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Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an' chafe thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly forry man's dominion
Has broken nature's focial union,
An' juftifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee ftartle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beaftie, thou maunl ive! A diamen-icker in a thrave

'S a ima' request;

I'll get a bleffing wi' the lave,
An' never mifs 't!

Thy wee bit boufie, too, in ruin!
Its filly wa's the wins are ftrewing;
An' nacthing, now, to big a new ane
O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's wind, enfuin,
Baith fnell and keen!

Thou faw the field laid bare and waste,
An' weary winter coming faft,
An' cozie here, beneath the blaft,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter paft
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' fibble
Has coft thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But houfe or hald,

To thole the winter's fleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Moufie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving forefight may be vain:
The beft-laid fchemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis d joy!

Still thou art bleft, compar'd wi' me!
The prefent only toucheth thee:
But, och! I backward caft my c'e
On profpects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna fee,

I guess an' fear.

§ 163. To a Mountain Daily, on turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786. BURNS. WEE, modeft, crimson-tipped flow'r,

Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the ftoure
Thy flender ftem:

To fpare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonie gem!

Alas! its no thy neebor fweet
The bonie lark, companion meet!

Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet!
W' fpreckl'd breaft,
When upward-fpringing, blythe, to greet
The purpling east :

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the ftorm,

Scarce rear'd above the parent-carth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,
High fheltering woods an' wa's maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O' clod or ftane,

Adorns the hiftie ftibble-field,
Unfeen, alane.

There in thy fcanty mantle clad,
Thy fnawie bofom fun-ward fpread,
Thou lifts thy unaffuming head
In humble guife;

But now the bare up tears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artlefs maid,
Sweet flouret of the rural fhade!
By love's fimplicity betray'd,

And guilelefs truft,
Till fhe, like thee, all foil'd, is laid
Low i' the duft.

Such is the fate of fimple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!
Unfkilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er !

Such fate to fuffering Worth is giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has ftriv's,
By human pride or cunning driv'n
To Mis'ry's brink,
Till wrench'd of every ftay but Heaven,
He, ruin'd, fink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine-no diftant date:
Stern ruin's plough-share drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till, crush'd, beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!

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Who, driven with ungovernable fire, Or void of art, beyond these bounds afpire, Gigantic forms and monstrous births alone Produce, which Nature shock'd difdains to own. By true reflection I would fee my face, Why brings the fool a magnifying glafs? "But poetry in fiction takes delight, "And, mounting in bold figures out of fight, "Leaves Truth behind in her audacious flight: "Fables and metaphors, that always lye, "And rash hyperboles that foar fo high, "And ev'ry ornament of verfe muft die." Mistake me not: no figures I exclude, And but forbid intemperance, not food. Who would with care fome happy fiction frame, So mimics truth, it looks the very fame; Not rais'd to force, or feign'd in Nature's fcorn, But meant to grace, illuftrate, and adorn, Important truths ftill let your fables hold, And moral myfteries with art unfold: Ladies and beaus to please, is all the task; But the fharp critic will inftruction ask. As veils tranfparent cover, but not hide, Such metaphors appear, when right applied; When through the phrafe we plainly fee the fenfe, Truth with fuch obvious meanings will difpenfe. The reader what in reafon 's due believes, Nor can we call that falfe which not deceives: Hyperboles, fo daring and fo bold, Difdaining bounds, are yet by rules controul'd; Above the clouds, but yet within our sight, They mount with Truth, and make a tow'ring Prefenting things impoffible to view, [flight: They wander through incredible to true. Falfehoods thus mix'd like metals are refin'd; And Truth, like filver, leaves the drofs behind. Thus Poetry has ample space to foar, Nor needs forbidden regions to explore; Such vaunts as his, who can with patience read, Who thus defcribes his hero when he 's dead"In heat of action flain, yet fcorns to fail, "But ftill maintains the war, and fights at-All?" The noify culverin, o'er-charg'd, lets fly, And bursts, unaiming, in the rended fky; Such frantic flights are like a madman's dream, And Nature futters in the wild extreme, The captive cannibal, oppreft with chains, Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, difdains; Of nature fierce, untameable, and proud, He bids defiance to the gaping crowd; And spent at last, and speechless, as he lies, With fiery glances mocks their rage, and dies. This is the utmoft ftretch that Nature can, And all beyond is fulfome, falfe, and vain. The Roman wit, who impioufly divides His hero and his gods to different fides, I would condemn, but that, in fpite of fenfe, Th' admiring world ftill ftands in his defence: The gods permitting traitors to fucceed, Become not parties in an impious deed; And, by the tyrant's murder, we may find That Cato and the gods were of a mind. Thus forcing truth with fuch prepoft rous praife, Our characters we leffen when we 'd raife;

Like caftles built by magic art in air,
That vanish at approach, fuch thoughts appear;
But, rais'd on truth by fome judicious hand,
As on a rock they shall for ages ftand.

