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Rang'd cups, that in the window stood,
Lin'd with red rags to look like blood,
Did well his threefold trade explain,
Who shav'd, drew teeth, and breath'd a vein.

The Goat he welcomes with an air,
And seats him in his wooden chair:
Mouth, nose, and cheek, the lather hides :
Light, smooth, and swift, the razor glides.

" I hope your custom, sir,” says Pug. Sure never face was half so smug!”.

The Goat, impatient for applause, Swift to the neighboring hill withdraws. The shaggy people grinn'd and star'd. “Heigh-day! what's here? without a beard' Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace ? What envious hand hath robb’d your face ?" When thus the fop, with smiles of scorn, “Are beards by civil nations worn ? Ev'n Muscovites have mow'd their chins. Shall we, like formal Capuchins, Stubborn in pride, retain the mode, And bear about the hairy load ? Whene'er we through the village stray, Are we not mock'd along the way, Insulted with loud shouts of scorn, By boys our beards disgrac'd and torn ?"

Were you no more with Goats to dwell, Brother, I grant you reason well,” Replies a bearded chief. Beside, If boys can mortify thy pride, How wilt thou stand the ridicule Of our whole flock? Aflected fool!”

Corcombs, distinguish'd from the rest, To all but coxcombs are a jest.

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“ How can they say that Nature

Has nothing made in vain? Why then beneath the water

Should hideous rocks remain ? No eyes the rocks discover,

That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover,

And leave the maid 10 weep.".


All melancholy lying,

Thus wail'd she for her dear; Repaid each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear; When o'er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she spied ; Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head, and died.




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'Tis certain that the modish passions
Descend among the crowd like fashions.
Excuse me, then, if pride, conceit
(The manners of the fair and great)
I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs.
I say that these are proud: what then!
I never said they equal men.

A Goat (as vain as Goat can be)
Affected singularity :
Whene'er a thymy bank he found,
He roll'd upon the fragrant ground,
And then with fond attention stood,
Fix'd o'er his image in the flood.

“ I hate my frow zy beard,” he cries,
My youth is lost in this disguise.
Did not the females know my vigor,
Well might they lothe this reverend figure."

Resolv'd to smooth his shaggy face,
He sought the barber of the place.
A flippant monkey, spruce and smart,
Hard by, profess'd the dapper art:
His pole with pewter-basons hung,
Black rotten teeth in order strung,

A Rake, by every passion rulid,
With every vice his youth had coolid;
Disease his tainted blood assails;
His spirits droop, his vigor fails :
With secret ills at home he pines,
And, like infirm old age, declines.

As, twing'd with pain, he pensive sits,
And raves, and prays, and swears, by fits,
A ghastly Phantom, lean and wan,
Before him rose, and thus began:

• My name, perhaps, hath reach'd your ear;
Attend, and be advis'd by Care.
Nor love, nor honor, wealth, nor power,
Can give the heart a cheerful hour,
When health is lost. Be timely wise :
With health all taste of pleasure flies."

Thus said, the Phantom disappears.
The wary counsel wak'd his fears.
He now from all excess abstains,
With physic purifies his veins;
And, to procure a sober life,
Resolves to venture on a wise.

But now again the Sprite ascends,
Where'er he walks, his ear attends,
Insinuates that beauty's frail,
That perseverance must prevail,
With jealousies his brain inflames,
And whispers all her lovers' names.
In other hours she represents
His household charge, his annual rents.

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Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
And nothing for his younger sons.

Straight all his thought to gain he turns,
And with the thirst of lucre burns.
But, when possess'd of Fortune's store,
The Spectre haunts him more and more ;
Sets want and misery in view,
Bold thieves, and all the murdering crew;
Alarms him with eternal frights,
Infests his dreams, or wakes his nights.
How shall he chase this hideous guest ?
Power may, perhaps, protect his rest.
To power he rose. Again the Sprite
Besets him morning, noon, and night;
Talks of Ambition's tottering seat,
How Envy persecutes the great;
of rival hate, of treacherous friends,
And what disgrace his fall attends.

