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"How oft,-if at the court of love
Concealment is the fashion,-
"How oft when Cupid's fires decline,—
"Go, bid the timid lover choose,
"From Love and Friendship's kindred source We both derive existence;
And they would both lose half their force
""Tis well the world our merit knows,
And t'other in Good-byeing."
HON. WILLIAM SPENCER.
A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.
A WET sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast;
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lea.
O for a soft and gentle wind!
But give to me the snoring breeze,
There's tempest in yon horned moor,
BY A VILLAGER.
OUR village, that's to say, not Miss Mitford's village, but our village of Bullock Smithy,
Is come into by an avenue of trees-three oak pollards, two elders, and a withy;
And in the middle there's a green of about not exceeding an acre and a half;
It's common to all, and fed off by nineteen cows, six ponies, three horses, five asses, two foals, seven pigs and a calf.
Beside a pond in the middle, as is held by a similar sort of common-law lease,
And contains twenty ducks, six drakes, three ganders, two dead dogs, four drown'd kittens, and twelve geese.
Of course the green's cropt very close, and does famous for bowling when the little village boys play at cricket;
Only some horse, or pig, or cow, or great jackass, is sure to come and stand right before the
There's fifty-five private houses, let alone barns and workshops, pig-sties and poultry-huts, and such like sheds;
With plenty of public-houses-two Foxes, one Green Man, three Bunches of Grapes, one Crown, and six King's Heads.
The Green Man is reckon'd the best, as the only one that for love or money can raise
A postilion, a blue jacket, two deplorable lame. white horses, and a ranshackled "neat postchaise."
There's one parish church for all the people, whatsoever may be their ranks in life or their degrees,
Except one very damp, small, dark, freezing-cold, little Methodist chapel-of-ease;
And close by the churchyard, there's a stonemason's yard, that when the time is seasonable
Will furnish with "afflictions sore," and marble urns, and cherubims, very low and reasonable.
There's a cage, comfortable enough-I've been in
it with old Jack Jeffrey and Tom PikeFor the Green Man next door will send you in ale, gin, or any thing else you like.
I can't speak of the stocks, as nothing remains of them but the upright post;
But the pound is kept in repair for the sake of Cobb's horse, as is always there almost.
There's a smithy of course, where that queer sort of a chap in his way, Old Joe Bradley,
Perpetually hammers and stammers, for he stutters and shoes horses very badly.
There's a shop of all sorts, that sells every thing, kept by the widow of Mr. Task,
But when you go there it's ten to one she's out of every thing you ask;
You'll know her house by the swarm of boys, like flies, about the old sugary cask.
There are six empty houses, and not so well paper'd inside as out.
For bill-stickers won't beware, but stick notices of sales and election placards all about:
That's the doctor's with a green door, where the garden-pots in the windows are seen;
A weakly monthly-rose that don't blow, and a dead geranium, and a tea-plant with five black leaves and one green.
As for hollyoaks at the cottage doors, and honeysuckles and jasmines, you may go and whistle; But the tailor's front garden grows two cabbages, a dock, a hap'orth of pennyroyal, two dandelions and a thistle.
There are three small orchards-Mr. Busby's the schoolmaster's is the chief
With two pear-trees that don't bear, one plum and an apple, that every year is stripp'd by
There's another small day-school, too, kept by the respectable Mrs. Gaby,
A select establishment, for six little boys and one big, and four little girls and a baby.
There's a rectory with pointed gables and strange odd chimneys that never smokes,
For the rector don't live on his living like other Christian folks;
There's a barber's, once a week well fill'd with rough black-bearded shock-headed churls, And a window with two feminine men's heads, and two masculine ladies in false curls;
There's a butcher's, and a carpenter's, and a plumber's, and a small green-grocer's, and
But he won't bake on a Sunday; and there's a sexton that's a coal-merchant besides, and an undertaker;
And a toy-shop, but not a whole one, for a village can't compare with the London shops; One window sells drums, dolls, kites, carts, bats, Clout's balls, and the other sells malt and hops.
And Mrs. Brown, in domestic economy not to be a bit behind her betters,
Lets her house to a milliner, a watchmaker, a ratcatcher, a cobbler, lives in it herself, and it's the post-office for letters.