WRITTEN ON MY BIRTHDAY, 1734.
THE minutes, the hours, the days, and the years,
That fill up the current of Time,
Neither flowing with hope, neither ebbing with fears,
Unheeded rolled on to my prime.
In Infancy prattling, in Youth full of play,
Still pleased with whatever was new;
I bade the old Cripple fly swifter away,
To o'ertake some gay trifle in view!
But when CHLOE, with sweetness and sense in her First taught me the lesson of Love; [look, Then, I counted each step the winged Fugitive took; And bade him more leisurely move!
'Stop, Runaway! stop! nor thy journey pursue; For CHLOE has gi'en me her heart!
To enjoy it, thy years will prove many too few! If you make so much haste to depart.'
Still, still he flies on! Still, still let him fly
Till he's tired, and panting for breath!
My love, both his teeth and his scythe shall defy!
That can only be conquered by Death!
As CHLOE on flowers reclined o'er the stream,
She sighed to the breeze, and made COLIN her theme.
Though pleasant the stream, and though cooling the
breeze,
And the flowers though fragrant; she panted for ease!
The stream, it was fickle, and hasted away!
It kissed the sweet banks; but no longer could stay!
Though beauteous, inconstant! and faithless, though fair!
Ah! COLIN! look in; and behold thyself there!
The breeze, that so sweet on its bosom did play,
Now rose to a tempest, and darkened the day.
As sweet as the breeze, and as loud as the wind,
Such COLIN, when angry; and COLIN, when kind!
The flowers, when gathered, so beauteous and sweet,
Now fade on her bosom, and die at her feet.
So fair in their bloom, and so foul in decay,
Such COLIN, when present; and COLIN, away!
In rage and despair, from the ground she arose ;
And from her, the flowers, so faded, she throws!
She weeps in the stream, and she sighs to the wind;
And resolves to drive COLIN quite out of her mind.
But what her resolves, when her COLIN appeared!
The stream it stood still, and no tempest was heard;
The flowers recovered their beautiful hue;
She found, he was kind; and believed, he was true!
FAIR SALLY loved a bonny Sailor.
With tears, she sent him out to roam;
Young THOMAS, taking leave, did tell her,
He left with her his heart at home.
She viewed the seas from off the hill;
And, as she turned her spinning wheel,
Sung of her bonny Sailor!
The wind grew loud, and she grew paler
To see the weathercock turn round;
When, lo! she spied her bonny Sailor
Come whistling o'er the fallow ground.
With nimble haste, he leaped the stile;
Fair SALLY met him with a smile,
And hugged her bonny Sailor.
Fast round the waist he took his SALLY,
But first around his mouth wiped he;
Like home-bred Spark he could not dally;
But pressed and kissed her with a glee!
'Through winds, and waves, and dashing rain,'
Said he,thy Toм 's returned again,
To bring a heart for SALLY!'
'Welcome!' cried she, my constant THOMAS !
Though out of sight, ne'er out of mind!
The seas, our hearts have parted from us;
Yet still my thoughts were left behind.
So much my thoughts took TOMMY's part,
That time, nor absence, from my heart
Could drive my constant THOMAS!'
'This knife, the gift of lovely SALLY!
Which still I've kept for her dear sake,
A thousand times, in am'rous folly,
Her name has carved upon the deck.
Again this happy pledge returns,
To show how truly THOMAS burns,
How truly burns for SALLY!'
This thimble, thou didst give to SALLY;
Whene'er I see, I think on you!
Then why should Toм stand shilly, shall I,
When yonder steeple 's in our view?'
TOм, never to occasion blind,
Now took her in the coming mind;
And went to Church with SALLY.
WHAT Woman could do, I have tried, to be free!
Yet do all I can,
I find I love him! And though he flies me;
Still, still, he 's the man!
They tell me, 'At once, he to twenty will swear!'
When vows are so sweet; who, the falsehood will fear?
So, when you have said all you can,
Still, still, he's the man!
I caught him once making love to a Maid.
When to him I ran;
He turned, and he kissed me! Then, who could upbraid
So civil a man?
The next day, I found, to a third he was kind.
I rated him soundly! He swore, 'I was blind!'
So, let me do what I can,
Still, still, he 's the man!
All the World bids me, 'Beware of his art!'
I do what I can:
But he has taken such hold of my heart,
I doubt he 's the man!
So sweet are his kisses, his looks are so kind;
He may have his faults: but if I none can find,
Who can do more than they can?
Still, still, he 's the man!
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