SONG.-By a WOMAN. Each day, each hour, her name I'll bless, The hardy veteran after struck the sight, O'er Afric's sandy plain, And wild the tempest howling Along the billow'd main ; But every danger fell before, The raging deep, the whirlwind's roar, Oh, let me fly a land that spurns the brave, And lay my body where my limbs were lost." Old Edward's sons unknown to yield, Shall crowd from Cressy's laurell'd field, To do thy memory right; For thine and Britain's wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy steel, And wish the avenging fight. Affliction o'er each feature reigning, In sweet succession charms the senses, “ The garland of beauty” (tis this she would say,) The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim, I'll strip all the spring of its earliest bloom ; On her grave shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, SONG.-By a WOMAN.-Pastorale. With garlands of beauty the Queen of the May, And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, CHORUS. On the grave of Augusta this garland be plac'd, We'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom; LETTER, IN PROSE AND VERSE, TO MRS. BUNBURY. (1) ̊. MADAM: I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer. I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and solecisms also, (solecism is a word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of that name; but this is learning you have no taste for.)-I say, Madam, there are sarcasms in it and solecisms also. But, not to seem an ill-natured critic, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks them as they occur. You begin as follows: upon 64 I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here, And your spring velvet coat very smart will appear, To open our ball the first day in the year." Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet "good" applied to the title of Doctor? Had you called me learned Doctor, or grave Doctor, or noble Doctor, it might be allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my spring velvet coat, and advise me to wear it the first day in the year, that is in the middle of winter;-a spring velvet in the middle of winter!!! That would be a solecism indeed; and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another part of your letter you call me a beau : (1) [Miss Catharine Horneck became, in August 1771, the wife of Henry Bunbury, Esq., celebrated for the powers of his pencil. An invitation from the lady, in a rhyming and jocular strain, to spend some time with them at their seat at Barton in Suffolk, brought from the Poet the above reply, which is now printed for the first time. It was written in 1772. See Life, ch. xxii.] now, on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring velvet in winter; and if I am not a beau-why-then-that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines: "And bring with you a wig that is modish and gay, To dance with the girls that are making of hay." The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of; you say your sister will laugh, and so indeed she well may. The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, Naso contemnere adunco; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose; she may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit.-But now I am come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice! And from whom? You shall hear. First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, All smirking and pleasant and big with adventure, At never once finding a visit from pam; I lay down my stake apparently cool, While the harpies about me all pocket the pool; I fret in my gizzard, get cautious and sly, Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold, Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come, do! Pray, Ma'am, be so good as to give your advice; Ah! the Doctor is loo'd. Come Doctor, put down. For giving advice that is not worth a straw, May well be called picking of pockets in law ; Pray what are their crimes? They've been pilfering found. |