The court he quits, to fly from Care,
And seeks the peace of rural air ;
His groves, his fields, amus'd his hours;
He prun'd his trees, he rais'd his flowers ;
But Care again his steps pursues,
Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,
Of plundering insects, snails, and rains,
And droughts that starv'd the labor'd plains.
Abroad, at home, the Spectre's there ;
In vain we seek to fly from Care.

At length he thus the Ghost addrest :
“Since thou must be my constant guest,
Be kind, and follow me no more ;
For Care, by right, should go before."

Next, to a senator addressing,
“See this bank-note; observe the blessing.
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone."
Upon his lips a padlock shown.
A second puff the magic broke;
The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.

Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stor'd,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.

A purse she to a thief expos'd ;
At once his ready fingers clos'd.
He opes his fist, the treasure 's fled:
He sees a halter in its stead.

She bids Ambition hold a wand; He grasps a hatchet in his hand.

A box of charity she shows. " Blow here ;" and a church-warden blows. 'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat, And on the table smokes a treat.

She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, And from all pockets fills her box.

She next a meagre rake addrest.
“This picture see; her shape, her breast !
What youth, and what inviting eyes !
Hold her, and have her.” With surprise,
His hand expos'd a box of pills,
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.

A counter, in a miser's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command.
She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.

A guinea with her touch you see,
Take every shape but Charity ;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.

The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission own'd her art.

“Can I such matchless sleight withstand ? How practice hath improv'd your hand! But now and then I cheat the throng; You every day, and all day long."





A JUGGLER long through all the town
Had rais'd his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends)
The devil at his fingers' ends.

Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud.

“ Is this then he so fam'd for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize ?
I leave it to impartial eyes.”

Provok'd, the Juggler cried, “ 'Tis done ;
In science I submit to none."

Thus said, the cups and balls he play'd;
By turns this here, that there, convey'd.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.
His little boxes change the grain :
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
His fingers spread, and nothing there ;
Then bids it rain with showers of gold ;
And now his ivory eggs are told;
But, when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd spectators hum applause.

Vice now stept forth, and took the place,
With all the forms of his grimace.

“This magic looking-glass,” she cries, " (There, hand it round) will charm your eyes." Each eager eye the sight desir'd, And every man himself admir'd.

FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame. The child, whom many fathers share, Hath seldom known a father's care. "Tis thus in friendship; who depend On many, rarely find a friend.

A Hare who, in a civil way, Complied with every thing, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain ; Her care was never to offend; And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouth'd thunder fies. She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; She hears the near advance of death ; She doubles, to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round; Till, fainting in the public way, Half-dead with fear she gasping lay.


What transport in her bosom grew, When first the Horse appear'd in view!

Let me," says she, “ your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend. You know my feet betray my flight: To friendship every burthen's light."

The Horse replied, " Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus:
Be comforted, relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear."

She next the stately Bull implor'd;
And thus replied the mighty lord :
“Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a favorite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
And, when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But, see, the Goat is just behind.”

The Goat remark'd, her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye: “My back," says he,“

you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."

The Sheep was feeble, and complain’d, His sides a load of wool sustain'd; Said he was slow, confess'd his fears ; For Hlounds eat Sheep as well as Hares.

She now the trotting Calf addressid, To save from Death a friend distress'd.

“Shall I," says he, “ of tender age, In this important care engage ? Older and abler pass'd you by ; How strong are those ! how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then; you know my heart; But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament! Adieu ; For, sec, the Hounds are just in view."


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• That queen," he said, “ to whom we owe
Sweet peace, that maketh riches flow;
That queen, who eas'd our tax of late,
Was dead, alas !-and lay in state."

At this, in tears was Cicely seen,
Buxoma tore her pinners clean,
In doleful dumps stood every clown,
The parson rent his band and gown.

For me, when as I heard that Death
Had snatch'd queen Anne to Elizabeth,
I broke my reed, and, sighing, swore,
I'd weep for Blouzelind no more.

