Occasional Poems Translations, Fables, Tales, &c. By William Somervile |
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A Dainty New BALLAD:
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 | Occasional Poems |  |
132
A Dainty New BALLAD:
Occasioned by a Clergyman's Widow of Seventy Years of Age, being married to a young Exciseman.
1
There liv'd in our good Town,A Relict of the Gown,
A chaste, and humble Dame;
Who when her Man of God
Was cold as any Clod,
Dropt many a Tear in vain.
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2
But now good People learn all,No Grief can be eternal,
Nor is it meet, I ween,
That Folks shou'd always whimper,
There is a time to simper,
As quickly shall be seen.
3
For Love that little Urchin,About this Widow lurching,
Had slily fix'd his Dart;
The silent creeping Flame,
Boil'd sore in ev'ry Vein,
And glow'd about her Heart.
4
So when a Pipe we smoke,And from the Flint provoke,
The Sparks that twinkling play;
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With Heat begins to fry,
And gently wastes away.
5
With Art she patch'd up Nature,Reforming ev'ry Feature,
Restoring ev'ry Grace:
To gratify her Pride,
She stopp'd each Cranny wide,
And painted o'er her Face.
6
Nor Red, nor eke the White,Was wanting to invite,
Nor Coral Lips that pout;
But oh! in vain she tries,
With Darts to arm those Eyes
That dimly squint about.
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7
With Order, and with Care,Her Pyramid of Hair
Sublimely mounts the Sky;
And that she might prevail,
She bolster'd up her Tail,
With Rumps three Storys high.
8
With many a rich Perfume,She purify'd her Room,
As there was need, no doubt;
For on these warm Occasions,
Offensive Exhalations
Are apt to fly about.
9
On Beds of Roses lying,Expecting, wishing, dying,
Thus languish'd for her Love,
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As merry Bards have told,
All in a Myrtle Grove.
10
In Pale of Mother ChurchShe fondly hope'd to lurch,
But aye me! hope'd in vain;
No Doctor cou'd be found,
Who this her Case profound,
Durst venture to explain.
11
At length a Youth full smart,Who oft by Magick Art
Had div'd in many a Hole;
Or Kilderkin, or Tun,
Or Hogshead, 'twas all one,
He'd sound it with his Pole.
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12
His Art, and eke his Face,So suited to her Case,
Engag'd her Love-sick Heart;
Quoth she, my pretty Diver,
With thee I'll live for ever,
And from thee never part.
13
For thee my Bloom reviving,For thee fresh Charms arising,
Shall melt thee into Joy,
Nor doubt, my pretty Sweeting,
E'er nine Months are compleating,
To see a bonny Boy.
14
As ye have seen, no doubt,A Candle when just out,
In Flames break forth agen;
So shone this Widow bright,
All blazing in despight
Of Threescore Years and Ten.
| Occasional Poems | |