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Others I see, as noble and more true,
By no court-badge distinguish'd from the rest : First see I Methuen, of sincerest mind, As Arthur grave, as soft as womankind. What lady's that to whom he gently bends ? [eyes:
Who knows not her? ah! those are Wortley's How art thou honour'd, number'd with her friends!
For she distinguishes the good and wise. The sweet-tongued Murray near her side attends;
Now to my heart the glance of Howard flies; Now Harvey, fair of face, I mark full well, With thee, youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepell. I see two lovely sisters, hand in hand,
The fair-hair'd Martha, and Teresa brown; Madge Bellenden, the tallest of the land ;
And smiling Mary, soft and fair as down. Yonder I see the cheerful duchess stand, [known:
For friendship, zeal, and blithesome humours Whence that loud shout in such a hearty strain ? Why, all the Hamiltons are in her train! See next the decent Scudamore advance,
With Winchelsea, still meditating song: With her perhaps Miss Howe came there by chance,
Nor knows with whom or why she comes along. Far off from these see Santlow, famed for dance;
And frolic Bicknell, and her sister young; With other names by me not to be named, Much loved in private, not in public famed! But now behold the female band retire,
And the shrill music of their voice is still'd! Methinks I see famed Buckingham admire
That in Troy's ruin thou hadst not been kill'd.
With hand judicious, like thy Homer skill'd;
See generous Burlington, with goodly Bruce
(But Bruce comes wasted in a soft sedan); Dan Prior next, beloved by every Muse,
And friendly Congreve, unreproachful man! (Oxford by Cunningham hath sent excuse);
See hearty Watkins comes with cup and can; And Lewis, who has never friend forsaken; And Laughton whispering asks, Is Troy town taken? Earl Warwick comes, of free and honest mind; Bold, generous Craggs, whose heart was ne'er dis
guised: Ah why, sweet St. John, cannot I thee find!
St. John, for every social virtue prized. Alas! to foreign climates he's confined,
Or else to see thee here I well surmised: Thou too, my Swift, dost breathe Baotian air ; When wilt thou bring back wit and humour here? Harcourt I see, for eloquence renown'd,
The mouth of justice, oracle of law! Another Simon is beside him found,
Another Simon, like as straw to straw. How Lansdown smiles, with lasting laurel crown'd!
What mitred prelate there commands our awe! See Rochester approving nods his head, And ranks one modern with the mighty dead. Carleton and Chandos thy arrival grace ;
Hanmer, whose eloquence th' unbias'd sways; Harley, whose goodness opens in his face,
And shows his heart the seat where virtue stays. Ned Blount advances next with busy pace,
In haste, but sauntering, hearty in his ways: I see the friendly Carylls come by dozens, [ins. Their wives, their uncles, daughters, sons, and cousArbuthnot there I see, in physic's art,
As Galen learn'd or famed Hippocrate; Whose company drives sorrow from the heart,
As all disease his medicines dissipate;
Kneller amid the triumph bears his part,
Who could (were mankind lost) a new create : What can th' extent of his vast soul confine ? A painter, critic, engineer, divine ! Thee Jervas hails, robust and debonair,
Now have (we) conquer'd Homer, friends, he cries : Darteneuf, grave joker, joyous Ford is there,
And wondering Maine so fat, with laughing eyes (Gay, Maine, and Cheney, boon companions dear,
Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of size), Yea Dennis, Gildon (hearing thou hast riches), And honest, hatless Cromwell, with red breeches. Oh Wanley, whence com’st thou with shorten'd hair,
And visage from thy shelves with dust besprent ? “Forsooth (quoth he) from placing Homer there,
For ancients to compyle is myne entente:
But hither me hath my meeke lady sent :
Evans with laugh jocose, and tragic Young ;
Yea Steele and Tickell mingle in the throng:
Lo Bickford, Fortescue, of Devon land! Lo Tooker, Eckershall, Sykes, Rawlinson!
See hearty Morley takes thee by the hand; Ayrs, Graham, Buckridge, joy thy voyage done;
But who can count the leaves, the stars, the sand ? Lo Stoner, Fenton, Caldwell, Ward, and Broome! Lo thousands more; but I want rhyme and room!
How loved ! how honour'd thou! yet be not vain:
And sure thou art not, for I hear thee say, All this, my friends, I owe to Homer's strain,
On whose strong pinions I exalt my lay. What from contending cities did he gain?
And what rewards his grateful country pay? None, none were paid; why then all this for me? These honours, Homer, had been just to thee.
THOMAS TICKELL. 1686–1740.
COLIN AND LUCY.
Of Leinster, famed for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Reflect so sweet a face:
Impair'd her rosy hue,
And eyes of glossy blue.
When beating rains descend ?
Her life now near its end.
Take heed, ye easy fair :
Ye perjured swains, beware.
A bell was heard to ring ;
The raven flapp'd his wing.
The solemn boding sound:
The virgins weeping round:
“I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says I must not stay;
Which beckons me away.
In early youth I die :
Was thrice as rich as I ?
“Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone :
Nor think him all thy own.
Impatient, both prepare!
That Lucy will be there! “Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear,
This bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet." She spoke, she died, her corse was borne
The bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding sheet.
How were these nuptials kept ?
And all the village wept.
At once his bosom swell :
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
The varying crimson fled,
She saw her husband dead.