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PRINTER OF THE
I scorn the sneaker like a toad,
“ Forbear, my son,” the hermit cries, Who drives his cart the Dover road,
“ To tempt the dang'rous gloom; There, traitor to his country's trade,
For yonder faithless phantom flies Smuggles vile scraps of French brocade :
To lure thee to thy doom. Hence with all such! for you and I
“ Here to the houseless child of want By English wares will live and die.
My door is open suill; Come, draw your chair, and stir the fire :
And though my portion is but scant, Here, boy !-a pot of Thrale's entire !
I give it with good will.
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rashy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.
“ No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn:
I learn to pity them :
• But from the mountain's grassy side ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE, AP
A guiltless feast I bring ;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,
And water from the spring. As there is nothing I dislike so much as news
“ Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; paper controversy, particularly upon trifles,
All earth-born cares are wrong: permit me to be as concise as possible in inform- Man wants but little here below, ing a correspondent of yours, that I recommend
Nor wants that little long." ed Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one ; and I thiuk so still. I said, Soft as the dew from Heav'n descends, I was told by the bookseller that it was then first His gentle accents fell: published ; but in that, it seems, I was misin- | The modest stranger lowly bends, formed, and my reading was not extensive
And follows to the cell. enough to set me right.
Far in a wilderness obscure Another correspondent of yours accuses me of The lonely mansion lay; having taken a ballad, I pubiished some time A refuge to the neighbouring poor, ago, from one ' by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I And strangers led astray. do not think that there is any great resemblance No stores beneath its humble thatch between the two pieces in question. If there be
Requir'd a master's care; any, bis ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, some years ago; and he (as we both The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair., considered these things as trifles at best) told me with his usual good humour, the next time I saw And now when busy crowds retire him, that he had taken my plan to form the To take their ev'ning rest, fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. The hermit trimm'd his little fire, He then read me bis little cento, if I may so call And cheer'd his pensive guest : it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anec
And spread his vegetable store, dotes as these are scarce worth printing; and were it not for the busy disposition of some of And, skill'd in legendary lore,
And gaily prest, and smil'd; your correspondents, the public should never
The ling'ring bours beguild, have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and Around in sympathetic mirth learning for communications of a much more im
Its tricks the kitten tries; portant pature.
The cricket chirrups in the hearth, sir,
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
And tears began to flow,
His rising cares the hermit spy'd, “ Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
With answ'ring care opprest :
“ And whence, unhappy youth,” he cry'd, To where yon taper cheers the vale
“ The sorrows of thy breast ? With hospitable ray.
“ From better habitations spurn’d, " For here forlorn and lost I tread,
Reluctant dost thou rove;
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?
6 Alas! the joys that fortune brings 'The Friar of Orders Grey. Reliq. of Anc.
Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things, Poetry, vol. i. p. 243.
More trifling things than they.
“ And what is friendship but a name,
“But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, A charm that lulls to sleep;
And well my life shall pay; A shade that follows wealth or fame,
I'll seek the solitude he sought, And leaves the wretch to weep?
And stretch me where he lay. « And love is still an emptier sound,
“ And there forlorn, despairing, bid, The modern fair-one's jest :
I'll lay me down and die; On Earth unseen, or only found
'Twas so for me that Edwin did, To warm the turtle's nest.
And so for him will l.” “ Forshame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, “ Forbid it, Heav'n!" the hermit cry'd, And spurn the sex," he said :
And clasp'd her to bis breast : But while he spoke, a rising blush
The wond'ring fair-one turu'd to chide, His love-loro guest betray'd.
'Twas Edwin's self that prest. Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
“ Turn, Angelina, ever dear, Swift mantling to the view;
My charmer, turn to see Like colours o'er the morning skies,
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, As bright, as transient tou.
Restor’d to love and thee. The bashful look, the rising breast,
“ Thus let me hold thee to my heart, Alternate spread alarms :
And ev'ry care resign: The lovely stranger stands confest
And shall we never, never part, A maid in all her charms.
My life my all that's mine? " And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude,
“No, never, from this hour to part, A wretch forlorn,” she cry'd ;
We'll live and love so true, " Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
The sigh that rends thy constant heart Where Hear'n and you reside.
Shall break thy Edwin's too." « But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.
THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. “ My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he:
PUBLISHED IN DR. GOLDSMITH'S VOLUME OF ESSAYS, " To win me from his tender arms
1765. Unnumber'd suitors came, Who prais'd me fur imputed charms,
Secluded from domestic strife, And felt, or feiga'd a fame.
Jack Book-worm led a college life ;
A fellowship’at twenty-five " Each hour a mercenary crowd
Made him the happiest man alive ; With richest proffers strove ;
He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke, Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke. But never talk'd of love.
Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care, " In humble, simplest habit clad,
Could any accident impair? No wealth or pow'r had lie;
Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix Wisdom and worth were all he had,
Our swain, arriv'd at thirty-six ? But these were all to me.
O had the archer ne'er come down “ And when, beside me in the dale,
To ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop !
O had her eyes forgot to blaze!
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze. « The blossom op'ning to the day,
0! But let exclamation cease ; The dews of Heav'o refin'd,
Her presence banish'd all his peace; Could nought of purity display
So with decorum all things carried, To emulate his mind,
Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was--mar" The dew, the blossoms of the tree,'
ried. With charms inconstant shine ;
Need we expose to vulgar sight Their charms were his; but, woe to me,
The raptures of the bridal night? Th’inconstancy was mine!
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains clos'd around? “ For still I try'd each fickle art,
Let it suffice, that each had charms :
He clasp'd a goddess in his arms;
And, though she felt his usage rough, I triumph'd in his pain.
Yet in a man 'twas well enough. “ Till, quite dejected with my scorn,
The honey-moou like lightning flew; He left me to my pride;
The second brought its transports too : And sought a solitude forlorn
A third, a fourth, were not emiss; In secret, where he dy'de
The fifth was friendship mis d with bliss :
Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.
TO IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN. Say, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
Expressive of my duty ?
Should I at once deliver,
The gift, who slighits the giver ?
My rivals give-and let 'em ;
I'll give them—when I get 'em.
Or rose-bud more in fashion;
A transitory passion.
Not less sincere than civil :
I'll give thee-to the devil.
THE LOGICIANS REFUTED,
But when a twelvemonth pass'd away,
Skill'd in no other arts was she
Thus as her faults each day were known,
Now, to perplex the ravelled noose,
The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Poor madam, now condemn'd to hack
IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.
No jugglers, fidlers, dancing-masters,
I'm sure it may be justly said,
Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Now to apply, begin we then:
And here my simile almost tript,
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH,
STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
Sure 'twas by Providence design'd,
Rather in pity than in hate, That he should be, like Cupid, blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate.
A NEW SIMILE.
ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
FROM THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. Long had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind; The modern scribbling kind, who write In wit, and sense, and Nature's spite : Till reading, I forget wþat day on, A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon, I think I met with something there, "To suit my purpose to a hair; But let us not proceed so furious, First please to turn to god Mercurius : You'll find him pictur'd at full length In book the second, page the tenth : The stress of all my proofs on bim I lay, And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis, pray observe bis hat,
In the next place, his feet peruse,
Good people all, of ev'ry sort,
Give ear unto iny song ;
It cannot hold you long.
Of whom the world might say,
Whene'er he went to pray.
To comfort friends and foes;
When he put on his clothes.
As many dogs there be,
And curs of low degree.
But when a pique began,
Went mad, and bit the man.
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
To bite so good a man.
FROM THE VICAR OP WAKEFIELD.
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light,
DR. GOLDSMITH, That show'd the rogues they ly'd ;'
INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE OT The man recover'd of the bite,
APRIL 3, 1800. The dog it was that dy'd.
E'en have you seen, bath'd in the morning dew,
The budding rose its infant bloom display: THE CLOWN'S REPLY.
When first its virgin tints unfold to view,
It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day. Joax Trott was desir'd by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses bad ears?
So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, (cheek; “An't please you,” quoth John, “ I'm not given I gaz'd, I sigh’d, I caught the tender flame,
Youth's damask glow just. dawning on her to letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion
weak. Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your
graces, As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses."
TO THE EDITORS.
Goldsmith, which has never been published, and
I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admira.
ble comedy of She Stoops to Conquer, but Wuen lovely woman stoops to folly,
it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the And finds too late that men betray,
part, did not sing. He sung it himself, priWhat charm can sooth her melancholy,
vate companies, very agreeably. The tune is a What art can wash her guilt away?
pretty Irish air, called, The Humours of BaThe only art her guilt to cover,
jamnagairy, to which he told me he found it To hide her shame from ev'ry eye,
very difficult to adapt words: but he has sucTo give repentance to her lover,
ceeded very happily in these few lines. As I And wring his bosom-is, to die.
could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding
him adien for that season, little apprehending DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S
that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little BED-CHAMBER.
relic, in his own hand writing, with an affectioWhere the Red Lion), staring o'er the way,
nate care, lam, gentlemen, Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
your humble servant,
JAMES BOSWELL, Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black cham
paign, Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;
SONG, There in a lonely room, fro:n bailiffs snug, 'The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF rug ; A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
Au me! when shall I marry me? The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me. The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ;
He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.
Makes but a penitent and loses a lover.
STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney
Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.