Janet Little Poems

CELIA, fair, beyond description,
Soon became the fav'rite toast;
Charms unrival'd ev'n by fiction,
Did the lovely maiden boast.
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BY Cupid and Bacchus I'm sadly perplex'd,
Both parties to hear I incline:
The urchin for ever comments on this text,
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JOIN now Apollo the harmonious strain,
O Muses, Graces, all ye gentle train;
Once more conspire to aid my humble lays,
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SOME folk in courts for pleasure sue,
An' some ransack the theatre:
The airy nymph is won by few;
She's of so coy a nature.
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O JANET, by your kind permission,
My muse, in tatter'd low condition,
Would fain attempt, if you'll allow,
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I.
FROM the dull confines of a country shade,
A rustic damsel issues forth her lays;
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AS round the room, with tentless speed,
Young Delia tripp'd it finely,
A looking-glass, so Fate decreed,
She broke, but not design'dly.
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WHAT means this silent, solitary gloom?
All nature in her dishabille appears;
Contracted flow'rets yield no sweet perfume,
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OUR regal seat to Edward fallen a prey,
Our Chief's insulted corse his victim lay;
Our ruin'd land no monument could raise;
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YOUNG William once the blithest of the swains,
That grac'd the flow'ry bank, or trode the plains;
Not rustic, but from affectation free,
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