CELIA and I the other day
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea;
The setting sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost;
And on the surface of the deep
The winds lay, only not asleep:
The nymph did, like the scene, appear
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair;
Soft fell her words as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.
But, oh the change! the winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars,
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight,`
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore or view the main.
Once more, at least, look back, said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry;
When thou art in good humour drest,
When gentle reason rules thy breast,
The sun, upon the calmest sea,
Appears not half so bright as thee;
Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of love;
I bless my chain, I hand my oar,
Nor think on all I left on shore.
But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear,
When the big lip and wat❜ry eye
Tell me the rising storm is nigh,
'Tis then thou art yon' angry main,
Deform'd by winds and dash'd by rain;
And the poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labours less than I.
Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make,
While Love and Fate still drive me back:
Forc'd to dote on thee thy own way,
I chide thee first, and then obey.
Wretched, when from thee; vex'd, when nigh; I with thee or without thee die.
VENUS, take my votive glass,
Since I am not what I was;
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.
As the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own,
But borrows from his neighbour's hue
His white or black, his green or blue,
And struts as much in ready light,
Which credit gives him upon sight,
As if the rainbow were in tail
Settled on him and his heirs-male;
So the young 'squire, when first he comes
From country school to Will's or Tom's,
And equally in truth is fit
To be a statesman or a wit,
Without one notion of his own,
He saunters wildly up and down,
Till some acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the gang;⠀
They jest, reply, dispute, harangue;
He acts and talks as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him. Thus merely as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances.
If haply he the sect pursues,
That read and comment upon news,
He takes up their mysterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace:
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have said the week before;
His wisdom sets all Europe right,
And teaches Marlbro when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet
With folks who have more wealth than wit,
He loves cheap Port and double bub,
And settles in the Humdrum club:
He learns how stocks will fall or rise;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation,
And says that learning spoils a nation.
But if at first he minds his hits,
And drinks Champaigne among the wits,
Five deep he toasts the tow'ring lasses,
Repeats you verses wrote on glasses:
Is in the chair, prescribes the law,
And lies with those he never saw.
SAY, sire of insects, mighty Sol,
(A fly upon the chariot-pole
Cries out) What blue-bottle alive
Did ever with such fury drive?
Tell Belzebub, great Father, tell,
(Says t'other, perch'd upon the wheel) Did ever any mortal fly
Raise such a cloud of dust as I?
My judgment turn'd the whole debate; My valour sav'd the sinking state.
So talk two idle buzzing things,
Toss up their heads, and stretch their wings,
But let the truth to light be brought,
This neither spoke por t'other fought;
No merit in their own behav❜our;
Both rais'd, but by their party's favour.
HUS Kitty, beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untam'd,
Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,
With little rage inflam'd.
Inflam'd with rage at sad restraint
Which wise mamma ordain'd, And sorely vex'd to play the saint, Whilst wit and beauty reign'd.
Shall I thumb holy books, confin'd
With Abigails, forsaken?
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