A BALLAD

IN IMITATION OF MARTIAL, LIB. VI. EP. 34., on LADY (ELIZABETH] ILCHESTER

[ ILCHESTER, HOW MANY KISSES HE WOULD HAVE?

ASKING

LORD

Written at Redlynch [Park, Somerset], in August 1740.

DEAR BETTY! come, give me sweet kisses !

For sweeter no Girl ever gave!
But why, in the midst of our blisses,

Do you ask me, How many I'd have?
I'm not to be stinted in pleasure,

Then, prithee, dear BETTY! be kind !
For as I love thee beyond measure,

To numbers I'll not be confined !

Count the bees that on Hybla are straying!

Count the flowers that enamel the fields !
Count the flocks that on Tempe are playing;

Or the grains that each Sicily yields !
Count how many stars are in heaven!

Go, reckon the sands on the shore !
And when so many kisses you've given;

I still shall be asking for more!

To a heart full of love, let me hold thee!

A heart that, dear BETTY! is thine !
In my arms I'll for ever enfold thee;

And curl round thy neck like a vine!
What joy can be greater than this is ?

My life on thy lips shall be spent!
But those who can number their kisses,

Will always with few be content!

A SONG ON MISS HARRIET HANBURY,

ADDRESSED TO THE Rev. MR. BIRT.

Dear Doctor of St. Mary's,
In the Hundred of Bergavenny,

I've seen such a Lass,

With a shape and face
As never were matched by any.

Such wit, such bloom, and beauty,
Has this girl of Pontypool, Sir!

With eyes that would make

The toughest heart ache,
And the wisest man a fool, Sir !

At our Fair, t other day, she appeared, Sir!
And the Welshmen all flocked and viewed her :

And all of them said,

She was fit to have been made
A Wife for OWEN TUDOR!'

They would ne'er have been tired with gazing! And so much her charms did please, Sir !

That all of them stayed

Till their ale grew dead,
And cold was their toasted cheese, Sir!

How happy the Lord of the Manor
That shall be of her possessed, Sir!

For all must agree,

Who my HARRIET shall see,
She 's a HARRIET [heriot] of the best, Sir!

Then, pray make a Ballad about her!
We know you have wit, if you'd show it.

Then don't be ashamed !

You can never be blamed; For a Prophet is often a Poet!

' But why don't you make one yourself, then ?' I suppose I, by you shall be told, Sir!

This beautiful piece,

Alas! is my niece;
And, besides, she 's but five years old, Sir!

But though, my dear friend, she 's no older; In her face, it may plainly be seen, Sir!

That this Angel at five

Will, if she 's alive,
Be a Goddess at fifteen, Sir!

At St. Osyth's, near the Mill,

There dwells a lovely Lass. O, had I her good will,

How sweetly life would pass!

No bold intruding care,

Our bliss should e'er annoy! Her looks can gild despair ;

And heighten every joy!

Like Nature's rural scene,

Her artless beauties charm! Like them, with joy serene

Our wishing hearts they warm!

Her wit, with sweetness crowned,

Steals ev'ry sense away! The list’ning Swains around

Forget the short'ning day!

Health, Freedom, Wealth, and Ease,

Without her tasteless are !
She gives them power to please;

And makes them worth our care.

Is there, ye Powers! a bliss

Reserved for my share ? Indulgent, hear my wish;

And grant it all in her!

THE CHARACTER OF ALMENON.

OUT OF AN OLD MANUSCRIPT.

ALMENON had a sort of merit ! Some sense, good humour, wit, and spirit; But then, he had a strange weak side! He hated roguery and pride; Nor saw at Court, without a sneer, The mummeries he met with there.

To Senates, by his country sent,
He served them well in Parliament;
Nor would, for tawdry toys, or pelf,
Betray his trust, and sell himself.

Sincere and friendly, not punctilious;
No Mamamouche, nor supercilious :
In conversation gay and free.
But liked not too much company.

No toping sot, nor noted rake;
But yet would too much pleasure take:
Though he ne'er hurt estate, or fame;
Nor brought a scandal on the name.

Good books he prized from earliest youth ; And valued men for worth and truth.