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For the close woven arches of limes
Than aught that the city can show.
So it is, when the mind is endued
'Tis nature alone that we love.
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice, May it still be her lot to possess
The scene of her sensible choice! To' inhabit a mansion remote
From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, And by Philomel's annual note
To measure the life that she leads.
With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
She will have just the life she prefers,
ON HER MARRIAGE TO GEORGE COURTNAY, ESQ. 1792.
BELIEVE it or not, as you choose,
The doctrine is certainly true,
That the future is known to the muse,
I did but express a desire
To see Catharina at home,
But the wish of a poet and friend
And therefore attains to its end. 'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth
From a bosom effectually warm'd With the talents, the graces, and worth Of the person for whom it was form'd. Maria' would leave us, I knew,
To the grief and regret of us all, But less to our grief, could we view
Catharina the queen of the hall: And therefore I wish'd as I did,
And therefore this union of hands: Not a whisper was heard to forbid,
But all cry-Amen-to the bans. Since therefore I seem to incur
No danger of wishing in vain, When making good wishes for her, I will e'en to my wishes again— 1 Lady Throckmorton.
With one I have made her a wife,
Addressed to Lady Hesketh.
THIS cap, that so stately appears, With ribbon-bound tassel on high, Which seems by the crest that it rears Ambitious of brushing the sky: This cousin I owe; to cap my She gave it, and gave me beside, Wreathed into an elegant bow,
The ribbon with which it is tied. This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contrived both for toil and repose, Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with hair,
In which I both scribble and doze, Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, And rival in lustre of that In which, or Astronomy lies, Fair Cassiopeïa sat:
These carpets, so soft to the foot,
Secure from collision and dust, At which I oft shave cheek and chin, And periwig nicely adjust:
This movable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admired and its use, And charged with octavos and twelves, The gayest I had to produce; Where, flaming in scarlet and gold, My poems enchanted I view, And hope in due time to behold My Iliad and Odyssey too: This china, that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a boufet, But what the gods call it above
Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet: These curtains, that keep the room warm, Or cool, as the season demands, Those stoves, that for pattern and form, Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands:
All these are not half that I owe
To one, from our earliest youth To me ever ready to show
Benignity, friendship, and truth; For Time, the destroyer declared,
And foe of our perishing kind, If even her face he has spared,
Much less could he alter her mind.
Thus compass'd about with the goods
In many such fancies as these;
Poets' goods are not often so fine; The poets will swear that I dream,
When I sing of the splendour of mine.
TO MY COUSIN
ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWOrk purse, MADE BY HERSelf.
My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
I danced and fondled on my knee,
Gold pays the worth of all things here;
TO MRS. KING.
ON HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK COUNTERPANE OF HER OWN MAKING.
THE Bard, if e'er he feel at all,
Who deigns to deck his bed.