To leave you thus might seem unkind; But see, the goat is just behind."

The goat remarked her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye;

66

My back," says she, "may do you harm; The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."

The sheep was feeble, and complained
His sides a load of wool sustained :
Said he was slow, confessed his fears;
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.

She now the trotting calf addressed,
To save from death friend distressed.

"Shall I," says he,of tender age,
In this important care engage;
Older and abler passed 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 see the hounds are just in view."

John Gay.-Born 1688, Died 1732.

If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.

Thus every beauteous object that I view, Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:

They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his
head.

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land: "Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand.

John Gay.-Born 1688, Died 1732.

802.-SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL.
All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard.

"Oh! where shall I my true-love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, If my sweet William sails among the crew."

William, who high upon the yard

Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below;

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,

And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast (If chance his mate's shrill call he hear), And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.

Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be

The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant
mind.

They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find;

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

803.-A BALLAD.

'Twas when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind;

A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined.
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She casts a wistful look;
Her head was crown'd with willows,
That trembled o'er the brook.

Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days.
Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?

The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Sees tempests in despair:
But what's the loss of treasure,
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

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 wand'ring lover, And leave the maid to weep.

804. THE COUNTRY BALLAD
SINGER.

Sublimer strains, O rustic muse! prepare;
Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care;
Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise,
The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays;
With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse,
While rocks and woods the various notes
rehearse.

'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil Of the ripe harvest 'gan to rid the soil; Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout,

Clean damsels bound the gathered sheaves about;

The lads with sharpened hook and sweating brow

Cut down the labours of the winter plough.

When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spied, His hat and oaken staff lay close beside; That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing, Or with the rosin'd bow torment the string; That Bowzybeus who, with fingers' speed, Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed;

That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue, Ballads, and roundelays, and catches sung: They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright, And in disport surround the drunken wight.

Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous strong!

Thou shouldst have left the fair before 'twas night,

But thou sat'st toping till the morning light. Cicely, brisk maid, steps forth before the rout,

And kissed with smacking lip the snoring lout

(For custom says, "Whoe'er this venture

proves,

For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves.")
By her example Dorcas bolder grows,
And plays a tickling straw within his nose.
He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke
The sneering strains with stammering speech
bespoke:

To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er;
As for the maids, I've something else in store.
No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song,
But lads and lasses round about him throng.

Not ballad-singer placed above the crowd Sings with a note so shrilling, sweet, and loud; No parish-clerk, who calls the psalms so clear, Like Bowzybeus soothes the attentive ear.

Of nature's laws his carols first begun, Why the grave owl can never face the sun. For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, And only sing and seek their prey by night. How turnips hide their swelling heads below, And how the closing coleworts upwards grow; How Will-a-wisp misleads night-faring

clowns

O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless

downs.

Of stars he told that shoot with shining trail, And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail.

He sung where woodcocks in the summer feed,

And in what climates they renew their breed
(Some think to northern coasts their flight
they tend,

Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend);
Where swallows in the winter's season keep,
And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep;
How nature does the puppy's eyelid close,
Till the bright sun has nine times set and

rose

(For huntsmen by their long experience find, That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind).

Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows,

For still new fairs before his eyes arose.
How pedlers' stalls with glittering toys are
laid,

The various fairings of the country maid.
Long silken laces hang upon the twine,
And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine;
How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissors
spies,

And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes.
Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told,
Where silver spoons are won, and rings of
gold.

The lads and lasses trudge the street along,
And all the fair is crowded in his song.
The mountebank now treads the stage, and

sells

His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells;
Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs,
And on the rope the venturous maiden
swings;

Jack Pudding, in his party-coloured jacket,
Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet.
Of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats,
Of pockets picked in crowds and various
cheats.

Then sad he sung "The Children in the
Wood"

(Ah, barbarous uncle, stained with infant blood!)

How blackberries they plucked in deserts wild,

And fearless at the glittering faulchion smiled; Their little corpse the robin-redbreasts found, And strewed with pious bill the leaves around.

