And bring me my Writing-desk; oh! what a job; And tell William to put the old saddle on Cob. The doctor's sour draughts in whole bumpers I'll try;

If as deep as a Draw-well, I'll drink 'em all dry. While thus fretting and fuming, I vented my ire, The daughter call'd in of our Country Squire; With a wreath round her hat form'd of Tulip

and rose,

And lilies, whose tints her complexion compose. While in chat, from her hand she something let fall

On my toe, like the weight of a huge Cannon

ball.

Tho' the pain set me growling and grinding my

teeth,

I found it was only a light Scissors-sheath.
I could not be angry; no mischief was meant ;
I bore it with patience, almost with content.
I resolv'd, too, no longer to scold or to flout,
But wrapp'd up in my flannels to sulk the fit

out.

And, good heav'n! what a change in the course of a week!

Once more free from pain, I could move and could speak;

The tardy-pac'd gout had at length left his hold, And my health thus restor'd, I grew sprightly and bold.

I determin'd again to set sail in the world, With top-gallant and Mainsheet of pleasure unfurl'd;

And, like a brisk bee, sip each full-blooming

flow'r,

In greenhouse, in Flow'r-pot, in garden, or bow'r. No more, like a Numpskull, o'er evils to pore, Which good water-gruel and patience can cure; But from sickness set free, to adopt my old plan, And enjoy ev'ry hour of my life as I can.

ON HEARING A LADY

SING THE BALLAD, "GO, FORGET ME."

"Go, forget me," didst thou say? Oh! how impossible a thing,

For one, who many' a happy day,

Has seen thee "smile," and heard thee "sing."

In this strange world, where self alone

Prevails almost in ev'ry breast;

Pleasing it is to find that one

Has banish'd this unsocial guest.

"Tis clear that no such feeling lies

In that good-natur'd heart of thine,

That takes such pains, such efforts tries,
To please, to win, and thus to shine.

Who can forget the winning smile
That plays upon thy rosy lip,

While thrilling strains the hours beguile,
And time and night unconscious slip.

Believe me, in this earthly scene,

This desert with such ills beset, Such sunny beams are seldom seen;

You must not bid me then forget.

No, no! thou dost but little note

The int'rest thy good humour raises;

And, trust me, I shall not be mute,
In duly setting forth thy praises.

When distant, I shall oft recur

To scenes that were to me so pretty; Where I have lent a willing ear,

In list'ning to thy pleasing ditty.

ON THE DEPARTURE

OF A

VALUED FRIEND AND FAMILY

FROM STOCTON, WARWICKSHIRE.

Farewell, farewell, thou peaceful spot,
Scene of departed, not forgotten, joy;
Farewell, lov'd tenants of the rose-spread cot,
Where pleasure's cup I've drain'd without
[alloy.

Remembrance still shall dwell upon the scene,
Though clos'd for ever but to fancy's eye;
Still memory shall keep thee fresh and green
Dead as thou art to bless'd reality.

Oft will that busy fancy take her flight,

While solitude's dull hours pass still and slow, To where the mill crowns Stocton's gentle height And peeps upon the village huts below.