My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,

Say, would the angry fair one prize
The gift, who slights the giver?

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give and let 'em ;
If gems, or gold, impart a joy,
I'll give them-when I get 'em.

I'll give but not the full-blown rose,
Or rose-bud more in fashion;
Such short-liv'd offerings but disclose
A transitory passion.

I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not less sincere than civil:

I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee to the devil.

AN ELEGY

ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE.'

GOOD people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word—

From those who spoke her praise.

First printed in "The Bee," 1759:-"The elegy on Madam Blaize, and the better part of that on the Death of a Mad Dog, are closely imitated from a well-known French string of absurdities called 'La Chanson du fameux la Galisse; one of many versions of which may be found in the Ménagrana,' tom. iii. p. 29.

"Messieurs, vous plait-il d'ouir
L'air du fameux la Galisse,

Il pourra vous rejouir,—

Pourvu qu'il vous divertisse.

JL. I.

The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,-
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wond'rous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways,—
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,

With hoop of monstrous size; She never slumber'd in her pew,

But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her,-
When she has walk'd before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,-
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,

For Kent-street' well may say,

That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more,—

She had not died to-day.

On dit que dans ses amours,

Il fut caressé des belles,

Qui le suivirent toujours,—

Tant qu'il marche devant elles.

Il fut par un triste sort,

Blessé d'une main cruelle;

On croit, puisqu'il est mort,

Que la plaie était mortelle."-CROKER.

See note on Essay 5 of Collected Essays, printed in vol. iii.

DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER.'

WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay ;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread:
The royal Game of Goose was there in view,
And the Twelve Rules the royal martyr drew;
The Seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,
And brave Prince William' show'd his lamp-black face.
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire

The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:

4

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd,

And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney board;
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,

A cap by night-a stocking all the day!

1 First printed in "The Citizen of the World," Letter xxx; and afterwards inserted, with a few variations, in "The Deserted Village," 1770. On this subject Goldsmith had projected an heroi-comic poem, as appears by one of his letters to his brother.

Viz. "1. Urge no healths; 2. Profane no divine ordinances; 3. Touch no state matters; 4. Reveal no secrets; 5. Pick no quarrels; 6. Make no comparisons; 7. Maintain no ill opinions; 8. Keep no bad company; 9. Encourage no vice; 10. Make no long meals; 11. Repeat no grievances; 12. Lay no wagers."

"William, Duke of Cumberland, the hero of Culloden, d. 1765. 4"And now imagine, after his soliloquy, the landlord to make his appearance, in order to dun him for the reckoning:

"Not with that face, so servile and so gay,

That welcomes every stranger that can pay,

With sulky eye he smoaked the patient man,

Then pulled his breeches tight, and thus began,' &c.

“All this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a good remark of Montaigne's, that the wisest men often have friends, with whom they do not care how much

THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

A TALE,1

SECLUDED from domestic strife,
Jack Book-Worm led a college life;
A fellowship at twenty-five

Made him the happiest man alive;
He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke,
And freshinen wonder'd as he spoke.'

Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,
Could any accident impair ?
Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix
Our swain, arrived at thirty-six?
O! had the Archer ne'er come down
To ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop!

O, had her eyes forgot to blaze!
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze;
O!

-But let exclamations cease,

Her presence banish'd all his peace."

they play the fool. Take my present follies as instances of regard. Poetry is a much easier, and more agreeable species of composition than prose, and could a man live by it, it were not unpleasant employment to be a poet."—GOLDSMITH, Letter to his Brother; see Letters, vol. iv.

1 First printed as Essay 26 in "Essays by Mr. Goldsmith," 1765, 12mo.
Here followed, in the first edition:

"Without politeness, aim'd at breeding,
And laugh'd at pedantry and reading."

3 Here followed, in the first edition:

"Our alter'd parson now began
To be a perfect lady's man;

Made sonnets, lisp'd his sermons o'er,
And told the tales oft told before;
Of bailiffs pump'd and proctors bit;
At college how he show'd his wit;

So with decorum all things carry'd;

Miss frown'd and blush'd, and then was-married.

Need we expose to vulgar sight

The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains clos'd around?
Let it suffice, that each had charms;
He clasp'd a goddess in his arms:
And, though she felt his usage rough,'
Yet, in a man, 'twas well enough.

:

The honey-moon like lightning flew ;
The second brought its transports too:
A third, a fourth, were not amiss,
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss
But, when a twelvemonth pass'd away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace:
But still the worst remain'd behind,
That very face had robb'd her mind.

Skill'd in no other arts was she,

But dressing, patching, repartee;

And, just as humour rose or fell,

By turns a slattern or a belle.

"Tis true she dress'd with modern grace,

Half naked at a ball or race;

But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greasy night-caps wrapp'd her head.

And as the fair one still approvd

He fell in love-or thought he lov'd,
So," &c.

The allusion to the "bailiffs pump'd" applies to an incident in the Poet's own

college career.

"And though she felt his visage rough."-First edition.