Ode To the Right Honourable the Earl of Northumberland On his being appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. Presented on the birth-day of Lord Warkworth. With some other Pieces. By Christopher Smart |
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 | Ode To the Right Honourable the Earl of Northumberland |  |
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Where shall Cælia fly for shelter,
In what secret grove or cave?
Sighs and sonnets sent to melt her
From the young, the gay, the brave.
Tho' with prudish airs she starch her,
Still she longs, and still she burns;
Cupid shoots like Hayman's archer,
Wheresoe'er the damsel turns.
In what secret grove or cave?
Sighs and sonnets sent to melt her
From the young, the gay, the brave.
Tho' with prudish airs she starch her,
Still she longs, and still she burns;
Cupid shoots like Hayman's archer,
Wheresoe'er the damsel turns.
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Virtue, wit, good sense, and beauty,
If discretion guide us not,
Sometimes are the ruffian's booty,
Sometimes are the booby's lot:
Now they're purchas'd by the trader,
Now commanded by the peer;
Now some subtle mean invader
Wins the heart, or gains the ear.
If discretion guide us not,
Sometimes are the ruffian's booty,
Sometimes are the booby's lot:
Now they're purchas'd by the trader,
Now commanded by the peer;
Now some subtle mean invader
Wins the heart, or gains the ear.
O discretion, thou'rt a jewel,
Or our grand-mammas mistake;
Stinting flame by baiting fewel,
Always careful and awake!
Wou'd you keep your pearls from tramplers,
Weigh the licence, weigh the banns:
Mark my song upon your samplers,
Wear it on your knots and fans.
Or our grand-mammas mistake;
Stinting flame by baiting fewel,
Always careful and awake!
Wou'd you keep your pearls from tramplers,
Weigh the licence, weigh the banns:
Mark my song upon your samplers,
Wear it on your knots and fans.
| Ode To the Right Honourable the Earl of Northumberland | |