He values these; but yet (alas !) complains,
That still the best and dearest gift remains.
Not the fair fruit that on yon' branches glows
With that ripe red th' autumnal sun bestows;
Nor tasteful herbs that in these gardens rise,
Which the kind soil with milky sap supplies;
You, only you, can move the God's desire :
Oh, crown so constant and fo pure a fire!
105
Let soft compassion touch your gentle mind;
Think, 'tis Vertumnus begs you to be kind;
So may no frost, when early buds appear,
Destroy the promise of the youthful year ;
Nor winds, when first your florid orchard blows,
Shake the light blossoms from their blasted boughs!
This when the various God had urg'd in vain, He strait assum'd his native form again; Such, and so bright an aspect now he bears, As when through clouds th' emerging sun appears, 115
And
Primus habet; laetaque tenet tua munera dextra?
Sed neque jam foetus desiderat arbore demtos,
Nec, quas hortus alit, cum succis mitibus herbas; 100
Nec quidquam, nisi te. miserere ardentis : et ipsum,
Qui petit, ore meo praesentem crede precari. -
Sic tibi nec vernum nascentia frigus adurat
Poma; nec excutiant rapidi forentia venti.
Haec ubi nequicquam formas Deus aptus in omnes,
Edidit; in juvenem rediit: et anilia demit
Instrumenta fibi : talisque adparuit illi,
Qualis ubi oppofitas nitidiflima folis imago
115
And thence exerting his refulgent ray,
Difpels the darkness, and reveals the day.
Force he prepard, but check'd the rash design;
For when, appearing in a form divine,
The Nymph surveys him, and beholds the grace
Of charming features, and a youthful face;
In her soft breast consenting passions move,
And the warm maid confess'd a mutual love.
Evicit nubes, nullaque obstante reluxit.
Vimque parat: sed vi non est opus : inque figura
Capta Dei Nympha est, et mutua vulnera fentit.
Yet swinken nat fans fecresie. Thilke moral shall
ye
understond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Irelond:
Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
To filch the gray Ducke fro the Lake.
Right then, there passen by the way
His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway.
Ducke in his Trowses hath he hent,
Not to be spied of Ladies gent.
" But ho! our Nephew, (crieth one)
“ Ho! quoth another, Cozen John;"
And stoapen, and lough, and callen out,-
This silly Clerk full low doth lout:
They asken that, and talken this,
“ Lo here is Coz, and here is Miss.”
But, as he glozeth with speeches soote,
The Ducke sore tickleth his Erse roote :
Fore-piece and buttons all-to-brest,
Forth thrult a white neck, and red crest.
Te-he, cry'd Ladies; Clerke nought fpake :
Miss star'd; and gray Ducke cryeth Quake.
“ O Moder, Moder, (quoth the daughter)
“ Be thilke same thing Maids longen a'ter?
“ Bette is to pine on coals and chalke,
“ Then trust on Mon, whose yerde can talke."
I
IN every Town where Thamis rolls his Tyde,
A narrow Pass there is, with Houses low;
Where ever and anon, the Stream is ey'd,
And many a Boat, soft sliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
5
The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and Thriller Squall :
How can ye, Mothers, vex your children fo?
Some play, fome eat, fome cack against the wall,
And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
II.
And on the broken pavement, here and there,
Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie;
A brandy and tobacco shop is near,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs are feeding by ;
And here a sailor's jacket hangs to dry.
At every door are sun-burnt matrons seen,
15 Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry,
Now
|