On Mr. C -- Of Kidderminster's Poetry
Thy verses, friend! are Kidderminster stuff,
And I must own you've measured out enough.
poem by William Shenstone
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On Certain Pastorals
So rude and tuneless are thy lays,
The weary audience vow
'Tis not th' Arcadian swain that sings,
But 'tis his herds that low.
poem by William Shenstone
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Impromptu to Miss Utrecia Smith
Whilst round in wild rotations hurl'd,
These glittering forms I view,
Methinks the busy restless world
Is pictured in a few.
So may the busy world advance,
Since thus the Fates decree
It still may have its busy dance,
Whilst I retire with thee.
poem by William Shenstone
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Inscription for a Medicinal Fountain at the Leasowes
Thou sacred nymph! whose pious care
Pours from thine urn this mineral rill,
Whose healing draughts, like crystal fair,
In pleasing murmurs here distil.
Who guid'st the stream, and joy'st to dwell,
Where murmurs soft with use agree;
May Phoebus haunt this hallow'd well,
And all his Sisters learn of thee.
poem by William Shenstone
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Hint From Voiture
Let Sol his annual journeys run,
And when the radiant task is done,
Confess, through all the globe, 'twou'd pose him,
To match the charms that Celia shows him.
And should he boast he once had seen
As just a form, as bright a mien,
Yet must it still for ever pose him
To match - what Celia never shows him.
poem by William Shenstone
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On Miss M--'s's Dancing
Of all that gives politeness birth,
Of all that claims to please,
In motion, manners, or in mirth,
The surest source is ease.
With silent step, and graceful air,
See gentle Sylvia move;
Whilst heedless gazers, unaware,
Resign their soul to love.
Accomplish'd maid! my trivial rhyme
Must do thy graces wrong;
Who dost not only dance in time,
But steal, like time, along.
poem by William Shenstone
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The Invidious
Martial.
O Fortune! if my prayer of old
Was ne'er solicitous for gold,
With better grace thou may'st allow
My suppliant wish, that asks it now:
Yet think not, Goddess! I require it
For the same end your clowns desire it.
In a well made effectual string
Fain would I see Lovidio swing;
Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing;
But such a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O Goddess! store of pelf,
And he will tie the knot himself.
poem by William Shenstone
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Song XIII. - Winter
No more, ye warbling birds! rejoice:
Of all that cheer'd the plain,
Echo alone preserves her voice,
And she-repeats my pain.
Where'er my lovesick limbs I lay
To shun the rushing wind,
Its busy murmurs seem to say,
'She never will be kind!'
The Naiads, o'er their frozen urns,
In icy chains repine;
And each in sullen silence mourns
Her freedom lost, like mine!
Soon will the sun's returning rays
The cheerless frost control;
When will relenting Delia chase
The winter of my soul?
poem by William Shenstone
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Song II. The Landscape
How pleased within my native bowers
Erewhile I pass'd the day!
Was ever scene so deck'd with flowers?
Were ever flowers so gay?
How sweetly smiled the hill, the vale,
And all the landscape round!
The river gliding down the dale,
The hill with beeches crown'd!
But now, when urged by tender woes,
I speed to meet my dear,
That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.
No more, since Daphne was my theme,
Their wonted charms I see;
That verdant hill and silver stream,
Divide my love and me.
poem by William Shenstone
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Extent of Cookery
Aliusque et idem.
(Another and the same).
When Tom to Cambridge first was sent,
A plain brown bob he wore;
Read much, and look'd as though he meant
To be a fop no more.
See him to Lincoln's-Inn repair,
His resolution flag;
He cherishes a length of hair,
And tucks it in a bag.
Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
But gets into the House,
And soon a judge's rank rewards
His pliant votes and bows.
Adieu, ye bobs! ye bags! give place;
Full bottoms come instead;
[...] Read more
poem by William Shenstone
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