Soft, my child: I did not chide thee, Yet to read the shameful story How the Jews abused their King, See the kinder shepherds round Him, Where they sought Him, there they found Him, See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lo, He slumbers in His manger, 'Twas to save thee, child, from dying, May'st thou live to know and fear Him, THOMAS PARNELL 1679-1718 436. Song W HEN thy beauty appears In its graces and airs All bright as an angel new dropp'd from the sky, But when without art Your kind thoughts you impart, When your love runs in blushes through every vein; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart, Then I know you're a woman again. There's a passion and pride In our sex (she replied), And thus, might I gratify both, I would do: But still be a woman to you. 437. MY ALLAN RAMSAY Peggy Y Peggy is a young thing, 1686-1758 My Peggy is a young thing, Yet well I like to meet her at My Peggy speaks sae sweetly I wish nae mair to lay my care, My Peggy smiles sae kindly That I look down on a' the town, It makes me blyth and bauld, My Peggy sings sae saftly By a' the rest it is confest, And in her sangs are tauld wawking] watching. lave] rest. wale] choice, best. WILLIAM OLDYS 1687-1761 438. On a Fly drinking out of his Cup USY, curious, thirsty fly! BUSY, Drink with me and drink as I: Freely welcome to my cup, Both alike are mine and thine Threescore summers, when they're gone, RUDDIER than the cherry! Than moonshine night, Like kidlings blithe and merry ! No lily has such lustre ; Yet hard to tame As raging flame, And fierce as storms that bluster ! 1688-1732 ALEXANDER POPE 440. On a certain Lady at Court I KNOW a thing that's most uncommon; I know a reasonable woman, Handsome and witty, yet a friend. Not warp'd by passion, awed by rumour; 1688-1744 Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly; An equal mixture of good-humour And sensible soft melancholy. 'Has she no faults then (Envy says), Sir?' When all the world conspires to praise her, 441. Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady WHAT beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she!-but why that bleeding bosom gored, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? O, ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it, in Heav'n, a crime to love too well? |