While thus we stood as in a stound,
And wet with tears, like dew, the ground,
Full soon by bonfire and by bell
We learnt our liege was passing well.
A skilful leach (so God him speed)
They said, had wrought this blessed deed.
This leach Arbuthnot was yelept,
Who many a night not once had slept ;
But watch'd our gracious sovereign still ;
For who could rest when she was ill?
Oh, may'st thou henceforth sweetly sleep!
Shear, swains, oh! shear your softest sheep,
To swell his couch ; for, well I ween,
He sav'd the realm, who sav'd the queen.

Quoth 1, “ Please God, I'll hie with glee
To court, this Arbuthnot to see.”
I sold my sheep, and lambkins too,
For silver loops and garment blue;
My boxen hautboy, sweet of sound,
For lace that edg'd mine hat around;
For Lightfoot, and my scrip, I got
A gorgeous sword, and eke a knot.

So forth I far'd to court with speed,
Of soldier's drum withouten dreed ;
For peace allays the shepherd's fear
Of wearing cap of grenadier.

There saw I ladies all a-row,
Before their queen in seemly show.
No more I'll sing Buxoma brown,
Like Goldfinch in her Sunday gown;
Nor Clumsilis, nor Marian bright,
Nor damsel that Hobnelia hight.
But Lansdowne, fresh as flower of May,
And Berkeley, lady blitho and gay;
And Anglesea, whose speech exceeds
The voice of pipe, or oaten reeds ;
And blooming Hyde, with eyes so rare;
And Montague beyond compare :
Such ladies fair would I depaint,
In roundelay or sonnet quaint.

There many a worthy wight I've seen,
In ribbon blue and ribbon green:
As Oxford, who a wand doth bear,
Like Moses, in our Bibles fair;
Who for our traffic forms designs,
And gives to Britain Indian mines.
Now, shepherds, clip your fleecy care;
Ye maids, your spinning-wheels prepare ;
Ye weavers, all your shuttles throw,
And bid broad-cloths and serges grow;
For trading free shall thrive again,
Nor leasings lewd affright the swain.

There saw I St. John, sweet of mien
Full stedfast both to church and queen;
With whose fair name I'll deck my strain ;
St. John, right courteous to the swain.

For thus he told me on a day,
Trim are thy sonnets, gentle Gav;





-Libeat mihi sordida rura, Atque humiles habitare casas.-Virg.



Lo, I, who erst beneath a tree Sung Bumkinet and Bowzybee, And Blouzelind and Marian bright, In apron blue, or apron white, Now write my sonnets in a book, For my good lord of Boling broke.

As lads and lasses stood around To hear my boxen hautboy sound, Our clerk came posting o'er the green With doloful tidings of the queen ;

And, certes, mirth it where to see
Thy joyous madrigals twice three,
With preface meet, and notes profound,
Imprinted fair, and well ye-bound.”
All suddenly then home I sped,
And did ev'n as my lord had said.

Lo, here thou hast mine eclogues fair,
But let not these detain thine ear.
Let not th'affairs of states and kings
Wait, while our Bouzy beus sings.
Rather than verse of simple swain
Should stay the trade of France or Spain ;
Or, for the plaint of parson's maid,
Yon emperor's packets be delay'd;
In sooth, I swear by holy Paul,
I'll burn book, preface, notes, and all.

Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithesome swain,
The wisest lout of all the neighboring plain!
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies,
To know when hail will fall, or winds arise.
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view,
When stuck aloft, that showers would straight ensue:
He first that useful secret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain.
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air,

He told us that the welkin would be clear. 30
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse.
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.

See this tobacco-pouch, that's lin'd with hair,
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow-deer.
This pouch, that's tied with tape of reddest hue,
I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.



Lobbin Clout, Cuddy, Cloddipole.

Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch!
Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch. 40



The younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,

No thrustles shrill the bramble-bush forsake,
No chirping lark the welkin sheen invokes,

My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes;

Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass. O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear;

Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Then why does Cuddy leave his cot so rear?

