ELESTIAL maid! receive this pray'r,
If e'er thy beam divine
Should gild the brow of toiling care,
And bless a hut like mine.
Let humble worth, without a fear,
Approach my ready door,
Nor let me ever see a tear,
Regardless, from the poor!
O blefs me with an honeft mind,
Above all selfish ends,
Humanely warm to all mankind,
And cordial to my friends.
With confcious truth and honour still
My actions let me guide,
And have no fear, but that of ill,
No fcorn, but that of pride.
Thus form'd, thus happy, let me dare
On Heav'n's dread King to gaze,
Conclude my night in ardent pray'r,
And wake my morn with praife.
That hence my foul may hope to prove
The utmoft faints can know ;
And fhare His gracious fmile above,
Whose laws she kept below.
WO honeft tradefmen, meeting in the Strand, One took the other brifkly by the hand; Hark ye! faid he, 'tis an odd ftory this About the crows!—I don't know what it is, Replies his friend.-No! I'm furpriz'd at that; Where I come from it is the common chat: But you fhall hear an odd affair indeed! And, that it happen'd, they are all agreed: Not to detain you from a thing fo firange, A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the Alley knows, Taking a puke, has thrown up Three black crows!
Impoffible!Nay, but 'tis really true;
I had it from good hands, and fo may you
From whofe, I pray?-So having nam'd the man,
Straight to enquire his curious comrade ran.
Sir, did you tell, relating the affair
Yes, fir, I did; and if it's worth your care,
Afk Mr Such-an-one, he told it me,
But, by the bye, 'twas Two black crows, not Three.
Refolv'd to trace fo wond'rous an event, Whip, to the third, the virtuofo went.
Sir and fo forth-Why, yes, the thing is fact,
Tho' in regard to number not exact;
It was not Two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon.
The gentleman himself told me the cafe
Where may I find him?Why, in fuch a place.
Away he went, and having found him out,
Sir, be fo good as to refolve a doubt
Then to his last informant he referr'd,
And begg'd to know, if true what he had heard; Did you, fir, throw up a black crow?—NOT I—
Blefs me!-how people propagate a lie !
Black crows have been thrown up, Three, Two, and
And here, I find, all comes at last to None!
Did you fay nothing of a crow at all?.
Crow-crow-perhaps I might, now I recal
The matter o'er. And, pray Sir, what was't?
Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last
I did throw up, and told my neighbour fo,
Something that was—as black, fir, as a crow.
Invocation to Harmony.
NELESTIAL harmony defcend,
Thy chearful voice let forrow hear,
And ceafe to drop the penfive tear ;
Bid joy, extatic joy, impart
Its pleafing influence to the heart.
Defcend, celeftial harmony,
Joy owes its sweetest charm to thee.
When love the bofom fills, 'tis thine
His pow'r to heighten and refine;
Thy thrilling warblings foft and flow,
Attun'd to melting paffion flow,
And bid the foul enraptur'd prove,
That mufic is the voice of love;
Defcend, celeftial harmony,
Love owes its fweeteft charm to thee,
Enchanting power! 'tis thine to ftill
The storms that life's fad circle fill;
The burthen of our woes to ease,
And make our pleafures doubly please;
Each tender feeling to refine
Through life, enchanting power, 'tis thine;
Defcend, celestial harmony,
Love owes its sweetest charm to thee.
The Washing Week.
To Captain G. THOMPSON.- -Kew, May 25, 1765
'N this, dear George, we both agree,
(You bred in camp, I bred at fea)
That cleanliness is oft
A curfed plague about a house,
And always met our just abuse,
When boys with Mrs Croft.
But to the beggar and the king,
Clean linen's a reviving thing:
Yet thefe our plagues don't reach;
The beggar strips with jocund morn,
In fome quick ftream, and on the thorn
Spreads out his rags to bleach.
The king, great man, fends all his out,
Not caring for a single clout:
But what's more happy still,
He's not oblig'd to count the rags,
Nor ftuff 'em into canvafs bags,
Oh! no-nor write the bill.
But Lord have mercy on us all!
When'er we wash, all hands must fall
To fomething or another;
For madam fcolds, and flies about,
Now up, now down, now in, now out,
Dabbling thro' wet and fmother.
This curfed time all comfort flies,
At fix she starts; come, Ned, come rife,.
And get the lines hung out!
Yes, to be fure, (my dear) I cry,
I dare as well be hang'd as lie,
For fear my dove should pout.
Breakfast is got, and whipt away,
(Because the washers want their tea)
Before that I've half done :-
The doors all open-linen spread,
The fky looks black,-come hither, Ned,
Shall we have rain or fun?
My dear, you need not be in pain,
It does not look, I think, like rain
O! then we'll hang out more:
When lo! the words have hardly past,
But puff there comes a heavy blast,
And all must be rins'd o'er.
Then tenfold falls the peal on me;
You afs, to be ten years at fea,
See, fee the linen, do!-
I fneak away, to have a smile,
Snug, while I hear her all the while,
Calling me black and blue.
From fuch unlucky ftorms of rain,
Nothing with me goes well again,
The dinner comes-and cold :
The meat, I cry, of foap-fuds twangs,
Up madam gets, the door fhe bangs,
And re-begins to fcold.
But what still troubles more my mind,
Amidst fuch griefs at once to find
The washer, as fhe wrings,
Cracking fome jeft-then o'er the tub
Pauses awhile-and ev'ry rub
With pleasure fweats and fings.
I hate, I must confefs, all dirt, :
And truly love a well-wash'd shirt,
Yet once a month this reek,
Is more than flesh and blood can bear;
And him I hate-O make his share
A washing every week!
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