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To wish thee fairer is no need,

More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed

From temper flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possess'd

Can I for thee require,
In wedded love already blest,

To thy whole heart's desire ?

None here is happy but in part.

Full bliss is bliss divine:
There dwells some wish in ev'ry heart,

And doubtless one in thine.

That wish on some fair future day,

Which Fate shall brightly gild, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may,)

I wish it all fulfill'd.


On an Inkglass almost dried in the sun

PATRON of all those luckless brains,

That, to the wrong side leaning, Indite much metre with much pains,

And little or no meaning.

And why, since oceans, rivers, streams,

That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,
In constant exhalations ;

Why, stooping from the noon of day,

Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stol'n away

A poet's drop of ink ?
Upborne into the viewless air,

It floats a vapour now,
Impell’d through regions dense and rare,

By all the winds that blow.
Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flios,

Combin'd with millions more, * To form an Iris in the skies,

Though black and foul before.
Ilustrious drop! and happy then

Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever pass'd my pen,

So soon to be forgot.
Phæbus, if such be thy design,

To place it in thy bow,
Give wit, that what is left may sline

With equal grace below.



I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rosseau,"

If birds confabulate or no; * It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philoso. pher, that all fables, which ascribe reason and speech to animals, shonld be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses?

"Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse--at least in fable;
And e'en the child who knows no better,
Than to interpret by the letter,
A story of a cock and bull,
Must have a most uncommon skull.

It chanc'd then on a winter's day,
But warm, and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestall sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembed on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much chattor,
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bulfinch, who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, op'ring wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak ;
And, silence publickly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind :

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we meet;
I fear we shall have winter yet.

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
With golden wing, and satin poll,
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied :

Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
Opposite in the apple tree,
By his good will would keep us single
Till yonder Heav'n and earth shall mingle
Or, (which is likelier to befall,)
Till death exterminate us all.
I marry without more ado,
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ?

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting, and sideling,

Attested, glad, his approbation
Of an immediate conjugation,
Their sentiments, so well expressid,
Infinenc'd mightily the rest,
All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.

But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves came on not quite so fast,
And destiny, that sometimes bears
An aspect stern on man's affairs,
Not altogether smild on theirs.
The wind of late breath'd gently forth,
Now shifted east, and east by north;
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
Could shelter them from rain or snow.
Stepping into their nests, they paddled,
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled,
Soon ev'ry father bird and mother
Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other,
Parted without the least regret,
Except that they had never met;
And learn'd, in future, to be wiser
Than to neglect a good adviser.


Misses ! the tale that I relate

This lesson seems to carry
Choose not alone a proper mate,

But proper time, to marry.





TIIE noon was shady, and soft airs

Swept Ouse's silent tide,
When, scap'd from literary cares,

I wander'd on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his racó,

And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs* adorn'd with ev'ry grace

That spaniel found for me.)
Now wanton'd lost in flags and recds,

Now starting into sight,
Pursu'd the swallow o'er the meads

With scarce a slower flight.
It was the time when Ouse display'd

His lilies newly blown;
Their beauties I intent survey'd,

And one I wish'd my own.
With cane extended far I sought

To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escap'd my eager hand.

* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters

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