Fair is the daisy that beside her grows;
Fair is the gilliflower, of gardens sweet,
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet :

But Blouzelind's than gilliflower more fair,
Ah, Lobbin Clout! I ween, my plight is guess’d, Than daisy, marigold, or king.cup rare.
For he that loves, a stranger is to rest :
If swains belie not, thou hast prov'd the smart,

And Bloyzelinda's mistress of thy heart. 10
This rising rear betokeneth well ihy mind,

My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
Those arms are folded for thy Blouzelind.

That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. 50 And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree :

Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down, Thee Blouzelinda smites, Buxoma me.

And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain,

The frisking kid delight the gaping swain,

The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
Ah, Blouzelind! I love thee more by half, And my cur Tray play deftest feats around;
Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fall’n calf; But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray,
Woe worth the tongue! may blisters sore it gall, Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.
That names Buxoma Blouzelind withal.


Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near; Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise,

or her bereft, 'tis winter all the year. Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.

20 With her no sultry summer's heat I know; 60

In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.

Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire,
Ver. 3. Welkin, the same as welken, an old Saxon word, My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire !
signifying a cloud; by poetical license it is frequently
taken for the element, or sky, as may appear by this verse
in the Dream of Chaucer-

As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ne in all the welkin was no cloud.

Ev'n noontide labor seem'd an holiday ; :-Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or bright. And holidays, if haply she were gone,

Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British authors for Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.




Ver. 6. Rear, an expression, in several counties of Eng. land, for early in the morning.

Ver. 25. Erst; a contraction of cre this: it signifies Ver. 7. To ween, derived from the Saxon, to think, or sometime ago, or formerly. concoido.

Ver. 56. Defl, an old word, signifying brisk, or nimble.

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Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear, I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight.

Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right, Of Irish swains potato is the cheer;

" What flower is that which royal honor craves, Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind,

Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis strown on graves ?" Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind. While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise, Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato, prize.

Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains ! CUDDY.

An oaken staff each merits for his pains. 120

But see the sun-beams bright to labor warn,
In good roast-beef my landlord sticks his knife, And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge's barn.
The capon fat delights his dainty wise, 90 Your herds for want of water stand a-dry,
Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,

They're weary of your songs—and so am I.
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.


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As once I play'd at blindman's buff, it hapt

Young Colin Clout, a lad of peerless meed, About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt ;

Full well could dance, and deftly tune the reed; I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind,

In every wood his carols sweet were known, True speaks that ancient proverb, “ Love is blind." At every wake his nimble feats were shown.

When in the ring the rustic routs he threw,

The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew; CUDDY.

Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head, As at hot-cockles once I laid me down,

His danger smites the breast of every maid, And felt the weighty hand of many a clown; 100 But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain, Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I

The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain; 10 Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye.

Marian, that soft could stroke the udder'd cow,
Or Iessen with her sieve the barley-mow;
Marbled with sage the hardening cheese she press'd,

And yellow butter Marian's skill confess'd; Ver. 69. Eftsorns, from eft, an ancient British word, sig. But Marian now, devoid of country cares, nifying soon. So that eftsoons is a doubling of the word Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares, soon; which is, as it were, to say twice 800n, or very soon. For yearning love the witless maid employs,

Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the an. And,“ Love” say swains, “all busy heed destroys." cient English authors. I have used it in this place in the Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart; same sense as Chaucer hath done in his Miller's Tale. “As A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart, 20 clerkes being full subtle and queint," (by which he means arch, or waggish); and not in that obscene sense wherein be useth it in the line immediately following.

Ver. 103—110 were not in the early editions.-N.
Ver. 85.

Ver. 113. Marigold.
Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vitis Iaccho,
Forinosa myrtus Veneri, sua laurea Phæbo,

Ver. 117. Rosemary.
Phillis amat corylos. Illas dum Phillis amabit Dic quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum
Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phæbi, &c.

Nascantur flores. Virg.
Virg. Ver. 120. Et vitula tu dignus & hic. Virg.

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