What profits me, that I in charms have skill,
And ghofts, and goblins, order as I will,
Yet have, with all my charms, no power to lay
The fprite that breaks my quiet night and day?
HOBBINO L.
O, that, like Colin, I had skill in rhymes,
To purchase credit with fucceeding times!
Sweet Colin Clout! who never, yet, had peer;
Who fung through all the seasons of the year.
LANQUE T.
Let me, like Merlin, fing: his voice had power
To free the 'clipfing moon at midnight hour:
And, as he sung, the Fairies with their queen,
In mantles blue, came tripping o'er the green.
Laft eve of May did I not hear them fing,
And fee their dance? And I can fhew the ring,
Where, hand in hand, they fhift their feet fo light:
The grafs fprings greener from their tread by night.
LANQUE T.
But haft thou seen their king, in rich array,
Fam'd Oberon, with damask'd robe so gay,
And gemmy crown, by moonshine sparkling far,
And azure fceptre, pointed with a star ?
Here end your pleafing ftrife. Both victors are;
And both with Colin may, in rhyme, compare.
A boxen hautboy, loud, and fweet of found,
All varnish'd, and with brazen ringlets bound,
To each I give. A mizzling mist descends
Adown that steepy rock : and this way tends
Yon diftant rain. Shoreward the vessels strive;
And, fee, the boys their flocks to shelter drive.
EASE your mufic, gentle fwains :
Saw ye Delia cross the plains?
Every thicket, every grove,
Have I rang'd, to find my love:
A kid, a lamb, my flock, I give,
Tell me only, doth fhe live?
White her skin as mountain-fnow;
In her cheek the rofes blow:
And her eye is brighter far
Than the beamy morning star.
When her ruddy lip ye view,
'Tis a berry moist with dew:
And her breath, oh, 'tis a gale
Paffing o'er a fragrant vale,
Paffing, when a friendly fhower
Freshens every herb and flower.
Wide her bofom opens, gay
As the primrofe-dell in May,
Sweet as violet-borders growing
Over fountains ever-flowing.
Like the tendrils of the vine,
Do her auburn treffes twine,
Gloffy ringlets all behind
Streaming buxom to the wind,
When along the lawn fhe bounds,
Light, as hind before the hounds:
And the youthful ring the fires,
Hopeless in their fond defires,
As her flitting feet advance,
Wanton in the winding dance..
Tell me, fhepherds, have ye feen
My delight, my love, my queen?
AVE ye feen the morning fky,
When the dawn prevails on high,
When, anon, fome purply ray
Gives a fample of the day,
When, anon, the lark, on wing,
Strives to foar, and ftrains to fing?
Have ye feen th' ethereal blue
Gently shedding filvery dew,
Spangling o'er the filent green,
While the nightingale, unfeen,
To the moon and ftars, full bright,
Lonefome chants the hymn of night?
Have ye feen the broider'd May
All her fcented bloom display,.
Breezes opening, every hour,
This, and that, expecting flower,
While the mingling birds prolong,
From each bufh, the vernal fong?
Have ye feen the damaík-rofe
Her unfully'd blush disclose,
Or the lily's dewy bell,
In her gloffy white, excell,
Or a garden vary'd o'er
With a thousand glories more?
By the beauties these display,
Morning, evening, night, or day,
By the pleasures thefe excite,
Endless fource of delight!
Judge, by them, the joys I find,
Since my Rofalind was kind,
Since she did herself refign
To my vows, for ever mine.
DESIRED ME TO WRITE ON THE DEATH OF KING WILLIAM.
TRUST me, dear George, could I in verfe but show
What forrow I, what forrow all men, owe
To Naffau's fate, or could I hope to raise
A fong proportion'd to the monarch's praife,
Could I his merits, or my grief, exprefs,
And proper thoughts in proper language drefs,
Unbidden fhould my pious numbers flow,
The tribute of a heart o'ercharg'd with, woe;
But, rather than prophane his facred hearfe
With languid praifes, and unhallow'd verfe,
My fighs I to myself in filence keep,
And inwardly, with fecret anguifh, weep.
Let Halifax's Mufe (he knew him well)
His virtues to fucceeding ages tell.
Let him, who fung the warrior on the Boyne,
(Provoking Dorfet in the task to join)
And fhew'd the hero more than man before,
Let him th' illuftrious mortal's fate deplore;
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