University of Virginia Library

An Explanation of Richy and Sandy,
by Josiah Burchet, Esq;

RICHY.
What makes thee look so sad? dear Sandy say.
Rouse up dull Fellow, take thy Reed and play
A merry Jig, or try some other Art,
To raise thy Spirits, and cheer up thy Heart.

SANDY.
No, no, it will not do! Leave me to moan,
Till twice eight Days are past I'll whistle none.

RICHY.
That's strange indeed! Has Jenny made the[e] sad?
Or, tell me, hath some horrid Spectre, Lad,
(Glaring from Ruins old, in silent Night)
Surpriz'd, and put thee in a panic Fright?
Or ails that Wedder ought, thy Favourite?

SANDY.
Such Troubles might with much more Ease be born:
What's Goblins, Wedders, or what's Woman's Scorn?
Our Loss is greater far; for Addy's dead,
Addy, who sang so sweetly on the Mead.

RICHY.
Dead is he, say'st thou? Guard my Heart, oh Pan!
What Burthens, Gods, ye lay on feeble Man!
Alack I cannot blame thee for thy Grief;
Nor hope I, more than thou, to find Relief.
A better Lad ne'er lean'd on Shepherd's Crook,
Nor after Game halloo'd his Dog to look,
How glad where Ews give Milk have we three been,
Merry on Hills, and gay upon the Green!

SANDY.
That's true indeed; but now, alas! in vain
We seek for Pleasure on the rural Plain:
I never thought a Summer's Day too long
To hear his Couplets, or his tuneful Song.
How sweet he sang where Vines and Myrtles grow,
And winding Streams which in old Latium flow!
Titry, the Mantuan Herd, who long ago
Sang best on Oaten Reed the Lover's Woe,
Did he, fam'd Bard, but live in these our Days,
He would with Addy freely share his Bays.
As long as Shepherds Amaryllis hear,
So long his Rosamond shall please the Ear.
While spangled Daisie near the Riv'let grows,
And tender Lambs seek after bleating Ews,
His Fame shall last. Last shall his Song of Wars,
While British Youngsters boast of Ancestors.
Much shall we miss his merry witty Jests,
At weaning Times, and at our Lambmass Feasts.
Oh Richy! Richy! Death hath been unkind
To take the Good, and leave the Ill behind.
Bow down your Heads ye Hills, weep dry your Springs,
For on their Banks no more the Shepherd sings.

RICHY.
Then he had always good Advice to give,
And could my Thoughts, like as my self, conceive.
When I've been drooping, vex'd, or in the Spleen,
In one half Hour with him I've merry been.
Had Jenny froward been, or Raynard bold
Worry'd my Lamb, or were my Shoes grown old;
Kindly he'd smile, when he observ'd me grieve,
And by his Talk divine my Breast relieve.
Addy did all Things to Perfection know;
Saw by the Moon how Tides would ebb or flow.
He knew, what knew he not? E'en to a Hair
He'd tell o'er Night if next Day would be fair.
The fam'd blind Bard sang in mysterious Phrase
How envious Satan did first Mischief raise;
But oft beneath the well-spread Birchen-Tree
The Beauties of that Song he made me see.
The Lasses oft flung down their Rakes and Pales,
And held their Tongues, Oh strange! to hear his Tales.

SANDY.
Sound be his Sleep, and soft his Waking be;
More happy is he far than thee or me:
Too good he was for us; the Gods but lent
Him here below, when hither he was sent.
Let us be good, if Virtue be our Aim,
Then we may meet above the Skies again.
But see how tow'rds the Glade the Fatlings go;
Thomas hath ta'en the Oxen from the Plough;
Joan hath prepar'd the Supper 'gainst we come,
And late calf'd Cows stand lowing near their Home:
Then let's have done, and to our Rest repair,
And what we cannot help, with Patience bear.