When she whisper'd a tender adieu, The LOVES would no longer remain ; And with them the PLEASURES withdrew, As they never had quitted her train. O swains, &c. MADRIGAL. TO CYNTHIA. AH! wherefore did I daring gaze That kiss will give my heart a pain, Then take, O take the kiss again, Or let me take a hundred more. PART OF A LETTER TO MY SISTERS, AT CRUX-EASTON, WRITTEN FROM CAIRO, IN EGYPT, AUGUST, 1734. By the Rev. Dr. LISLE. WHILE you, my dear girls, in your paradise Diverting with innocent freedom the day, [stray, I wander alone in a barbarous land, Half bak'd by the sun, half blind by the sand. Then your wood too and grotto so swim in my sight, They give me no respite by day or by night: No sooner asleep but I'm dreaming of you; I am just wak'd from one,-would to God it were true. Methought I was now a fine gentleman grown, And had got, Lord knows how, an estate of my own. Good-bye to plain Tom, I was rais'd a peg higher; Some call'd me his WORSHIP, and others the 'SQUIRE. 'Twas a place, I remember, exactly like EASTON, A scene for an Emperor's fancy to feast on. There I built a fine house with great cost and great care, (Your la'ships have form'd many such in the air), Not of stucco, nor brick, but as good Portland stone AS KENT* would desire to be working upon. The apartments not small, nor monstrously great, But chiefly for use, and a little for state; So begilt, and becarv'd, and with ornaments grac'd, That every one said, I'd an excellent taste. Here I liv'd like a king, never hoarded my pelf, Kept a coach for my sisters, a nag for myself, With something that's good when our Highclear [room. friends come, And, spite of 'Squire HERBERT, a fire in each. A canal made for profit as well as for pleasure, That's about, let me see, two acres in measure; The painter and architect. Both the eye to delight, and the table to crown, With a jack, or a perch, when my uncles come down. An exceeding great wood, that's been set a great [mile. while, In length near a league, and in breadth near a Thus spectres arise, as by nurse-maids we're told, THE BLACKBIRDS. By the Rev. RICHARD JAGO, M.A. தலவி THE sun had chas'd the mountain snow, And kindly loos'd the frozen soil, The melting streams began to flow, "T was then, amid the vocal throng, "O fairest of the feather'd train! For whom I sing, for whom I burn, Attend with pity to my strain, And grant my love a kind return. I |