Still is that voice, of late so strong,
That many a sweet Capricio sung,

And beat in sounds the spheres.
No longer must those fingers play
,,Britons, strike home" *), that many a day
Have sooth'd my ravish'd ears?

Ah me! indeed I'm much inclin'd

To think I now might speak my mind,

Nor hurt her dear repose;

Nor think I now with rage she'd roar,
Were I to put my fingers o'er,

And touch her precious nose.

Here let me philosophic pause
How wonderful are Nature's laws!
When lady's breath retires,
Its fate the flaming passions share,
Supported by a little air,
Like culinary fires!

Whene'er I hear the bagpipe's note,
Shall Fancy fix on Grizzle's throat,
And loud instructive lungs.
O Death, in her, though only one,
Are lost a thousand charms unknown,
At least a thousand tongues.

Soon as I heard her last sweet sigh,
And saw her gently - closing eye,
How great was my surprise!
Yet have I not, with impious breath,
Accus'd the hard decrees of death,

Nor blam'd the righteous skies.

Why do I groan in deep despair,
Since she'll be soon an angel fair?
Ah! why my bosom smite?
Could grief my Grizzle's life restore!
But let me give such ravings o'er
Whatever is, is right.

*) Anfang eines bekannten Englischen Liedes.

You shall not ope her mouth, by heav'n, And Grizzle's gullet cram.

Enough of boluses, poor heart,

And pills, she took, to load a cart,
Before she clos'd her eyes;

But now my word is here a law,
Zounds! with a bolus in her jaw,
She shall not seek the skies.

Good Sir, good Doctor, go away;
To hear my sighs you must not stay,
For this my poor lost treasure:

I thank you for your pains and skill;
When next you come, pray bring your bill;
I'll pay it, Sir, with pleasure.

Ye friends who come to mourn her doom,
For God's sake gently tread the room,

Nor call her from the blest:

In softest silence drop the tear,
In whispers breathe the fervent pray'r
To bid her spirit rest.

Repress the sad, the wounding scream;
I cannot bear of grief extreme

Enough one little sigh

Besides, the loud alarm of grief,
In many a mind may start belief,
Our noise is all a lie.

my

Good nurses, shroud lamb with care
Her limbs, with gentlest fingers, spare;
Her mouth, ah! slowly close;

Her mouth, à magic tongue that held,
Whose softest tone; at times, compell'd,
To peace, my loudest woes.

And, carpenter, for my sad sake,
Of stoutest oak her coffin make

I'd not be stingy, sure:

3) FRAGMENT OF THE FIRST CANTO OF THE LOUSIAD. Argument,

Description of the Louse's fall; History of his Wife and Family. A wonderfully sublime Simile of a Cow; Discovery of the Louse by his Majesty; Description of his Majesty's heart, most naturally compared to a dumpling; His Majesty's Speek to the Queen; Her Majesty's most gracious and short answer; The short Speech of the Princesses; His Majesty's rough rejoinder; The fear that came on the Queen and her Children beautiful Apostrophe to the Princesses; the King's Speech to the Pages; the King unable to eat, the Queen able; the King's Orders about the Louse. Description of Dixon the Cook major — his Speech.

The Louse I sing, who, from some head unknown,

Yet born and educated near a throne,

Dropp'd down

(so will'd the dread decree of Fate!)
With legs wide sprawling on the Monarch's plate:
Far from the raptures of a wife's embrace;

Far from the gambols of a tender race,
Whose little feet he taught with care to tread
Amidst the wide dominions of the head;
Led them to daily food with fond delight,
And taught the tiny wand'rers where to bite;
To hide, to run, advance, or turn their tails,
When hostile combs attack'd, or vengeful nails:

1

Far from those pleasing scenes ordain'd to roam,
Like wise Ulysses, from his native home;

Yet, like that sage, though forc'd to roam and mourn,
Like him, alas! not fated to return!

Who, full of rags and glory saw his boy *)

And wife ** again, and dog ***) that dy'd for joy.
Down dropp'd the luckless Louse, with fear appall'd,
And wept his wife and children as he sprawl'd.
Thus, on a promontory's misty brow,

The Poet's eye, with sorrow, saw a cow
Take leave abrupt of bullocks, goats, and sheep,
By tumbling headlong down the dizzy steep;
No more to reign a queen amongst the cattle,
And urge her rival beaus, the bulls, to battle;
She fell ****), rememb'ring ev'ry roaring lover,
With all her wild courants in fields of clover.
Now on his legs, amidst a thousand woes,
The Louse, with judge-like gravity, arose;
He wanted not a motive to entreat him,
Beside the horror that the King might eat him:
The dread of gasping on the fatal fork,
Stuck with a piece of mutton, beef, or pork,
Or drowning 'midst the sauce in dismal dumps,
Was full enough to make him stir his stumps.
Vain hope of stealing unperceiv'd away!
He might as well have tarried where he lay.
Seen was the Louse, as with the Royal brood
Our hungry King amus'd himself with food;
Which proves (though scarce believ'd by one in ten)
That Kings have appetites like common men;
And that, like London Aldermen and Mayor,
Kings feed on, solids less refin'd than air.
Paint, heav'nly Muse, the look, the very look,
That of the Sov'reign's face possession took,
When first he saw the Louse, in solemn state,
Grave as a Spaniard, march across the plate!
Yet, could a Louse a British King surprise,
And like a pair of saucers stretch his eyes?

*) Telemachus. **) Penelope.

***) Argus, for whose history see the Odyssey. ****) Moriens dulces reminiscitur Argos. Virg.,

The little tenant of a mortal head,

Shake the great Ruler of three realms with dread?
Good Lord! (as somebody sublimely sings)
What great effects arise from little things!

What dire emotions shook the Monarch's soul!
Just like two billiard balls his eyes 'gan roll;
Whilst anger all his Royal heart possess'd,
That, swelling, wildly bump'd against his breast;
Bounc'd at his ribs with all its might so stout,
As resolutely bent on jumping out,

Tavenge, with all its pow'rs, the dire disgrace,
And nobly spit in the offender's face.
Thus a large dumpling to its cell confin'd,
(A very apt allusion, to my mind)

Lies snug, until the water waxeth hot,
Then bustles 'midst the tempest of the pot;
In vain!

the lid keeps down the child of dough, That bouncing, tumbling, sweating, rolls below.

What's that! what's that!" th' astonish'd Monarch cries,

(Lifting to pitying Heav'n his piteous eyes)

,,What monster's that, that's got into the house?
„Look, look, look, Charly! is not that a louse?"

The Queen look'd down, and said, „Mine Gote! good l!”
And with a smile the grey-back'd Stranger saw,
Each Princess strain'd her lovely neck to see,

And, with another smile, exclaim'd,,, Good me!"
Mine Gote! Good me! is that all you can say?"
(Our gracious Monarch cry'd, with huge dismay.)
"What! What! a silly vacant smile' take place
,,Upon your Majesty's and children's face,

„Whilst that vile Louse (soon; soon to be unjointed!)
,,Affronts the presence of the Lord's Anointed!”
Dash'd, as if tax'd with Hell's most deadly sins,
The Queen and Princesses drew in their chins,'
Look'd prim, and gave each exclamation o'er,
And, very prudent,,,words spake never more."
Sweet Maids! the beauteous boast of Britain's Isle,
Speak were those peerless lips forbid to smile?
Lips that the soul of simple Nature moves -