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And fruitful fields, I learn the price of stocks,
Then come, my friend ! 'tis nature's self invites ; Leave London's toilsome days and anxious nights ; Indulgent Heav'n has multiplied thy store, Enough for thee, and canst thou wish for more ? To rival patriots leave the sinking státe, Nor hope to show thy talent for debate. Here, in the midst of exercise and health, Thy mind shall learn the real use of wealth; In stepping wide from Mammon's sordid elves, And doing good to others, and ourselves.
BENEATH a shade, near Inner-Temple Lane,
“ Ah! Easter Monday! Day for ever dear !
Through clouds of dust I bent my joyous way,
heart was gay;
Long has the maid my youthful bosom fir'd,
tAs lately at the river's brink I stood, In meditation deep, at Hornsey Wood,
* Nymphæ, noster amor, Libethrides, aut mihi carmen,
Quale meo Crodo, &c. &c.
Cum placidum ventis staret mare. Non ego Daphnin,
I, while the sun delay'd his parting beam,
face reflected in the stream; My eyes look'd bright, with diffidence I speak, And youthful blushes glow'd upon my cheek ; I mark'd my form, to Vestris no disgrace, Where just proportion vied with manly grace : But, since these beauties charm my love no more, I shun the fountains that I sought before ; From billiards, rackets, quoits, and cricket flee;And taw and skittles have no charms for me.
Canst thou forget, when, warm with love and ale, I whisper'd in thine ear my tender tale ? How didst thou blush at Cupid's soft command, (The glass of negus trembling in thy hand !) And sighing, promise everlasting truth, If I would take thee but to Saunders' booth, To see the tailor, in equestrian pride, With crupper, whip, and spur, to Brentford ride ? Did I not show thee ev'ry kind of fun ;Cows with two heads, that never had but one; Sage necromancers, who, to conjuring prone, Tell ev'ry body's fortunes but their own; And Lady Morgan short, and Patrick tall ? No Yorkshire club was ours—I paid for all. Yes, cruel maid ! and no reward I seek, 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 !
* 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