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Which still their ancient nature keep
By lodging folks disposed to sleep.
The cottage by such feats as these
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then desired their host
To ask for what he fancied most.
Philemon, having paused a while,
Return'd them thanks in homely style :
Then said, “ My house is grown so fine,
Methinks I still would call it mine ;
I'm old, and fain would live at ease ;
Make me the parson, if you please.”
He spoke, and presently he feels
His grazier's coat fall down his heels :
He sees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-sleeve ;
His waistcoat to a cassoc grew,
And both assumed a sable hue ;
But, being old, continued just
As threadbare, and as full of dust.
His talk was now of tithes and dues :
He smoked his pipe, and read the news;
Knew how to preach old sermons next,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text;
At christenings well could act his part,
And had the service all by heart;
Wish'd women might have children fast,
And thought whose sow had farrow'd last;
Against dissenters would repine,
And stood up firm for right divine ;
Found his head fill'd with many a system :
But classic authors,-he ne'er miss'd 'em.
Thus having furbish'd up a parson, Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.
Instead of homespun coifs, were seen
Good pinners edged with colberteen ;
Her petticoat, transform'd apace,
Became black satin flounced with lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down ;
'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown,
Philemon was in great surprise,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amazed to see her look so prim ;
And she admired as much at him.
Thus happy in their change of life
Were several years this man and wife ;
When on a day, which proved their last,
Discoursing o'er old stories past,
They went by chance, amidst their talk,
To the churchyard to take a walk ;
When Baucis hastily cried out,
" My dear, I see your forehead sprout !"
“ Sprout !” quoth the man; “ what's this you
tell us ?
I hope you don't believe me jealous !
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really yours is budding too-
Nay,—now I cannot stir my foot ;
It feels as if 'twere taking root.”
Description would but tire my Muse;
In short, they both were turn’d to yews.
Old Goodman Dobson of the green
Remembers, he the trees has seen ;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to show the sight :
On Sundays, after evening prayer,
He gathers all the parish there ;
Points out the place of either yew;
Here Baucis, there Philemon grew:
Till once a parson of our town,
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down :
At which 'tis hard to be believed
How much the other tree was grieved,
Grew scrubbed, died a-top, was stunted ;
So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it.
MORNING. Now hardly here and there an hackney coach Appearing, show'd the ruddy Morn's approach. Now Betty from her master's bed had flown, And softly stole to discompose her own; The slipshod 'prentice from his master's door Had pared the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor. Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dexterous
airs, Prepared to scrub the entry and the stairs. The youth with broomy stumps began to trace The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the
place. The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep, Till drown'd in shriller notes of chimney-sweep. Duns at his lordship’s gate began to meet ; And brickdust Moll had scream'd through half
the street. The turnkey now his flock returning sees, Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees : The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands, And schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands.
BORN 1688—DIED 1744.
FROM THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.
AND now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores,
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic powers.
A heavenly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears ;
Th’inferior priestess, at her altar side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various offerings of the world appear ;
From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, Bibles, billet-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face :
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy sylphs surround their darling care ; These set the head, and those divide the hair ; Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown ; And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own.
This day, black omens threat the brightest fair
That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care ;
Some dire disaster, or by force, or sleight;
But what, or where, the fates have wrapp'd in
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law,
Or some frail china-jar receive a flaw;
Or stain her honour, or her new brocade ;
Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade ;
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball;
Or whether Heav'n has deem'd that Shock must
fall. Haste then, ye spirits ! to your charge repair : . The fluttering fan be Zephyretta's care ; The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign ; : And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine : Do thou, Crispissa, tend her favourite Lock ; Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock.
To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note, We trust th' important charge, the petticoat: Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to fail, Though stiff with hoops, and arm’d with ribs of
whale, Form a strong line about the silver bound, And guard the wide circumference around.