times when Truth by Popish rage did bleed, And tortious death was true Devotion's meed: And fimple Faith in iron chains did mourn, That nould on wooden image place her creed ; And lawny faints on fmould'ring flames did burn: Ah, dearest Lord! forefend thilk days fhould e'er return. In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish fiem, Right well the knew each temper to defcry; And other fome with baleful fprig she 'frays: E'en abfent, the the reins of pow'r doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd the fways; Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold, Twill whifper in her ear, and all the fcene unfold. Lo! now with ftate fhe utters the command! Eftfoons the urchins to their tasks repair; Their books, of ftature small, they take in hand, Which with pellucid horn fecured are, To fave from finger-wet the letters fair: The work fo gay, that on their back is seen, St. George's high atchievements does declare, On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been, Kens the forth-coming rod, unpleafing fight, I ween! Ah! lucklefs he, and born beneath the beam O ruthful scene! when, from a nook obfcure, + Spenser. (If gentle pardon could with dames agree) And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. But ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace? The form uncouth of his disguised face? Or when from high fhe levels well her aim, And through the thatch his cries each falling firoke proclaim. The other tribe, aghaft, with fore dismay, And from their fellows hateful wounds beware; Knowing, I wift, how each the fame may fhare; Till fear has taught them a performance meet, And to the well-known cheft the dame repair, Where oft with fugar'd cates the doth 'em grect, And gingerbread y-rare, now, certes, doubly sweet! |