Our king return'd, and banish'd peace reftor'd,
The Mufe ran mad to fee her exil'd lord;
On the crack'd ftage the Bedlam heroes roar'd,
And scarce could fpeak one reafonable word:
Dryden himself, to please a frantic age,
Was forc'd to let his judgment ftoop to rage;
To a wild audience he conform'd his voice,
Complied to custom, but not crr'd through choice.
Deem then the people's, not the writer's fin,
Almanfor's rage, and rants of Maximin;
That fury fpent in each elaborate piece,
He vies for fame with ancient Rome and Greece.
Rofcommon first, then Mulgrave rofe, like light,
To clear our darknefs, and to guide our flight;
With steady judgment, and in lofty founds,
They gave us patterns, and they fet us bounds.
The Stagyrite and Horace laid afide,
Inform'd by them, we need no foreign guide.
Who feek from poetry a lafting name,
May from their leffons learn the road to fame;
But let the bold adventurer be fure
That ev'ry line the test of truth endure;
On this foundation may the fabric rife
Firm and unfhaken, till it touch the skies.
Frem pulpits banish'd, from the court, from love,
Abandon'd Truth feeks fhelter in the grove;
Cherish, ye Muses, the forfaken fair,
And take into your train this beauteous wanderer.

$165. To Mr. Spence, prefixed to the Effay on Pope's Odyfey. PITT.

'TIS

'IS done—reftor'd by thy immortal pen, The critic's noble name revives again; Once more that great, that injur'd name we fee Shine forth alike in Addifon and thee.

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Like curs, our critics haunt the poet's feaft,
And feed on fcraps refus'd by ev'ry gueft;
| From the old Thracian dog they learn'd the way
To fnarl in want, and grumble o'er their prey:
As though they grudg'd themfelves the joys they
feel,

Vex'd to be charm'd, and pleas'd against their will,
Such their inverted tafte, that we expect
For faults their thanks, for beauties their neglect.
So the fell fnake rejects the fragrant flow'rs,
And ev'ry poifon of the field devours.

Like bold Longinus of immortal fame,
You read your poet with a poet's flame;
With his, your gen'rous raptures still afpire;
The critic kindies when the bard 's on fire.
But when fome lame, fome limping line demands
The friendly fuccour of your healing hands;
The feather of your pen drops balm around,
And plays, and tickles, while it cures the wound.
While Pope's immortal labour we furvey,
We ftand all dazzled with excess of day,
Blind with the glorious blaze-to vulgar fight
'Twas one bright mafs of undiftinguish'd light;
But, like the tow'ring cagle, you alone
Difcern'd the fpots and fplendors of the fun.

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To point out faults, yet never to offend; To play the critic, yet preferve the friend; A life well spent, that never loft a day; An eafy fpirit, innocently gay; A ftrict integrity, devoid of art; The fweeteft manners, and fincereft heart; A foul, where depth of fenfe and fancy meet; A judgment brighten'd by the beams of witWere ever yours: be what you were before, Be fill yourself; the world can ask no more.

$166. The Enquiry. Written in the laft Century. AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd,

Love and my fighs thus intertalk'd: Tell me, faid I, in deep distress, • Where may I find my thepherdefs?' "Thou fool, faid Love, know'st thou not this? "In ev'ry thing that's good, she is; "In yonder tulip go and feck, "There thou may ft find her lip, her cheek; "In yon enamell'd panfy by,

"There thou fhalt have her curious eye;
"In bloom of peach, in rofy bud,
"There wave the ftreamers of her blood;
"In brighteft lilies that there ftand,
"The emblems of her whiter hand;
"In yonder rifing hill there imell
"Such fweets as in her bofom dwell:
"'Tis true," faid he. And thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of p. rts an union;
But on a fudden all was gone.

With that I ftopp'd. Said Love, "These be,
"Fond man, refemblances of thee;
"And as thefe flow'rs thy joys fhall die,
* E'en in the twinkling of an eye;
"And all thy hopes of her shall wither,
"Like these fhort fweets that knit together."

