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SCHOOL

THE

MISTRESS,

In Imitation of Spenser,

By WILLIAM SHENSTONE.

Auditae voces, vagitus et ingens,

Infantumque animae flentes in limine primo, VIRGIL.

A

H me! full forely is my heart forlorn,

To think how modeft worth neglected lies,
While partial Fame doth with her blasts adorn
Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise;
Deeds of ill fort, and mifchievous emprize;
Lend me thy clarion, Goddess! let me try
To found the praise of merit ere it dies ;
Such as I oft have chanced to espy,
Loft in the dreary fhades of dull obfcurity.
In ev'ry village, mark'd with little fpire,

Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to fame,
There dwells, in lowly fhade and mean attire,
A matron old, whom we School-mistress name;
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame :

They, grieven fore, in piteous durance pent,
Aw'd by the power of this relentless dame,
And oft-times on vagaries idly bent,

For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are forely fhent.

And

And all in fight doth rife a birchen tree,
Which Learning near her little dome did flow.
Whilome a twig of fmall regard to fee,

Tho' now fo wide its waving branches flow,
And work the fimple vaffals mickle woe;

For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew. But their limbs fhudder'd, and their pulfe beat low; And, as they look'd, they found their horror grew, And shap'd it into rods, and tingled at the view. So have I feen (who has not, may conceive) A lifeless phantom near a garden plac'd ; So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave,

Of sport, of fong, of pleasure, of repast: They flart, they ftare, they wheel, they look aghaft ; Sad fervitude! Such confortless annoy May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste ! Ne fuperftition clog his dance of joy,

Ne vifion empty,, vain, his native bliss destroy.

Near to this dome is found a patch so green, fo

On which the tribe their gambols do difplay; And at the door impris'ning board is feen,

Left weakly wights of smaller fize fhould stray, Eager, perdie, to bafk in funny day!

The noises intermix'd, which thence refound, Do Learning's little tenement betray;

Where fits the dame, difguis'd in look profound, And eyes her Fairy throng, and turns her wheel around.

Her

Her cap, far whiter than the driven fnow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield, Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe, As is the hare-bell that adorns the field: And in her hand, for fceptre, fhe does wield Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fear entwin'd, With dark diftruft, and fad repentance fill'd, And ftedfaft hate, and fharp affliction join'd, And fury uncontroul'd, and chaflifement unkind.

Few but have kenn'd, in semblance meet pourtray'd,
The childish faces of old Æol's train,

Libs, Notus, Aufter*; thefe in frowns array'd,
How then would fare or earth, or sky, or main,
Were the ftern god to give his flaves the rein ?
And were not she rebellious breasts to quell,
And were not the her ftatutes to maintain,

The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell
Where comely peace of mind and decent order dwell.

A ruffet ftole was o'er her fhoulders thrown;
A ruffet kirtle fenc'd the nipping ar;

'Twas fimple ruffet, but it was her own,

'Twas her own country bred the flock so fair; 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare ; And, footh to fay, her pupils rang'd around, Thro' pious awe did term it paffing rare ;

For they in gaping wonderment abound,

And think, no doubt, the been the greatest wight on ground

The fouth west wind, South, &c.

Albeit

Albeit, ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth; .
Ne pompous title did debauch her ear;
Goody, good-woman, golfip, n'aunt, forfooth,
Or dame, the fole additions fhe did hear;
Yet these she challeng'd, these fhe held right dear:
Ne would efteem him act as mought behove,
Who fhould not honour'd eld with thefe revere ;
For never title yet fo mean could prove,

But there was eke a mind which did that title love.
One ancient hen he took delight to feed,
The plodding pattern of the bufy dame,
Which ever and anon, impell'd by need,
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came ;
Such favour did her past deportment claim :

And if neglect had lavish'd on the ground
Fragment of bread, fhe would collect the fame ;

For well the knew, and quaintly could expound, What fin it were to wafle the smallest crumb fhe found.

Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak,
That in her garden fipp'd the filv'ry dew,
Where no vain flow'r difclos'd a gaudy fireak,
But herbs for use and phyfic not a few,
Of grey renown, within those borders grew ;
The tufted bafil, pun-provoking thyme,
Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue.

The lowly gill, that never dares to climb,
And more I fain would fing, difdaining here to rhyme.

Yet

Yet euphrafy may not be left unfung,

That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around; And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue;

And plaintain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound;
And marj'ram sweet, in fhepherd's pofie found;
And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom
Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound,
To lurk amidst the labours of her loom,

And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume.
And here trim rosemarine, that whilom crown'd
The daintiest garden of the proudeft peer,
Ere, driven from its envied fite, it found
A facred fhelter for its branches here,
Where edg'd with gold its glitt'ring fkirts appear.
O waffel days! O customs meet and well!
Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere;
Simplicity then fought this humble cell,

Nor ever would fhe more with thane and lordling dwell.
Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve,
Hymned fuch pfalms as Sternhold forth did mete.
If winter 'twere, fhe to her hearth did cleave:
But in her garden found a summer seat :
Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat

How Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king,
While taunting foe-men did a fong entreat,

All for the nonce untuning every string, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had they to fing.

For

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