The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
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TO THE SAME,
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 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
22
TO THE SAME,
ON ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY OF THE SAME DAY. WITH AN ORANGE-BERGAMOT SNUFF-BOX.
An husband, as in duty bound,
Presents, what an admirer found;
(Pray start not, when you lift the lid!)
A portrait in a Snuff-Box hid:
Aye marry—and myself alone
Can boast th' original my own.
Presents, what an admirer found;
(Pray start not, when you lift the lid!)
A portrait in a Snuff-Box hid:
Aye marry—and myself alone
Can boast th' original my own.
By nature's early cunning wrought,
This Box no second polish sought;
Such in this form, as on the bough;
Plain orange then, plain orange now.
Apt outline of a certain Dame,
Whose taste from nature's judgment came;
To whom mere genius gives a style,
Which fashion ne'er could mend—nor spoil.
This Box no second polish sought;
Such in this form, as on the bough;
Plain orange then, plain orange now.
23
Whose taste from nature's judgment came;
To whom mere genius gives a style,
Which fashion ne'er could mend—nor spoil.
Our Boxes of more modish make,
From various sources value take;
An artist's name; an humourist's whim;
The curious hinge; the costly rim:
But all in this agree, they bear
No perfume, till we place it there;
While modest Orange here, augments
From it's own store the richest scents;—
A miniature complete, and true,
Of—why not speak at once?—of you!—
Whose manner, in each part you fill,
Makes pleasure's self, more pleasing still.
From various sources value take;
An artist's name; an humourist's whim;
The curious hinge; the costly rim:
But all in this agree, they bear
No perfume, till we place it there;
While modest Orange here, augments
From it's own store the richest scents;—
A miniature complete, and true,
Of—why not speak at once?—of you!—
Whose manner, in each part you fill,
Makes pleasure's self, more pleasing still.
This Orange, in some former hour,
Had, like all oranges, it's sour;
But soon that acid fount was drain'd;
And endless fragrancy remain'd:
So, in the Woman I admire,
If pregnant sense, perchance, inspire
A little jest, a little tart,
'Tis from the fancy, not the heart;
Fancy—whose sour a moment quells;
An heart—where sweetness ever dwells.
Had, like all oranges, it's sour;
24
And endless fragrancy remain'd:
So, in the Woman I admire,
If pregnant sense, perchance, inspire
A little jest, a little tart,
'Tis from the fancy, not the heart;
Fancy—whose sour a moment quells;
An heart—where sweetness ever dwells.
And is not then the picture like?
And does not every feature strike?—
Yes!—And the world would own it too,
If what I've seen, the world could view;—
I, who with this poor gift and lay,
Thus greet again our Wedding Day;
And cent'ring in one friend and guide,
My joy's excess, my reason's pride,
Would for increasing love engage,—
Were every day to come, an age!
And does not every feature strike?—
Yes!—And the world would own it too,
If what I've seen, the world could view;—
I, who with this poor gift and lay,
Thus greet again our Wedding Day;
And cent'ring in one friend and guide,
My joy's excess, my reason's pride,
Would for increasing love engage,—
Were every day to come, an age!
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |