« ZurückWeiter »
Who sees you shine in Wildair's part,
And almost think there's nothing wanting.
A NEW SONG.
ONCE more I'll tune my vocal shell,
That burns for lovely Peggy.
Ye greater bards the lyre should hit,
The sun first rising in the morn,
That paints the dew-bespangled thorn,
Does not so much the day adorn,
As does my lovely Peggy.
And when in Thetis lap of rest,
Were she array'd in rustic weed,
With her a cottage would delight,
The zephyr's air, the violet blows,
I stole a kiss the other day,
And, trust me, nought but truth I say, The fragrant breath of blooming May,
Was not so sweet as Peggy,
While bees from flow'r to flow'r shall rove, And linnets warble thro' the grove,
Or stately swans the waters love,
So long shall I love Peggy.
And when death with his pointed dart, Shall strike the blow that rives my heart,
My words shall be when I depart,
"Adieu my lovely Peggy!"
TO MRS. WOFFINGTON.
(Written in July 1744.)
IN IMITATION OF
Ulla si juris tibi pejerati
Pana, Barine, nocuisset unquam.
HOR. Lib. 2, Od. 8.
IF heav'n upon thy perjur'd head,
Had the least mark of vengeance shed,
Had ev'n diminish'd any grace,
Lit up one pimple in thy face,
Or rotted but one tooth,
I would believe its pow'rs; but you
The more you cheat, we trust the more,
That makes fresh beauties rise.