(Ah, gentle birds! if this verse lasts so long, Your names shall live for ever in my song.) For "Buxom Joan" he sung the doubtful strife,

How the sly sailor made the maid a wife.

To louder strains he raised his voice, to tell What woful wars in "Chevy Chase" befell, When " Percy drove the deer with hound and

horn; Wars to be wept by children yet unborn!" Ah, Witherington! more years thy life had crowned,

If thou hadst never heard the horn or hound! Yet shall the squire, who fought on bloody stumps,

By future bards be wailed in doleful dumps.

"All in the land of Essex" next he chaunts, How to sleek mares starch Quakers turn gallants:

How the grave brother stood on bank so

To pave thy realm, and smooth the broken ways,

Earth from her womb a flinty tribute pays: For thee the sturdy pavior thumps the ground,

Whilst every stroke his labouring lungs resound;

For thee the scavenger bids kennels glide Within their bounds, and heaps of dirt sub

side.

My youthful bosom burns with thirst of fame,

From the great theme to build a glorious

name;

To tread in paths to ancient bards unknown,
And bind my temples with a civic crown:
But more my country's love demands my
lays;

My country's be the profit, mine the praise! When the black youth at chosen stands rejoice,

And "clean your shoes" resounds from every voice;

When late their miry sides stage-coaches show,

And their stiff horses through the town move slow;

When all the Mall in leafy ruin lies,
And damsels first renew their oyster cries;
Then let the prudent walker shoes provide,
Not of the Spanish or Morocco hide;

The wooden heel may raise the dancer's bound,

And with the scalloped top his step be crowned;

Let firm, well-hammered soles protect thy fect Through freezing snows, and rains, and

soaking sleet.

Should the big last extend the shoe too wide, Fach stone will wrench the unwary step

aside;

The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein,

Thy cracking joint unhinge, or ankle sprain; And, when too short the modish shoes are

worn,

You'll judge the seasons by your shooting

corn.

Nor should it prove thy less important

care,

To choose a proper coat for winter's wear.
Now in thy trunk thy D'Oily habit fold,
The silken drugget ill can fence the cold;
The frieze's spongy nap is soaked with rain,
And showers soon drench the camblet's cockled
grain ;

True Witney broadcloth, with its shag un. shorn,

Unpierced is in the lasting tempest worn:
Be this the horseman's fence, for who would

wear

Amid the town the spoils of Russia's bear? Within the roquelaure's clasp thy hands are pent,

Hands, that, stretched forth, invading harms prevent.

Let the looped bavaroy the fop embrace,
Or his deep cloak bespattered o'er with lace.
That garment best the winter's rage defends,
Whose ample form without one plait depends;
By various names in various counties known,
Yet held in all the true surtout alone;

Be thine of kersey firm, though small the cost,

Then brave unwet the rain, unchilled the frost.

If the strong cane support thy walking hand,

Chairmen no longer shall the wall command; Even sturdy carmen shall thy nod obey,

And rattling coaches stop to make thee way:
This shall direct thy cautious tread aright,
Though not one glaring lamp enliven night.
Let beaux their canes, with amber tipt,
produce;

Be theirs for empty show, but thine for use.
In gilded chariots while they loll at ease,
And lazily insure a life's disease;
While softer chairs the tawdry load convey
To court, to White's, assemblies, or the play;
Rosy-complexioned Health thy steps attends,
And exercise thy lasting youth defends.
Imprudent men Heaven's choicest gifts pro-
fane:

Thus some beneath their arm support the

cane;

The dirty point oft checks the careless pace,
And miry spots the clean cravat disgrace.
Oh! may I never such misfortune meet!
May no such vicious walkers crowd the street!
May Providence o'ershade me with her wings,
While the bold Muse experienced danger
sings!

John Gay.-Born 1688, Died 1732.

806.-DESCRIPTION OF A HARE HUNT.

Now golden Autumn from her open lap Her fragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn;

Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
And counts his large increase; his barns are
stored,

And groaning staddles bend beneath their load.

