TO THE SAME, ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING-DAY, WHICH WAS ALSO HER BIRTH-DAY, WITH A RING. "THEE, Mary, with this ring I wed"— If she, by merit since disclos'd, Here then to-day, (with faith as sure, My soul enjoys, my song approves, EPIGRAM. QUOD PETIS, HIC EST. No plate had John and Joan to hoard, One only tankard crown'd their board; Along whose inner bottom sketch'd, Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd John swallow'd first a moderate sup; John often urg'd her to drink fair; And therefore drain'd the pot. When John found all remonstrance vain, Another card he play'd; And where the Angel stood so plain, He got a Devil portray'd. Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail, John star'd, with wonder petrified; And "why dost guzzle now," he cried, "At this enormous rate?", "Oh! John," she said, " am I to blame? "I can't in conscience stop: "For sure 'twould be a burning shame, "To leave the Devil a drop!" EPIGRAM. SPLENDEAT USU. SEE! stretch'd on nature's couch of The foot-sore traveller lies! Vast treasures let the great amass`; VOL. VI. grass, For him the sun its power displays, Pours on Virginia's coast its blaze, EPIGRAM. QUOCUNQUE MODO REM. A VETERAN gambler in a tempest caught, "I feel conviction-and will be prepar❜d "Nor e'er henceforth, since life thus steals away, "Give credit for a bet, beyond a day!” JOHN BAMPFYLDE. BORN 1754. DIED 1796. JOHN BAMPFYLDE was the younger brother of Sir Charles Bampfylde. He was educated at Cambridge, and published his sonnets when very young. He soon after fell into mental derangement; and is said to have passed the last years of his life in confine ment. SONNET. As when, to one, who long hath watch'd the morn Advancing, slow forewarns th' approach of day, (What time the young and flow'ry-kirtled May Decks the green hedge, and dewy grass unshorn With cowslips pale, and many a whitening thorn ;) And now the sun comes forth, with level ray Gilding the high-wood top, and mountain gray; And, as he climbs, the meadows 'gins adorn; The rivers glisten to the dancing beam, Th' awaken'd birds begin their amorous strain, And hill and vale with joy and fragrance teem; Such is the sight of thee; thy wish'd return To eyes, like mine, that long have wak'd to mourn, That long have watch'd for light, and wept in vain! 1 Censura Literaria, vol. iv. p. 301. |