Sound those pipes,-they're in tune, and those bins are well fill'd, View that heap of old Hock in your rear ; Yon bottles are Burgundy! mark how they're piled, My brave boys. My cellar's my camp, and my soldiers my flasks, All gloriously ranged in review; When I cast my eyes round, I consider my casks My brave boys. Like Macedon's madman, my glass I'll enjoy, Defying hyp, gravel, or gout; He cried when he had no more worlds to destroy, I'll weep when my liquor is out, My brave boys. On their stumps some have fought, and as stoutly will I, Then my legs must be lost, so I'll drink as I lie, My brave boys. 'Tis my will when I die, not a tear shall be shed, No Hic jacet be cut on my stone; But pour on my coffin a bottle of red, And say that his drinking is done, My brave boys. G. A. STEVENS. CXXXII APOLLO MAKING LOVE I AM,-cry'd Apollo, when Daphne he woo'd, I'm-the god of sweet song, and inspirer of lays; Every plant, every flower, and their virtues I know, Thou fond god of wisdom, then, alter thy phrase, T. TICKELL. CXXXIII CHLOE'S TRIUMPH I SAID to my heart, between sleeping and waking, Thus accused, the wild thing gave this sober reply "When our Sappho appears, she, whose wit so refined I am forced to applaud with the rest of mankind— Whatever she says is with spirit and fire; Ev'ry word I attend, but I only admire. "Prudentia as vainly would put in her claim, "But Chloe so lively, so easy, so fair, Her wit so genteel, without art, without care: O wonderful creature! a woman of reason! Never grave out of pride, never gay out of season; CXXXIV THE PLAYTHING KITTY'S charming voice and face, Kitty tunes her pipe in vain, With airs most languishing and dying; Calls me false, ungrateful swain, And tries in vain to shoot me flying. Nancy with resistless art, Always humorous, gay, and witty, Has talk'd herself into my heart, And quite excluded tuneful Kitty. Ah, Kitty! Love, a wanton boy, Now pleas'd with song, and now with prattle, Still longing for the newest toy, Has chang'd his whistle for a rattle. L ANON. CXXXV I LOVED thee beautiful and kind, So alter'd are thy face and mind, LORD NUGENT. CXXXVI ADVICE CEASE, fond shepherd-cease desiring What you never must enjoy ; She derides your vain aspiring, Cunning Damon once pursu'd her, Tho' his flocks are more than thine. At Diana's shrine aloud, By the zone around her waist, Thrice she bow'd, and thrice she vow'd Like the goddess to be chaste. |