The dinner comes, and down they sit :
Were e'er such hungry folk?
There's little talking and no wit;
It is no time to joke.

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,
One spits upon the floor,

Yet, not to give offence or grieve,
Holds up the cloth before.

The punch goes round, and they are dull
And lumpish still as ever;

Like barrels with their bellies full,
They only weigh the heavier.

At length the busy time begins,
"Come, neighbours we must wag

The money chinks, down drop their chins,
Each lugging out his bag.

One talks of mildew and of frost,

And one of storms of hail,

And one, of pigs that he has lost
By maggots at the tail.

Quoth one, A rarer man than you
In pulpit none shall hear :

But yet, methinks, to tell you true,
You sell it plaguy dear.

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56

Oh, why are farmers made so coarse,

Or clergy made so fine!

A kick that scarce would move a horse

May kill a sound divine.

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Then let the boobies stay at home;
"Twould cost him, I dare say,
Less trouble taking twice the sum,
Without the clowns that pay.

THE MODERN PATRIOT

[Written Feb., 1780. Published 1782.] REBELLION is my theme all day; I only wish 'twould come

(As who knows but perhaps it may ?)
A little nearer home.

Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight
On t'other side th' Atlantic,

I always held them in the right,
But most so when most frantic.
38 Were] Was BM.

When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.

But oh! for him my fancy culls
The choicest flow'rs she bears,
Who constitutionally pulls

Your house about your ears.

Such civil broils are my delight;
Though some folks can't endure 'em,
Who say the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure 'em.

A rope! I wish we patriots had
Such strings for all who need 'em
What! hang a man for going mad?
Then farewell British freedom.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM [Written Feb., 1780. Published 1782.]

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangu'd him thus, right eloquent-
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same pow'r divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night..

The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Releas'd him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.

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Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real int rest to discern;

That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting in each other's case
The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name
Who studiously make peace their aim;
Peace, both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.

A FABLE

[Written May 9, 1780. Published 1782. There is a copy
among the Ash MSS.]
A RAVEN, While with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And on her wicker-work high mounted
Her chickens prematurely counted,
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same)
Enjoy'd at ease the genial day;
"Twas April as the bumpkins say,
The legislature call'd it May.
But suddenly a wind as high
As ever swept a winter sky

Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fill'd her with a thousand fears,

Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears were hush'd together:
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,
'Tis over, and the brood is safe;

(For Ravens, though, as birds of omen,
They teach both conj'rers and old women
To tell us what is to befall,

Can't prophesy themselves at all.)

The morning came, when neighbour Hodge,
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge,

And destin'd all the treasure there

A gift to his expecting fair,

14, 15 Instead of these two lines A. has:

Lest the rude Blast that Threatn'd so,

And Rocked her Cradle to and fro,

Should split the Trunk, or snap the Bough
Then fruitless all her Hopes to see,
A Pretty gaping Progeny.

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Climb'd like a squirrel to his dray,
And bore the worthless prize away.

MORAL

'Tis Providence alone secures,

In every change, but mine and your's:
Safety consists not in escape

From dangers of a frightful shape;
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a hair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oft'nest in what least we dread,
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.

THE DOVES

[Written May, 1780. Published 1782. There is a copy among the Ash MSS. entitled Anti-thelyphthora.]

REAS'NING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,

While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.

One silent eve I wander'd late,
And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus address'd her mate,
And sooth'd the list ning dove--

Our mutual bond of faith and truth,
No time shall disengage;
Those blessings of our early youth
Shall cheer our latest age:

While innocence without disguise,

And constancy sincere,

Shall fill the circles of those eyes,

And mine can read them there;

Those ills that wait on all below
Shall ne'er be felt by me,

Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shar'd with thee.

When lightnings flash among the trees,

Or kites are hov'ring near,

I fear lest thee alone they seize,

And know no other fear.

Before verse 1 A. has:

Muse, mark the much lamented day,
When, like a tempest fear'd,

Forth issuing on the last of May

Thelyphthora appear'd.

5 One silent] That fatal A,

8

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'Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Resolv'd an union form'd for life
Death never shall divide.

But oh! if, fickle and unchaste,
(Forgive a transient thought)
Thou couldst become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot,

No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak;

Denied th' endearments of thine eye,
This widow'd heart would break.

Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird
Soft as the passing wind,

And I recorded what I heard

A lesson for mankind.

A COMPARISON

[Written (?). Published 1782. MS. copies of this and the next poem are in the British Museum.]

THE lapse of time and rivers is the same;

Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; The silent pace with which they steal away

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No wealth can bribe, no pray'rs persuade to stay; Alike irrevocable both when past,

And a wide ocean swallows both at last.

Though each resemble each in ev'ry part,

A difference strikes at length the musing heart; Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound, How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd! But time that should enrich the nobler mind, Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind.

ANOTHER

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY

[Written June, 1780. Published 1782.]

SWEET stream that winds thro' yonder glade,

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid-

Silent and chaste she steals along,

Far from the world's gay busy throng,

With gentle, yet prevailing, force
Intent upon her destin'd course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes,
Pure-bosom'd as that wat'ry glass,
And heav'n reflected in her face.

31 could 1787-1800,

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