All now is free as air, and the gay pack
In the rough bristly stubbles range unblamed:
No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse
Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale
lips

Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed:

But courteous now he levels every fence, Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud, Charmed with the rattling thunder of the

field.

Oh bear me, some kind Power invisible !

To that extended lawn, where the gay court View the swift racers, stretching to the goal; Games more renowned, and a far nobler

train,

Than proud Elean fields could boast of old. Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here, And Pindar's voice, to do their merit right! Or to those spacious plains, where the strained

eye

In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last Sarum's proud spire, that o'er the hills ascends,

And pierces through the clouds. Or to thy downs,

Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed beagle climbs,

With matchless speed, thy green aspiring brow,

And leaves the lagging multitude behind.

Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess,

hail!

Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread
O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant

way,

And orient pearls from every shrub depend.
Farewell, Cleora; here deep sunk in down
Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused,
Till grateful steams shall tempt thee to
receive

Thy early meal, or thy officious maids,
The toilet placed, shall urge thee to perform
The important work. Me other joys invite,
The horn sonorous calls, the pack awaked
Their matins chant, nor brook my long
delay.

My courser hears their voice; see there with

ears

And tail erect, neighing he paws the ground;
Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes,
And boils in every vein. As captive boys
Cowed by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns
Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks,
If once dismissed, no limits can contain
The tumult raised within their little breasts,
But give a loose to all their frolic play:
So from their kennel rush the joyous pack;
A thousand wanton gaieties express
Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport
Once more indulged, and liberty restored.
The rising sun that o'er the horizon peeps,
As many colours from their glossy skins
Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow
When April showers descend. Delightful
scene!

Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs,
And in each smiling countenance appears
Fresh blooming health, and universal joy.

Huntsman, lead on! behind the clustering pack

Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey: Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly

roves;

But let thy brisk assistant on his back Imprint thy just resentments; let each lash Bite to the quick, till howling he return

And whining creep amid the trembling crowd.

Here on this verdant spot, where nature kind,

With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes;

Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead

Affords the wandering hares a rich repast, Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread

And range around, and dash the glittering dew.

If some stanch hound, with his authentic voice,

Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe
Attend his call, then with one mutual cry
The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills
Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they
thread

The breaks, and up yon furrow drive along!
But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
Their eager haste; then o'er the fallow'd
ground

How leisurely they work, and many a pause The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured

With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.
What artful labyrinths perplex their way!
Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants,
she doubts

If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,
With horror seized. The withered grass that

clings

Around her head, of the same russet hue Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes With life full-beaming her vain wiles betrayed.

At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,
No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard,
Lest the wild hound run gadding o'er the
plain

Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice.
Now gently put her off; see how direct
To her known mews she flies! Here, hunts-
man, bring

(But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
And calmly lay them in. How low they
stoop,

And seem to plough the ground! then all at

More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds

Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print

The grass unbruised; with emulation fired They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate,

O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend O'er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns

Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage. Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs,

Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone, And with the panting winds lag far behind.

Huntsman her gait observe; if in wide rings

She wheel her mazy way, in the same round Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten track. But if she fly, and with the favouring wind Urge her bold course; less intricate thy task: Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch

The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes,

O'er plains remote she stretches far away,
Ah! never to return! for greedy Death
Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey.

Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks

Above the humble copse aspiring rise,
What glorious triumphs burst in ev'ry gale
Upon our ravished ears! The hunters shout,
The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding
notes,

The pack wide-opening load the trembling air

With various melody; from tree to tree
The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy
Through all the regions near: afflictive birch
No more the schoolboy dreads, his prison
broke,

Scamp'ring he flies, nor heeds his master's cali;

The weary traveller forgets his road, And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves

The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating flocks

Are now the shepherd's joy; men, boys, and girls

Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds

Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized.

Look, how she pants! and o'er yon op'ning glade

Slips glancing by; while, at the further end,
The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile,
Maze within maze. The covert's utmost
bound

Slily she skirts; behind them cautious creeps,
And in that very track, so lately stained
By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue