Then leaving me, whom sure you would not kill!
In yonder thicket exercise your skill:
Shoot there at beasts; but for the human heart,
Your cousin Cupid has the only dart.
Yet turn, O beauteous maid! yet deign to hear
A love-sick deity's impetuous prayer;
O let me woo thee as thou wouldst be wooed!
First, therefore, be not so extremely rude.
Tear not the hedges down, nor tread the clover,
Like an hobgoblin, rather than a lover.
Next, to my father's grotto sometimes come;
At ebbing-tide he always is at home.
Read the Courant with him, and let him know
A little politics, how matters go
Upon his brother rivers, Rhine or Po.
As any maid or footman comes or goes,
Pull off your hat, and ask how Daphne does:
These sort of folks will to each other tell,
That you respect me; that, you know, looks well.
Then, if you are, as you pretend, the god
That rules the day, and much upon the road,
You'll find a hundred trifles in your way,
That you may bring one home from Africa:
Some little rarity, some bird, or beast;
And now and then a jewel from the east;
A lacquered cabinet, some china ware,
You have them mighty cheap at Pekin fair!
Next, nota bene, you shall never rove,
Nor take example by your father Jove.
Last, for the ease and comfort of my life,
Make me your (Lord! what startles you?) your wife.
I'm now (they say) sixteen, or something more;
We mortals seldom live above fourscore:
Fourscore; you're good at numbers, let us see,
Seventeen suppose, remaining sixty-three;
Ay, in that span of time you'll bury me.
Mean time, if you have tumult, noise, and strife,
(Things not abhorrent to a married life!)
They'll quickly end, you see; what signify
A few odd years to you that never die!
And, after all, you're half your time away,
You know your business takes you up all day;
And, coming late to bed, you need not fear,
Whatever noise I make, you'll sleep, my dear!
Or, if a winter-evening should be long,
Even read your physic-book, or make a song.
Your steeds, your wife, diachalon, and rhyme,
May take up any honest godhead's time.
Thus, as you like it, you may love again,
And let another Daphne have her reign.
Now love, or leave, my dear; retreat, or follow:
I Daphne (this premised) take thee Apollo.
And may I split into ten thousand trees,
If I give up on other terms than these!
She said; but what the amorous god replied
(So fate ordained) is to our search denied;
By rats, alas! the manuscript is eat,
O cruel banquet! which we all regret.
Bavius, thy labours must this work restore;
May thy good-will be equal to thy power!
TO MR ADRIAN DRIFT. MDCCVIII.
Two mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion,
And (what is more) good education,
Frolic and gay, in infant years,
Equally shared their parents' cares.
The sire of these two babes (poor creature!)
Paid his last debt to human nature;
A wealthy widow left behind,
Four babes, three males, one female kind.
The sire being under ground and buried,
'Twas thought his spouse would soon have married;
Matches proposed, and numerous suitors,
Most tender husbands, careful tutors,
She modestly refused, and showed
She'd be a mother to her brood.
Mother! dear mother! that endearing thought Has thousand and ten thousand fancies brought. Tell me, oh! tell me, (thou art now above) How to describe thy true maternal love; Thy early pangs, thy growing anxious cares, Thy flattering hopes, thy fervent pious prayers, 20 Thy doleful days and melancholy nights, Cloistered from common joys and just delights: How thou didst constantly in private mourn, And wash with daily tears thy spouse's urn; How it employed your thoughts and lucid time, That your young offspring might to honour climb; How your first care, by numerous griefs oppressed, Under the burden sunk, and went to rest; How your dear darling, by consumption's waste, Breathed her last piety into your breast;
alas! tired with your pilgrimage, Bowed down your head, and died in good old age. Though not inspired, oh! may I never be Forgetful of my pedigree, or thee! Ungrateful howsoe'er, mayn't I forget To pay this small, yet tributary debt! And when we meet at God's tribunal throne, Own me, I pray thee, for a pious son.
But why all this? is this your fable?
Believe me, Mat, it seems a babble:
If
you will let me know the intent on 't.
Go to your Mice, and make an end on 't.
Well then, dear brother:
As sure as Hudi's' sword could swaddle,
Two Mice were brought up in one cradle;
Well bred, I think, of equal port,
One for the gown, one for the court:
They parted (did they so, an 't please you?)
Yes, that they did (dear sir) to ease you.
One went to Holland, where they huff folk,
T'other to vend his wares in Suffolk.
That Mice have travelled in old times,
Horace and Prior tell in rhymes,
Those two great wonders of their ages,
Superior far to all the sages!
Many days passed, and many a night,
Ere they could gain each other's sight;
At last, in weather cold, nor sultry,
They met at the Three Cranes in Poultry.
After much buss and great grimace
(Usual you know in such a case),
Much chat arose, what had been done,
What might before next summer's sun;
Much said of France, of Suffolk's goodness,
The gentry's loyalty, mob's rudeness.
That ended, o'er a charming bottle,
They entered on this tittle-tattle.
Quoth Suffolk, by pre-eminence
In years, though (God knows) not in sense;
All's gone, dear brother, only we
Remain to raise posterity;
Marry you, brother; I'll go down,
Sell nouns and verbs, and lie alone;
May you ne'er meet with feuds or babble,
May olive-branches crown your table!
Somewhat I'll save, and for this end,
To prove a brother and a friend.
What I propose is just, I swear it;
Or may I perish, by this claret!
The dice are thrown, choose this or that
('Tis all alike to honest Mat);
I'll take then the contrary part,
And propagate with all my heart.
After some thought, some Portuguese,
Some wine, the younger thus replies;
Fair are your words, as fair your carriage, Let me be free, drudge you in marriage;
Get me a boy called Adrian,
Trust me, I'll do for't what I can.
Home went well pleased the Suffolk tony, 90
Heart free from care, as purse from money;
He got a lusty squalling boy
(Doubtless the dad's and mamma's joy).
In short, to make things square and even,
Adrian he named was by Dick Stephen.
Mat's debt thus paid, he now enlarges,
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