Classic Poem

The orders giv'n, John saddles Grey ;
The nymph ascends: the pad so gay,
First neighs his joy, then trots away.
To that fam'd town the fair one rides,
Where Nancy , harmless nymph! resides.
That town so fam'd in Lent for figs,
For custards, conventicles, eggs;
Renown'd of old for scandal picking,
For bottled cyder, and cold chicken.
How often there have O XFORD smarts ,
Regal'd their nymphs on goosb'ry tarts!
While Mrs. Mary at the Bear,
Call'd all the chamber-maids to stare.
Thither she rides, as authors say,
To sip with Nancy harmless tea;
And o'er their cups to have a fling
At this, or t'other aukward thing:
But with no other earthly view,
Except to chat an hour or two.

The sun had run thro' half his course,
Ere Charlot ventur'd to take horse;
And near th' horizon shot his ray,
Ere she a second time mounts Grey .
But, O dire fate! O sad mischance!
The high-fed beast begins to prance;
Shakes his curl'd neck, disdains the ground,
And longs to scale yon quickset mound.
She shrieks — in vain — she tumbles o'er!
While heedless John jogg'd on before.
Fie on the brute! and may'st thou bear
No more the witty, or the fair;
But doom'd the country round to stroll,
With pedlar's pack, or beggar's trull.

And here my muse, in mournful wise;
Relate how Charlot weeps and sighs:
Well might she weep, well might she sigh,
For when she look'd, she miss'd an eye.
So have I seen, in cloudless nights,
The sky bedeck'd with radiant lights,
Thus gleam and glitter from afar,
Till in a jelly drops a star.

Now John was set to search the ground;
John search'd indeed, no eye was found.
Explor'd each flow'r the fairies climb on,
Careful as Indian slave for di'mond;
But had he Argos' hundred eyes,
He'd ne'er discover where it lies.
Some folks, 'tis true, believe 'twas hurl'd
To multiply the starry world;
And say, those babies in her eyes
Inhabit now the azure skies.
Whitesides , I'm told, was seen to stare
Last night, with more than usual care;
And has e'er since been plodding on it,
From whence could come that glitt'ring planet;
That star, that made there such a bustle,
And Venus from her place would justle.

Now this is only what folks guest;
But trust the Muse, for she knows best.
Venus , the Charlot of the skies,
Was always piqu'd at her bright eyes;
And saw with pain, at Charlot 's throne,
Such crouds of vot'ries, not her own.
For which good reason, when it dropt,
The goddess stoop'd, and pick'd it up:
And to repair the nymph's disgrace,
Clapt her own orbit in the place.