Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 79

Keep thy conscience from offence And tempestuous pa.s.sions free, So, when thou art call'd from hence, Easy shall thy pa.s.sage be.

--Easy shall thy pa.s.sage be, Cheerful thy allotted stay, Short the account 'twixt G.o.d and thee, Hope shall meet thee on thy way.

Henry Carey. 1693?-1743

444. Sally in our Alley

OF all the girls that are so smart There 's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em; But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally!

She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs me most severely: But let him bang his bellyful, I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that 's in the week I dearly love but one day-- And that 's the day that comes betwixt A Sat.u.r.day and Monday; For then I'm drest all in my best To walk abroad with Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named; I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again, O, then I shall have money; I'll h.o.a.rd it up, and box it all, I'll give it to my honey: I would it were ten thousand pound, I'd give it all to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbors all Make gave of me and Sally, And, but for her, I'd better be A slave and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out, O, then I'll marry Sally; O, then we'll wed, and then we'll bed-- But not in our alley!

Henry Carey. 1693?-1743

445. A Drinking-Song

BACCHUS must now his power resign-- I am the only G.o.d of Wine!

It is not fit the wretch should be In compet.i.tion set with me, Who can drink ten times more than he.

Make a new world, ye powers divine!

Stock'd with nothing else but Wine: Let Wine its only product be, Let Wine be earth, and air, and sea-- And let that Wine be all for me!

William Broome. ?-1745

446. The Rosebud

QUEEN of fragrance, lovely Rose, The beauties of thy leaves disclose!

--But thou, fair Nymph, thyself survey In this sweet offspring of a day.

That miracle of face must fail, Thy charms are sweet, but charms are frail: Swift as the short-lived flower they fly, At morn they bloom, at evening die: Though Sickness yet a while forbears, Yet Time destroys what Sickness spares: Now Helen lives alone in fame, And Cleopatra's but a name: Time must indent that heavenly brow, And thou must be what they are now.

William Broome. ?-1745

447. Belinda's Recovery from Sickness

THUS when the silent grave becomes Pregnant with life as fruitful wombs; When the wide seas and s.p.a.cious earth Resign us to our second birth; Our moulder'd frame rebuilt a.s.sumes New beauty, and for ever blooms, And, crown'd with youth's immortal pride, We angels rise, who mortals died.

James Thomson. 1700-1748

448. On the Death of a particular Friend

AS those we love decay, we die in part, String after string is sever'd from the heart; Till loosen'd life, at last but breathing clay, Without one pang is glad to fall away.

Unhappy he who latest feels the blow!

Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low, Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial death to death, Till, dying, all he can resign is--breath.

George Lyttelton, Lord Lyttelton. 1709-1773

449. Tell me, my Heart, if this be Love

WHEN Delia on the plain appears, Awed by a thousand tender fears I would approach, but dare not move: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear No other voice than hers can hear, No other wit but hers approve: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

If she some other youth commend, Though I was once his fondest friend, His instant enemy I prove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When she is absent, I no more Delight in all that pleased before-- The clearest spring, or shadiest grove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When fond of power, of beauty vain, Her nets she spread for every swain, I strove to hate, but vainly strove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

Samuel Johnson. 1709-1784

450. One-and-Twenty

LONG-EXPECTED one-and-twenty, Ling'ring year, at length is flown: Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty, Great * * * * * * *, are now your own.

Loosen'd from the minor's tether, Free to mortgage or to sell, Wild as wind, and light as feather, Bid the sons of thrift farewell.

Call the Betsies, Kates, and Jennies, All the names that banish care; Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, Show the spirit of an heir.

All that prey on vice and folly Joy to see their quarry fly: There the gamester, light and jolly, There the lender, grave and sly.

Wealth, my lad, was made to wander, Let it wander as it will; Call the jockey, call the pander, Bid them come and take their fill.

When the bonny blade carouses, Pockets full, and spirits high-- What are acres? What are houses?

Only dirt, or wet or dry.

Should the guardian friend or mother Tell the woes of wilful waste, Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother;-- You can hang or drown at last!

Samuel Johnson. 1709-1784