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See, to their feats they hye with merry glee, And in befeemly order sitten there, All but the wight of bum y-galled, he Abhorreth bench, and stool, and form, and chair, (This hand in mouth y-six'd, that rends his hair,) And eke with fnubs profound, and heaving breast, Convulsions intermitting, does declare His grjevous wrong, his dame's unjust behest. And fcorns her osser'd love, and shuns to be caresi'd.

His face befprent, with liquid crystal shines; His blooming face, that feems a purple flow'r, Which low to earth its drooping head decliries, All sinearM and fully'd by a vernal show'r. O the hard bofoms of defpotic pow'r! All, all, but she, the author of his shame; All, all, but fhe, regret this mournful hour: Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'rshall claim. If fo I deem aright, tranfcending worth and fame.

Behind fome door, in melancholy thought,
Mindlefs of food, he, dreary caitiss! pines;
Ne for his fellows' joyaunce careth aught,
But to the wind all merriment resigns,
And deems it shame if he to peace inclines:
And many a fullen look askaunce is fent.
Which for his dame's annoyance he defigns;
And still the more to pleafure him she's bent,
The more doth he, perverfe, her 'haviour past refent*

Ah me! how much I fear, lest pride it be!
But is that prida it be, which thus infpires,

Beware, ye dames, with nice difcernment fe« Ye quench not too the fparks of nohler sires: Ah! hetter far than all the Mufes' lyres, All coward arts, is valour's gen'rous heat; The sirm six'd hreast which sit and right requires, Like Vernon's patriot soul; more justly great Than craft that pimps for ill, or flow'ry falfe deceit!

Yet, nurs' d with skill, what dazzling fruits appear! E'en now fagacious forefight points to show A little hench of heedlefs hifhops here, . And there a chancellor in emhryo, Or hard fuhlime, if hard may e'er he fo;' As Milton, Shakefpeare, names that ne'er mail die/ Though now he crawl along the ground fo low; Nor wee ting how the Mufe mould foar on high, Wisheth, poor starv'lingelf! his paper-kite may fly.

And this perhaps, who, cens'ring the design,
Low lays the houfe which that of cards doth huild,
Shall Dennis he! if rigid Fates incline;
And many an epick to his rage fhall yield,
And many a poet quit th' Aonian sield:
And, four'd hy age, profound he shall appear,
As he who now, with 'fdainful fury thrill'd,
Surveys mine work, and levels many a fneer,
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What fluff
"is here?"

But now Dan Phœhus gains the middle sky,
And Liherty unhars her prifon door;
And, like a rustting torrent, out they^y.
And now the jrassy cirque haa cover'd o'er

With boist'rous revel-rout and wild uproar. A thoufand ways in wanton rings they run; Heav'n lhield their short-liv'd pastimes, I implore! For well may Freedom, erst fo dearly won, Appear to Britifh elf more gladfome than the fun. Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your fportive trade, And chafe gay flies, and cull the fairest flow'rs; For when my bones in grafs-green fods are laidj For never may ye taste more carelefs hours In knightly castles, or in ladies' bow'rs. O Tain! to feek delight in earthly thing! But most in courts, where proud Ambition tow'rs; Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can fpring Beneath the pompous dome of Kefar or of King. See in each fprite fome various bent appear! Thefe rudely carol most incondite lay; Thofe faunt'ring on the green with jocund leer! Salute the stranger pastmg on his way: Some builden fragile tenements of clay; Some to the standing lake their courfes bend, With pebbles foon at duck-and-drake to play: Thilk to the huxter's fav'ry cottage tend, , In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to fpend. Here, as each feafon yields a diff'rent store, Each feafon's stores in order ranged been,' Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er, Galling full fore the unmoney wight are feen; And goofeb'rie clad in liv'ry red or green: And here of lovely die the Cath'rine pear: Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween: O may no wight e'er pennylefs come there, Lest) sinit with ardent love, he pine with hopelefs card

See! cherries here, e'er cherries yet abound,
With thread fo white in tempting pofies ty'd,
Scatt'ring like blooming maid their glances round]
With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside,
And must be bought, though penury betide:
The plum all azure, and the nut all brown;
And here, each feafon, do thofe cakes abide,
Whofe honour'd names th' inventive city own,

Rend'ring thro' Britain's ifle Salopia's praifes known.-
Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd;
Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave:
Ah! midst the rest, may flow'rs adorn his grave,
Whofe art did sirst thofe dulcet cates difplay!
A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave,
Who cheerlefs o'er her darkling region stray,

Till Reafon's morn arife, and light them on their way + Shrewsbury cakes.



courtly bards, in poliih'd phrafe, indite Sa ft madrigals, to celebrate the fair; Or paint the fplendour of a birthday night,

Where peers and dames in fhining robes appear i The talk be mine, neglected worth to praife, Alas! too often found, in thefe degen'rate days.

O gentle Shenstone! could the felf-taught Mufe, Who joys, like thine, in rural lhades to stray, Could flie like thine, while fhe her theme purfues, With native beauties deck the pleasing lay; Then fhould the humble Clerk, of Barton-Deati, An equal meed of praife with thy Sctool-mijircfs gain.

Ent'ring the village in a deep- worn way,

Hard by an aged oak, his dwelling stands;
The lowly roof is thatch, the walls are clay;
All rudely rais'd by his forefathers' hands:
Obferve the homely hut, as you pafs by,
And pity the good man that lives fo wretchedly.

Vulcanian artists here, with oily brow,

And naked arm, he at his anvil plies, What time Aurora in the east does glow,

And eke when Vefper gilds the western Ikies: The bellows roar, the hammers loud refound, And from the tortur'd mafs the fparkles fly around. Hither the truant fchool-boy frequent wends,

And flily, peeping o'er the hatch, is feen To note the bick'ring workman, while he bends The steed's strong ihoe, or forms the sickle keen. Unthinking, little elf, what ills betide, Of breech begalled fore, and cruel talk beside!

A deep historian, well I wot, is he;

And many tomes, of ancient lore, has read Of England's George, the flow'r of chivalry, Of Merlin's Mirror, and the Brazen Head; With hundred legends more, which to recite, Would tire the wifest nurfe,and fpend the longest night.


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