12 Now taste and try this temper, sirs,

Mood it and brood it in your breast;
Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,

That man does right to mar his rest,
Let me be deft, and debonair,

I am content, I do not care.

A PASTORAL.

1 My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent,
When Phoebe went with me wherever I went;
Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast:
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest!
But now she is gone, and has left me behind,
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find!
When things were as fine as could possibly be,
I thought 'twas the Spring; but alas! it was she.

2 With such a companion to tend a few sheep,

To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep:
I was so good-humoured, so cheerful and gay,
My heart was as light as a feather all day;
But now I so cross and so peevish am grown,
So strangely uneasy, as never was known.
My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drowned,
And my
heart-I am sure it weighs more than a pound.

3 The fountain that wont to run sweetly along,
And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among;
Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there,
'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear:
But now she is absent, I walk by its side,
And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide;
Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain?
Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.

4 My lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they;

How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, When Spring, Love, and Beauty, were all in their prime!

But now, in their frolics when by me they pass,
I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass;
Be still, then, I cry, for it makes me quite mad,
To see you so merry while I am so sad.

5 My dog I was ever well pleased to see

Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me;
And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said,
'Come hither, poor fellow;' and patted his head.
But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look
Cry Sirrah;' and give him a blow with my crook:
And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray
Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away?

6 When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen,
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green!
What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade,
The corn-fields and hedges, and everything made!
But now she has left me, though all are still there,
They none of them now so delightful appear:
'Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes,
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

7 Sweet music went with us both all the wood
through,

The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too;
Winds over us whispered, flocks by us did bleat,
And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet.
But now she is absent, though still they sing on,
The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone:

Her voice in the concert, as now I have found,
Gave everything else its agreeable sound.

8 Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? And where is the violet's beautiful blue?

Does ought of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you dressed,
And made yourselves fine for-a place in her breast:
You put on your colours to pleasure her eye,
To be plucked by her hand, on her bosom to die.

9 How slowly Time creeps till my Phoebe return!
While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn:
Methinks, if I knew whereabouts he would tread,
I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down
the lead.

Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,
And rest so much longer for 't when she is here.
Ah, Colin! old Time is full of delay,

Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say.

10 Will no pitying power, that hears me complain,
Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain?

To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove;
But what swain is so silly to live without love!
No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return,
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.
Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair;
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair.

ODE TO A TOBACCO-PIPE.

Little tube of mighty power,
Charmer of an idle hour,
Object of my warm desire,
Lip of wax and eye of fire;
And thy snowy taper waist,
With my finger gently braced;
And thy pretty swelling crest,
With my little stopper pressed;
And the sweetest bliss of blisses,
Breathing from thy balmy kisses.
Happy thrice, and thrice again,
Happiest he of happy men;
Who when again the night returns,
When again the taper burns,
When again the cricket's gay,
(Little cricket full of play,)
Can afford his tube to feed
With the fragrant Indian weed:
Pleasure for a nose divine,

Incense of the god of wine.
Happy thrice, and thrice again,

Happiest he of happy men.

AWAY! LET NOUGHT TO LOVE DISPLEASING. 1 Away! let nought to love displeasing, My Winifreda, move your care; Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.

2 What though no grants of royal donors, With pompous titles grace our blood; We'll shine in more substantial honours, And, to be noble, we'll be good.

3 Our name while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke;
And all the great ones, they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.

4 What though, from fortune's lavish bounty,
No mighty treasures we possess;
We'll find, within our pittance, plenty,
And be content without excess.

5 Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.

6 Through youth and age, in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.

7 How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung!
To see them look their mother's features,
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue!
8 And when with envy Time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys;
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.

RICHARD BENTLEY'S SOLE POETICAL COMPOSITION.

1 Who strives to mount Parnassus' hill,

And thence poetic laurels bring, Must first acquire due force and skill, Must fly with swan's or eagle's wing.