The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq In two volumes. With Decorations. The fourth edition |
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 | The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq |  |
'Tis worth a sage's observation
How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had forc'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid!
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out o' door;
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
If anger bid our youth revile,
Love form'd his features to a smile:
And knowing well, 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a smiling face,
He in few words express'd his mind—
And none would deem them much unkind.
How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had forc'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid!
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out o' door;
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
If anger bid our youth revile,
Love form'd his features to a smile:
And knowing well, 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a smiling face,
He in few words express'd his mind—
And none would deem them much unkind.
The am'rous youth, for their offence,
Demanded instant recompence:
That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful muse to name.
Yet, more this sentence to discover,
'Tis what Bett --- grants her lover,
When he, to make the strumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune—to a shilling.
Demanded instant recompence:
That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful muse to name.
Yet, more this sentence to discover,
'Tis what Bett --- grants her lover,
When he, to make the strumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune—to a shilling.
227
Each stood awhile, as 'twere suspended,
And loth to do, what—each intended.
And loth to do, what—each intended.
At length with soft pathetic sighs,
The matron, bent with age, replies.
The matron, bent with age, replies.
'Tis vain to strive—justice, I know,
And our ill stars will have it so—
But let my tears your wrath assuage,
And shew some deference for age!
I from a distant village came,
Am old, G--- knows, and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.
And our ill stars will have it so—
But let my tears your wrath assuage,
And shew some deference for age!
I from a distant village came,
Am old, G--- knows, and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.
Our shepherd, like the Phrygian swain,
When circled round on Ida's plain,
With goddesses he stood suspended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.
When circled round on Ida's plain,
With goddesses he stood suspended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.
| The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq | |