DRINKING FROM A GLASS OF WINE AND
DROWNED THEREIN
Thou, born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come on vagrant wings?
Does Bacchus tempting seem?
Did he, for you, this glass prepare? 5
Will I admit you to a share?
Did storms harass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay?
Did wars distress, or labours vex,
Or did you miss your way?
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.
Welcome! I hail you to my glass.
All welcome, here, you find;
Here, let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here, be all care resigned.
This fluid never fails to please,
And drown the griefs of men or bees.
What forced you here, we cannot know, And you will scarcely tell;
But cheery we would have you go
On lighter wings we bid you fly, Your dart will now all foes defy.
Yet take not, oh! too deep a drink, 25 And in this ocean die;
Here bigger bees than you might sink, Even bees full six feet high.
Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said To perish in a sea of red.
Do as you please, your will is mine; Enjoy it without fear;
And your grave will be this glass of wine,
Your epitaph-a tear.
Go, take your seat in Charon's boat; 35 We'll tell the hive, you died afloat.
TO A CATY-DID
In a branch of willow hid Sings the evening Caty-did. From the lofty locust bough Feeding on a drop of dew, In her suit of green array'd, Hear her singing in the shade Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did!
While upon a leaf you tread,
Or repose your little head,
On your sheet of shadows laid,
All the day you nothing said;
Half the night your cheery tongue
Revell'd out its little song,
Nothing else but Caty-did.
From your lodgings on the leaf
Did you utter joy or grief?
Did you only mean to say,
I have had my summer's day,
And am passing, soon, away
To the grave of Caty-did?
Poor, unhappy Caty-did!
But you would have utter'd more Had you known of Nature's power. From the world when you retreat, And a leaf's your winding sheet, Long before your spirit fled, Who can tell but Nature said, Live again, my Caty-did!
Live, and chatter Caty-did.
Tell me, what did Caty do?
Did she mean to trouble you?
Why was Caty not forbid
To trouble little Caty-did?
Wrong, indeed, at you to fling,
Hurting no one while you sing
Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did!
Why continue to complain?
Caty tells me, she again
Will not give you plague or pain:
Caty says you may be hid;
To raise this May-pole of sedition?
Like Babel, rear'd by bawling throngs,
With like confusion too of tongues,
To point at heaven and summon down
The thunders of the British crown? 50
Say, will this paltry Pole secure
Your forfeit heads from Gage's power?
Attack'd by heroes brave and crafty,
Is this to stand your ark of safety;
Or, driven by Scottish laird and laddie,
Think ye to rest beneath its shadow? 56
When bombs like fiery serpents fly,
And balls rush hissing through the sky,
Will this vile Pole, devote to freedom,
Save like the Jewish pole in Edom?
Or like the brazen snake of Moses,
Cure your crackt skulls and batter'd
noses?
Though he already has much more 105
Than he can find occasion for.
While every clown that tills the plains,
Though bankrupt in estate and brains,
By this new light transform'd to traitor,
Forsakes his plough to turn dictator, 110
Starts an haranguing chief of Whigs,
And drags you by the ears, like pigs.
All bluster, arm'd with factious licence,
New-born at once to politicians.
Each leather-apron'd dunce, grown
wise,
Presents his forward face t' advise,
And tatter'd legislators meet,
From every workshop through the
His goose the tailor finds new use in,
"Now rising in progression fatal, Have you not ventured to give battle? When Treason chaced our heroes troubled,
With rusty gun, and leathern doublet; Turn'd all stone-walls and groves and bushes,
To batteries arm'd with blunderbusses; And with deep wounds, that fate portend,
Gaul'd many a Briton's latter end; 280
Drove them to Boston, as in jail,
Confined without mainprize or bail-
Were not these deeds enough betimes,
To heap the measure of your crimes,
But in this loyal town and dwelling, 285
You raise these ensigns of rebellion?
'Tis done! fair Mercy shuts her door;
And Vengeance now shall sleep no
Rise then, my friends, in terror rise, 289 And sweep this scandal from the skies. You'll see their Dagon, though well jointed,
So clubs and billets, staves and stones
Met fierce, encountering every sconce,
And cover'd o'er with knobs and pains
Each void receptacle for brains.
Their clamours rend the skies around,
The hills rebellow to the sound;
And many a groan increas'd the din
From batter'd nose and broken shin.
M'Fingal, rising at the word,
Drew forth his old militia-sword; 330
Thrice cried "King George," as erst in
distress,
Knights of romance invoked a mistress;
And, brandishing the blade in air,
Struck terror through th' opposing war.
The Whigs, unsafe within the wind 335
Of such commotion, shrunk behind.
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