IV.

But, as you soon shall see, she'll oft and oft
Embroil herself in her geography,

Even as an ant, journeying on plaster soft,

Or on the dust, or heap of flour perdie, Or like that limner, by old critics scoff'd,

31

Who drew a cypress in the azure sea,
And whales light-skipping on some lofty mount,
Things quite as queer my gipsy will recount.

V.

And sure for this she should not be ill-treated,

Nor pointed at, nor scorn'd, with mock and gibe; She ne'er on high Parnassus' top was seated, Nor read the works of any learned scribe Of Athens, Rome, or Florence;-ne'er was greeted Member elect of a blue-stocking tribe, 32

Nor e'er aspired with dandy wits to shine,

Who think themselves immortal and divine. 33

VI.

She only sings for merriment and glee,

(Of which, if so disposed, you may partake;) Of those strict rules the sense she ne'er could see Which cause the heads of weary bards to ake, Who, struggling to make wit and words agree,

In frenzy oft the third commandment break, And scratch their addle pates, and bite their nails, 34 When sense or rhyme or proper accent fails.

VII.

Sometimes you'll see her (such a child she is)
Leap to and fro as doth a frisky frog;
Nor can I blame or deem her fool for this,
Nor that the patient plodder's sober jog
She's apt to turn to ridicule, and quiz. 35

Sweet Poetry! what pedant chain shall clog
Thy devious wanderings, humble or sublime,
Thy merry doggrel song, or lofty rhyme !

VIII.

Oft in the fury of the embattled field,

Drench'd with the blood of slayers, and of slain,
This so capricious Muse of mine will yield,
All in a moment, to some peaceful strain
Of soft amours; then lofty anthems build 36
Or hymns, to holy saints in solemn fane-
Then, hark! mid ocean's roar, and tempest's shock,
She weeps with Ariadne on her rock.

IX.

See, now in hand she takes her rural pipe,

But hums, with voice subdued, and mien abash'd;

Then look not at her, till her wit, more ripe,

And bolder grown, through thick and thin has splash'd,

Lest blushes, rosy red, of shame the type,

1 With native lilies in her cheek be dash'd.

Hist! she begins! so let us, side by side,
Near her, in silence and on tip-toe glide.

X.

-MY PURPOSE is to sing the warfare dire Whereof I once in certain writing read; If true or false, I did not much inquire: Right well I know it fill'd my soul with dread, To hear the dying screams of son and sire,

Of matrons slain, and maidens ravished,

In Paris, compass'd round, and sorely shent, 37
By paynim foes from every region sent.

XI.

The author who this curious book indites

Was Garbolin, a name that here comes pat in, Who swears he saw the whole whereof he writes, And set it forth, in Vulgar, and in Latin. His work my father, who in books delights,

Bought of a hind who came our goats to fatten, And, in exchange, to suit his toes and rump,

A doublet gave, and for each foot a pump.

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XII.

This clerk narrates the dudgeon and fierce rage
Of Afric's and of Asia's godless kings

Against great Charles the brave, the good, the sage,
When, marshalling numerous hosts and gatherings, 39
Cafria's proud chief, and Lapland's, did engage,

40

And Negroland's, with more of whom he sings, (But nameless now!) all christian blood to spill,4 And every christian church with idols fill.

XIII.

But mark (lest I the caution should forget),
Be pleased at all times when I talk of love
To banish from your thoughts the fond conceit
That ever Love and I were hand and glove :
Love never made me mad nor merry yet,

But fancy-free, through woods and wilds I rove:41 So, in that sort whatever's said or sung,

Regards me not-my withers are unwrung.

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