Thy thick-wove thatch with moss o'ergrown,
Thy whispering rill, whose current lone
The ozier flings its wreaths aslant,
And sapphire-plumed halcyons haunt:
And, stretch'd thy rushy couch along,
To listen to the blackbird's song,
Hear him his amorous pains relate
Melodious to his jetty mate.
While faintly born upon the breeze
The dove's responsive murmurs please;
And from the sheep-cote in the dell
Soft tinkling chimes the weather's bell,
Accordant to the chearful strain
Of milk-maid blithe, and whistling swain.
And, ere the western waves absorb
The beams of Day's refulgent orb,
I love to traverse, unespied,
Thy beach-clad hillock's verdant side,
O'er each dun brake and shadowy dell,
While Fancy breathes her magic spell,
Assembling all her sylvan clan,
Her dryads, fauns, and laughing Pan;
Or calls the Muses from the spheres
With heavenly strains to soothe mine ears, Or conjures up äerial forms
To marshal all the fairy swarms
That quaff their acorn cups, and sing,
And frisk, and dance in sportive ring,
Tinging, where'er their tracks are seen,
The circled sward with richer green.
Or wend with Meditation thro'
The deep, umbrageous avenue
Emerging oft, the groves between,
On flowery lawn, or pasture green,
Or upland, whence, to feast my sight
A thousand beauteous scenes unite;
The venerable oaks that wear
The rich robe of the waining year,
Studded with sails the river's tide,
Diffusing wealth and verdure wide;
Tall cliffs illumin'd with the gleam
Of downward Titan's glowing beam,
The fleecy tribes that seek their fold,
Empurpled clouds with skirts of gold,
Redundant sheaves of ripen'd grain,
And shadows lenghthening on the plain:
Till, summon'd by the curfew's sound,
While falling dews embathe the ground,
Again I seek the friendly shade
From whence my devious steps have stray'd,
Repass the lawn, and hawthorn dell,
Regain thy shelter, LOWLY CELL!
There spread my board with simplest fare;
Supremely blest if CYNTHIA share
The mellow treasures Autumn gives,
The beverage nectar-yielding hives
To crown my rural cheer impart,
And yield me in return her heart.
Who bleach'd with lather jowls unshorn,
Though blacker than the devil's horn.
IN Liquorpond-street, as is well known to many,
An ARTIST resided who shav'd for a penny,
Cut hair for three-halfpence, for three-pence he bled,
And would draw, for a groat, every tooth in your head.
What annoy'd other folks never spoil'd his repose, "Twas the same thing to him whether stocks fell or rose, For blast and for mildew he car'd not a pin;
His crops never fail'd, for they grew on the chin.
Unvex'd by the cares that ambition and state has,
Contented he dined on his daily potatoes;
And the pence that he earn'd by excision of bristle
Were nightly devoted to whetting his whistle.
When copper ran low he made light of the matter,
Drank his purl upon tick at the Old Pewter Platter,
Read the news, and as deep in the secret appear'd
As if he had lather'd the Minister's beard.
But Cupid, who trims men of every station,
And 'twixt barbers and beaux makes no discrimination; Would not let this superlative shaver alone,
"Till he tried if his heart was as hard as his hone.
The Fair One, whose charms did the Barber enthral,
At the end of Fleet Market of fish kept a stall:
As red as her cheek no boil'd lobster was seen,
Not an eel that she sold was as soft as her skin.
By love strange effects have been wrought, we are told, In all countries and climates, hot, temperate, and cold; Thus the heart of our Barber love scorch'd to a coal, Tho' 'tis very well known he liv'd under the Pole.
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