The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
HYMN TO MODESTY.
O Modesty! thou shy and blushful maid,
Don't of a simple shepherd be afraid;
Wert thou my lamb—with sweetest grass I'd treat thee—
I am no wolf so savage that should eat thee:
Then haste with me, O nymph, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Don't of a simple shepherd be afraid;
Wert thou my lamb—with sweetest grass I'd treat thee—
I am no wolf so savage that should eat thee:
Then haste with me, O nymph, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Thy fragrant breast, like Alpine snows so white,
Where all the nestling loves delight to lie;
Thine eyes, that shed the milder light
Of night's pale wand'rer o'er her cloudless sky,
O nymph, my panting, wishing bosom warm,
And beam around me, what a world of charm!
Then haste with me, O nymph, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Where all the nestling loves delight to lie;
412
Of night's pale wand'rer o'er her cloudless sky,
O nymph, my panting, wishing bosom warm,
And beam around me, what a world of charm!
Then haste with me, O nymph, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Thy flaxen ringlets, that luxuriant spread,
And hide thy bosom with an envious shade;
Thy polish'd cheek so dimpled, where the rose
In all the bloom of ripening summer blows;
Thy luscious lips, that heav'nly dreams inspire,
By beauty formed and loaded with desire;
With sorrow and with wonder, lo! I see
(What melting treasures!) thrown away on thee.
Then haste with me, O nymph to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
And hide thy bosom with an envious shade;
Thy polish'd cheek so dimpled, where the rose
In all the bloom of ripening summer blows;
Thy luscious lips, that heav'nly dreams inspire,
By beauty formed and loaded with desire;
With sorrow and with wonder, lo! I see
(What melting treasures!) thrown away on thee.
Then haste with me, O nymph to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Thou knowest not that bosom's fair design;
And as for those two pouting lips divine,
Thou think'st them form'd alone for simple chat—
To bill so happy with thy fav'rite dove,
And playful force, with sweetly fondling love,
Their kisses on a lapdog or a cat.
Then haste with me, meek maid, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
And as for those two pouting lips divine,
Thou think'st them form'd alone for simple chat—
To bill so happy with thy fav'rite dove,
And playful force, with sweetly fondling love,
Their kisses on a lapdog or a cat.
Then haste with me, meek maid, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Such thoughts thy sweet simplicity produces!
But I can point out far sublimer uses;
Uses the very best of men esteem—
Of which thine innocence did never dream:
Then haste with me, meek maid to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
But I can point out far sublimer uses;
Uses the very best of men esteem—
Of which thine innocence did never dream:
Then haste with me, meek maid to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Oh! fly from impudence, the brazen rogue,
Whose flippant tongue hath got the Irish brogue,
Whose hands would pluck thee like the fairest flow'r,
Thy cheeks, eyes, forehead, lips, and neck, devour:
Shun, shun, that Caliban, and with me dwell:
Then come, and give a goddess to my cell.
Whose flippant tongue hath got the Irish brogue,
Whose hands would pluck thee like the fairest flow'r,
Thy cheeks, eyes, forehead, lips, and neck, devour:
Shun, shun, that Caliban, and with me dwell:
Then come, and give a goddess to my cell.
413
The world, O simple maid, is full of art,
Would turn thee pale, and fill with dread thy heart,
Didst thou perceive but half the snares
The dev'l for charms like thine prepares!
Then haste, O nymph, with me to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Would turn thee pale, and fill with dread thy heart,
Didst thou perceive but half the snares
The dev'l for charms like thine prepares!
Then haste, O nymph, with me to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
From morn to eve my kiss of speechless love,
Thy eyes' mild beam and blushes shall improve;
And, lo! from our so innocent embrace,
Young modesties shall spring, a numerous race!
The blushing girls in ev'ry thing like thee,
The bashful boys prodigiously like me!
Then haste with me, O nymph, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
Thy eyes' mild beam and blushes shall improve;
And, lo! from our so innocent embrace,
Young modesties shall spring, a numerous race!
The blushing girls in ev'ry thing like thee,
The bashful boys prodigiously like me!
Then haste with me, O nymph, to dwell,
And give a goddess to my cell.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |