I, while the sun delay'd his parting beam, Canst thou forget, when, warm with love and ale, If I would take thee but to Saunders' booth, With crupper, whip, and spur, to Brentford ride? Though that day's flourish made me fast a week; Bear witness to my vows, ye pow'rs above! Come to my longing arms, my lovely care!* And take the presents which the gods prepare! The macaroni cake, the Chelsea bun, And almonds crisp, and raisins of the sun : The unpaid tailor dogs the London spark, *Huc ades, O formose puer. Tibi lilia plenis Ecce ferunt Nymphæ calathis: tibi candida Naïs, &c. + Rusticus es, Corydon; nec munera curat Alexis: Nec, si muneribus certes, concedat Iollas. Pallas, quas condidit arces : Torva leæna lupum sequitur; lupus ipse capellam. Te Corydon, O Alexi: trahit sua quemque voluptas. The curious hunt the Cossack through the park— Resound, ye hills! resound my mournful strain, Of perjur❜d Blouzelinda I complain !— The doctor tries his Esculapian skill, He draws the lancet, and prescribes the pill, And lays for Cupid many an artful lure ; But love's a pang that physic cannot cure ; A ruthless dun, devoted to his prey, By night tormenting, as he plagues by day. But see, the night emits unwholesome damps, And nimble link-boys run to light their lamps; Now strolls the painted Cyprian in the dark, I'll to the Basin, in St. James's Park : * Farewell! the lawyer's quirk, the pleader's bawl; The Temple, Lincoln's-Inn, and Justice-Hall! Farewell! the park, the play-house, and Pall-Mall! Blouzy, adieu !—and all the world, farewell! * Non ego vos posthac, viridi projectus in antro, ECLOGUE III. THE DISCARDED MINISTER. Amicus. Ho! Georgius, whither on thy way so fast, From good St. Stephen's? Georgius. Ah! my friend; at last, (Would I had never liv'd, this day to see, No more I'll have a herd of Scotch petitioners, Ami. But what will now become of your leagues, col Their ways and means, their councils, their intrigues? What other leader will they choose? * Quo te, Mori, pedes? an, quò via ducit, in urbem? + O Lycida, vivi pervenimus; advena nostri, Geo. Heav'n knows! I weep to think of leaving Treasurer Rose ;* Methinks I hear him cry, distracted, vext, 66 Forebodings tell me that my turn comes next!" And then the honest man dissolves in tears, To lose the place he's held for twenty years. Ami. And Vansittart,† will royalty reject him? Here lies old George, who took the surest The Lords', though once a Purser's clerk. Alike to him, were friends and foes; And both by turns, he would importune; Which tended most to make his fortune! Bred in the Caledonian school, Laborious, plodding, dull and grave; He was too knowing for a fool, If there are sinecures in heav'n, Our Treas'rer may indulge his whim; The Grand Question debated. Cries starch Mrs. Sidmouth to grave Mrs. Van, "I cannot conceive what the deuce there can be in us, That the Prince to promote us should do all he can, When nobody else any merit can see in us; |