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know,

And my good friend the callender
Will lend his horse to go.

Quoth Miftrefs Gilpin, That 's well faid;
And, for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish'd with our own,

Which is both bright and clear.
John Gilpin kifs'd his loving wife;
O'erjoy'd was he to find

That, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaife was brought,
But yet was not allow'd

To drive up to the door, left all

Should fay that he was proud.

So three doors off the chaife was stay'd,
Where they did all get in,

Six precious fouls, and all agog

To dath through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folks fo glad;

The ftones did rattle underneath
As if Cheapfide were mad.
John Gilpin at his horfe's fide
Seiz'd faft the flowing mane
And up he got in hafte to ride,
But foon came down again:
For faddle-tree fcarce reach'd had he,
His journey to begin,

When, turning round his head, he saw
Three cuftomers come in.

So down he came; for lofs of time,
Although it griev'd him fore,

Yet lofs of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.

'Twas long before the customers
Were fuited to their mind;

§ 167. The Diverting History of John Gilpin: When Betty fcreaming came down stairs, Jhewing bow he went farther than he intended,

and came fafe home again. JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he

COW PER.

Of famous London town. John Gilpin's spouse faid to her dear, Though wedded we have been Thefe twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen. To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair Unto the Beil at Edmonton, All in a chaife and pair.

My fifter and my fifter's child,

Myfelf and children three,

Will fill the chaise, so you must ride On horfeback after we.

He foon replied, I do admire

Of womankind but one;

And you are the, my dearest dear,
Therefore it fhall be done.

"The wine is left behind !"
Good lack quoth he-yet bring it me
My leathern belt likewife,

In which I bear my trusty fword
When I do exercise.
Now Miftrefs Gilpin, careful foul!

Had two ftone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that the lov`d,

And keep it fafe and found.

Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew
And hung a bottle on each fide,
To make his balance true;

Then over all, that he might be.
Equipp'd from top to toe,

His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat,
He manfully did throw.

Now fee him mounted once again

Upon his nimble freed,
Full flowly pacing o'er the stones
With caution and good heed,

But

But finding foon a fimoother road
Beneath his well-fhod feet,
The fnorting beaft began to trot,
Which gail'd him in his feat.
So, fair and fofily, John he cried,
But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop foon,
In spite of curb and rein.

So ftooping down, as needs he muft
Who cannot fit upright,

He grafp'd the mane with both his hands,
And cke with all his might.

His horfe, who never in that fort

Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought,
Away went hat and wig;
He litle dreamt, when he fat out,
Of running fuch a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like ftreamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,
At laft it flew away.
Then might all people well difcern
The bottles he had flung;
A bottle fwinging at each fide,

As hath been faid or fung.

The dogs did bark, the children fcream'd,
Up flew the windows all;
And ev'ry foul cried out, Well done!
As loud as he could bawl.
Away went Gilpin-who but he;
His fame foon fpread around-
He carries weight! he rides a race!
'Tis for a thousand pound.
And fill as fast as he drew near
'Twas wonderful to view
How in a trice the turnpike-men
Their gates wide open threw.

And now as he went bowing down
His recking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were fhatter'd at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,
Moft pitcous to be feen,

Which made his horfe's flanks to smoke
As they had bafted been.

But ftill he feem'd to carry weight,
With leathern girdle brac'd;
For all might fee the bottle-necks
Still dangling at his waift.
Thus all through merry Iflington
Thefe gambols he did play,
And till he came unto the Wash
Of Edmonton fo gay.

And there he threw the wash about

On both fides of the way, Juft like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild goofe at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife

From balcony efpied

Her tender husband, wond'ring much
To fee how he did ride.

Stop, ftop, John Gilpin ! here's the house→
They all at once did cry;

The dinner waits, and we are tir'd:
Said Gilpin-So am I.

But yet his horfe was not a whit
Inclin'd to tarry there;

For why his owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware.

So like an arrow fwift he flew,
Shot by an archer ftrong;
So did he fly-which brings me to
The middle of any fong.
Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
And fore against his will,

Till at his friend's the callender's
His horse at last stood still.

The callender, amaz'd to fee

His neighbour in fuch trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accofted him;

What news! what news! your tidings tell,
Tell me you must and fhall-
Say why bare-headed you are come,
Or why you come at all?

