"Say to the tyrant man, whose pride denies "Thy sex a Soul, and bars them from the skies, "That when the date of female worth expires, “And sickening Nature yields her latest fires, "When beams no more the lustre of the eye, "And Death o'er Beauty hails his victory, "To life by Fate recall'd, the Sex assume "Celestial charms, and never-fading bloom; "In roseate bowers recline, or blissful rove "Thro' scenes of boundless joy and rapturous love; "That there, so Heaven ordains, a blooming band "Of youths, obsequious to each Fair's command, "Attentive waits, and, as her fancy wills, "Each task of duty or of love fulfills.— "Then to the peremptory tyrant say: "Who hopes this lot in Heav'n must here obey, "Bow to superior worth, to sense refin'd, "Bless the benignant sway of womankind, "Hail the fair fabric of an hand divine, "And own the soul that animates the shrine. "Or, driv'n for ever from the realms above, "His soul in vain shall pant for heavenly love." SONNE T. TO THE RED-BREAST. WHEN that the fields put on their gay attire Silent Thou sitst near brake or river's brim, Whilst the glad Thrush sings loud from covert dim: But when pale Winter lights the social fire, And meads with slime are sprent, and ways with mire, And now not seldom tun'st, as if for hire, SONNET, WRITTEN AT A FARM. AROUND my porch and lowly casement spread Decks my trim fence, 'neath which, by Silence led, I THE PARADOX: OR, NED FRIGHTENED OUT OF HIS WITS. cave ne titubes. Hor. Ep. l. i. ep. 13. EMPTY the flask, discharg'd the score, NED stagger'd from the tavern door, And falling, in his drunken fits, Crippled his nose and lost his wits; But, from the kennel soon emerging, His nose repairs by help of surgeon: That done, the leech peeps in his brain To find his Wits, but peeps in vain. ""Tis hard," the patient cries, "to lose "Wits not a whit the worse for use; "Wits which I always laid aside "For great occasions, cut and dried ;” ("Tho' here the case was falsely put: His wits were dried, himself was cut.) "Wits like the Continental Aloe, "That for a century lies fallow; "Wits never prodigally wasted; "Like choice conserves, but rarely tasted : Tho' plain appear'd in ev'ry face A fellow-feeling of his case, Yet still, to shew their wits were sound, "Zounds, NED! I wonder how you lost 'em!" Ah! let them drink their port in For miracles will never cease! peace, And, if NED's loss of wits astound 'em, Zounds!-how they'll wonder when he 's found 'em! |