THE RECONCILEMENT BETWEEN

JACOB TONSON AND MR. CONGREVE.

IN IMITATION OF HORACE, BOOK III, ODE IX.

TONSON.

WHILE at my house in Fleet street once you lay,
How merrily, dear Sir! time passed away!
While I partook your wine, your wit, and mirth;
I was the happiest creature on 'God's yearth'!1

CONGREVE. While, in your early days of reputation,

You for Blue Garters had not such a Passion;
While yet you did not use, as now your trade is,
To drink with noble Lords, and toast their Ladies:
Thou, JACOB TONSON! wert, to my conceiving,
The cheerfullest, best, honest fellow living!

TONSON. I'm in with Captain VANBRUGH at the present,
A most sweet-natured Gentleman, and pleasant!
He writes your Comedies, draws Schemes and
Models;

And builds Dukes' houses upon very odd hills!
For him, so much I dote on him, that I
(If I were sure to go to heaven!) would die!

1 TONSON senior, his dialect.

CONGREVE. TEMPLE and DELAVALL are now my party,

Men that are tam MERCURIO, both quam MARTE.
And though for them, I shall scarce go to Heaven;
Yet I can drink with them, six nights in seven!

TONSON. What if from VAN's dear arms I should retire; And once more warm my 'bunnians

1 at your fire!

If I to Bow street should invite you home,

And set a bed up in my dining-room;

Tell me, dear Mr. CONGREVE! would you come?

CONGREVE. Though the gay Sailor and the gentle Knight Were ten times more my joy and heart's delight; Though civil persons they; you ruder were, And had more humours than a dancing bear: Yet, for your sake, I'd bid them both Adieu!' And live and die, dear COB! with only you!

COLIN'S COMPLAINT.

DESPAIRING, beside a clear stream,
A Shepherd forsaken was laid;
And while a false Nymph was his theme,
A willow supported his head.

The wind, that blew over the plain,

To his sighs, with a sigh did reply;
And the brook, in return to his pain,
Ran mournfully murmuring by.

1 JACOB's term for his corns.

'Alas! silly Swain that I was!' Thus, sadly complaining, he cried, 'When first I beheld that fair face, 'Twere better, by far, I had died! She talked; and I blessed the dear tongue! When She smiled, 'twas a pleasure too great! I listened, and cried, when She sung, "Was nightingale ever so sweet?"

'How foolish I was to believe

She could dote on so lowly a Clown! Or that her fond heart would not grieve To forsake the fine folk of the Town! To think that a Beauty so gay,

So kind and so constant would prove; Or go clad like our Maidens, in grey; Or live in a cottage on love!

'What though I have skill to complain,

Though the Muses my temples have crowned; What though, when they hear my soft strain, The Virgins sit weeping around;

Ah! COLIN! thy hopes are in vain!
Thy pipe and thy laurel resign!
Thy False One inclines to a Swain,
Whose music is sweeter than thine!

'And you, my companions so dear! Who sorrow to see me betrayed, Whatever I suffer; forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false Maid!

Though through the wide world I should range; 'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly! 'Twas hers to be false and to change; 'Tis mine to be constant and die!

'If, while my hard fate I sustain,

In her breast any pity is found;

Let her come, with the Nymphs of the plain,
And see me laid low in the ground!
The last humble boon that I crave,

Is to shade me with cypress and yew;
And when she looks down on my grave,
Let her own, that her Shepherd was true!

Then, to her New Love let her go,
And deck her in golden array!

Be finest at ev'ry fine Show,

And frolic it all the long day! While COLIN, forgotten and gone,

No more shall be talked of, or seen; Unless when, beneath the pale moon, His ghost shall glide over the Green.'

O, FORBEAR to bid me slight her!
Soul and Senses take her part!
Could my death itself delight her;
Life should leap, to leave my heart!
Strong, though soft, a Lover's chain!
Charmed with woe; and pleased with pain!

Though the tender flame were dying,
Love would light it at her eyes!
Or her tuneful voice applying,

Through my ear, my soul surprise!
Deaf, I see the fate I shun!
Blind, I hear I am undone !

'GENTLE LOVE! this hour befriend me!
To my eyes resign thy dart!
Notes of melting music lend mè,
To dissolve a frozen heart!

'Chill as mountain snow her bosom;
Though I tender language use!
'Tis, by cold indifference, frozen
To my arms, and to my Muse!

'See! my dying eyes are pleading, Where a breaking heart appears! For thy pity interceding,

With the eloquence of tears!