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And lov'd a timely joke;
And thus unto the callender
In merry guife he spoke:

I came because your horfe would come &
And, if I well forebode,
My hat and wig will foon be here,
They are upon the road.
The callender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return'd him not a fingle word,
But to the houfe went in;

When straight he came with hat and wig,
A wig that flow'd behind,

A hat not much the worfe for wear,
Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn

Thus fhew'd his ready wit:
My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs muft fit.
But let me fcrape the dirt away
That hangs upon your face;
And ftop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry cafe.

Said John, It is my wedding day;

And all the world would ftare, If wife fhould dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Warc.

So turning to his horfe he faid,

I am in hafte to dine:

'Twas for your pleafure you came here, You fhall go back for mine.

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Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast !

For which he paid full dear; For while he fpake a braying afs

Did fing moft loud and clear;
Whereat his horfe did fnort, as he

Had heard a lion roar ;
And gallop'd off with all his might,
As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig;
He loft them fooner than at first,
For why they were too big.
Now Miftrefs Gilpin, when the faw
Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,

She pull'd out half a crown;
And thus unto the youth fhe faid

That drove them to the Bell,
This fhall be yours when you bring back
My husband fafe and well.

The youth did ride, and foon did meet
John coming back amain,
Whom in a trice he tried to ftop
By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted fteed he frighted more,

And made him fafter run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went poft-boy at his heels,
The poft-boy's horfe right glad to miss
The lumb'ring of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus feeing Gilpin fly,

With poft-boy fcamp'ring in the rear,
They rais'd the hue and cry:
Stop thief! ftop thief!-a highwayman!
Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that pafs'd that way
Did join in the purfuit..

And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in fhort space;
The toll-men thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.

And fo he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town,
Nor ftopp'd till where he first got up
He did again get down.
Now let us fing, Long live the king,
And Gilpin, long live he;
And when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to fee!

8168. An Evening Contemplation in a College; in Imitation of Gray's Elegy in a County Church-yard,

DUNCOMBE. TH HE curfew tolls the hour of clofing gates, With jaring found the porter turns the key; Then in his dreary manfion flumb'ring waits,

And flowly, sternly, quits it, though for me.

Now fhine the fpires beneath the paly moon,
And thro' the cloifters peace and filence reign;
Save where fome fidler fcrapes a dowly tune,

Or copious bowls infpire a jovial strain;
Save that in yonder cobweb-mantled room,
Where fleeps a ftudent in profound repofe
Opprefs'd with ale, wide echoes thro' the gloom
The droning mufic of his vocal nofe.

Within thofe walls, where thro' the glimmering fhade

Appear the pamphlets in a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow bed till morning laid,

The peaceful fellows of the college fleep. The tinkling bell proclaiming early pray'rs, The noify fervants rattling o'er their head, The calls of bufinefs, and domeftic cares,

Ne'er route thefe Aleepers from their downy bed. No chattering females crowd their focial fire,

No dread have they of difcord and of ftrife; Unknown the names of husband and of fire, Unfelt the plagues of matrimonial life.

Oft have they bafk'd beneath the funny walls, Oft have the benches bow'd beneath their weight,

How jocund are their looks when dinner calls! How smoke the cutlets on their crowded plate! O! let not temperance, too disdainful, hear

How long their feasts, how long their dinners last: Nor let the fair, with a contemptuous fneer,

On thefe unmarried men reflections caft! The fplendid fortune and the beauteous face

(Themfelves confefs it, and their fires bemoan) Too foon are caught by fcarlet and by lace;

Thefe fons of fcience fhine in black alone. Forgive, ye fair, th' involuntary fault, If thefe no feats of gaiety difplay, Where through proud Ranelagh's wide-echoing

vault

Melodious Frafi trills her quavering lay. Say, is the fword well fuited to the band?

Does broider'd coat agree with fable gown? Can Mechlin laces thade a churchman's hand? Or learning's votaries ape the beaus of town? Perhaps in thefe time-tottering walls refide

Some who were once the darling of the fair, Some who of old could taftes and fashions guide, Control the manager, and awe the player. But Science now has fill'd their vacant mind With Rome's rich fpoils, and truth's exalted views,

Fir'd them with tranfports of a nobler kind,

And bade them flight all females-but the mufe: Full many a lark, high towering to the fky,

Unheard, unheeded. greets th'approach of light; Full many a fter, unfeen by mortal eye, [night. With twinkling luftre glimmers through the Some future Herring, who, with dauntless breast, Rebellion's torrent fhall like him oppose, Some mute, unconscious Hardwicke hiere may reft, Some Pelkam, dreadful to his country's foes. From

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