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the same year he added a couple of gates with portcullises; and during the winter of the same year, my uncle Toby, instead of a new suit of clothes, which he always had at Christmas, treated himself with a handsome sentrybox, to stand at the corner of the bowling-green, betwixt which point and the foot of the glacis there was left a little kind of an esplanade, for him and the Corporal to confer and hold councils of war upon. The sentrybox was in case of rain. All these were painted white three times over the ensuing spring, which enabled my uncle Toby to take the field with great splendour.
My father would often say to Yorick, that if any mortal in the whole universe had done such a thing except his brother Toby, it would have been looked upon by the world as one of the most refined satires upon the parade and prancing manner in which Louis XIV., from the beginning of the war, but particularly that very year, had taken the field. But 'tis not in my brother Toby's nature, kind soul! my father would add, to insult any one.
A CITY SHOWER.
CAREFUL observers may foretell the hour
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower: While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.
Meanwhile the south, rising with dappled wings,
A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That swill'd more liquor than it could contain,
'Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was dust.
Sole coat, where dust cemented by the rain
Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain !
Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, Threatening with deluge this devoted town. To shops in crowds the draggled females fly, Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy. The templar spruce, while every spout's a-broach, Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach. The tucked-up sempstress walks with hasty strides, While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides. Here various kinds, by various fortunes led, Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.
Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs,
The leather sounds; he trembles from within.
PASTORAL DUTIES AND DELIGHTS.
METHINKS it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run :
How many years a mortal man may live.
So many hours must I take rest;
So many days my ewes have been with young;
Ah! what a life were this! how sweet-how lovely!
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.