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Article THE COUNTRY CURATE. ← Page 2 of 2 Article SONNET. Page 1 of 1
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The Country Curate.
When meagre Lent her famish'd look uprears , Her eyes indent with penury and pine , Forth go the hungty family to pray ' rs , And pious sent . on , while the farmers dine ; In vain the children for their meals repine : The blooming- fields administer no cheer , Joyless they view the purple ; promise of the year .
Summer attends them , with fresh troubles ply'd , His breeches hun ' aloft for winter ' s wear ; He spies the flocks fly the returning tide , And every tenth he wishes to his share : Now to the hay-field trudge the hapless pair 5 - And if they kindly treat the country folk , They compliment his rector vt ith the biggest cock .
Now autumn fruitful fills the teeming mead , And plenty frees the farmer ' s heart from care ; Mean time the thought of surplice fees delay'd , And th' hollow gul p ing of the fiit'red beer , Unpaid for yet I distract his mind with fear ; No hopes another vessel to procure Unless with learned scraps he funs th' admiring brevjei
When icy bands the stiffen'd wave enfold , At grudging neighbour ' s is he cfren seen , Chafing will ) borrow'dbeat the outward cold ; But oh ! no beer to thaw the cold within : And then his wife persues with hideous diii , Thence in the barn he muses what to say , To mend , yet not cifend her , on next sabbath day .
Still worse and worse her lashing tongue lis feels , The spurns of fortune , and the weight of years ; The post horse thus , an anck-nt racer , reels , No longer not ' , a steady course he steers , His weak knees tremble , and he hangs his ears ; He sweats , he totters , cover'd o ' er vvith gore , And falls , alas ! unpity'd , as he iiv'd before .
Sonnet.
SONNET .
J ASK'D of Time , ' to whom was rear'd the mass Whose ruins now thou crumbiest with the soil ?' He answer'd not ; but fiercer shook his glass , And flew with swifter wing to wider spoil : I ask'd of Fame , ' O Thou 1 whose breath supplies [ FKOM PETROCCHI . J
Life to high works of wonder , whose rem . ins ?' Abash'd to earth she bent her mournful eyes , Like one who sighing silently complains : Lost in amaze , I tuni'd my steps aside , When o ' er each heap I saw Oblivion stride , , With haughty mien , denoting fix'd design ; ' Thou then' ( I cry'd ) ' can ' st tell ; ah 1 deign declare : * Stern she reply'd , and thunder shook the air , " Whose once it was , 1 reck not : Now , ' tis Mine . ' C .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Country Curate.
When meagre Lent her famish'd look uprears , Her eyes indent with penury and pine , Forth go the hungty family to pray ' rs , And pious sent . on , while the farmers dine ; In vain the children for their meals repine : The blooming- fields administer no cheer , Joyless they view the purple ; promise of the year .
Summer attends them , with fresh troubles ply'd , His breeches hun ' aloft for winter ' s wear ; He spies the flocks fly the returning tide , And every tenth he wishes to his share : Now to the hay-field trudge the hapless pair 5 - And if they kindly treat the country folk , They compliment his rector vt ith the biggest cock .
Now autumn fruitful fills the teeming mead , And plenty frees the farmer ' s heart from care ; Mean time the thought of surplice fees delay'd , And th' hollow gul p ing of the fiit'red beer , Unpaid for yet I distract his mind with fear ; No hopes another vessel to procure Unless with learned scraps he funs th' admiring brevjei
When icy bands the stiffen'd wave enfold , At grudging neighbour ' s is he cfren seen , Chafing will ) borrow'dbeat the outward cold ; But oh ! no beer to thaw the cold within : And then his wife persues with hideous diii , Thence in the barn he muses what to say , To mend , yet not cifend her , on next sabbath day .
Still worse and worse her lashing tongue lis feels , The spurns of fortune , and the weight of years ; The post horse thus , an anck-nt racer , reels , No longer not ' , a steady course he steers , His weak knees tremble , and he hangs his ears ; He sweats , he totters , cover'd o ' er vvith gore , And falls , alas ! unpity'd , as he iiv'd before .
Sonnet.
SONNET .
J ASK'D of Time , ' to whom was rear'd the mass Whose ruins now thou crumbiest with the soil ?' He answer'd not ; but fiercer shook his glass , And flew with swifter wing to wider spoil : I ask'd of Fame , ' O Thou 1 whose breath supplies [ FKOM PETROCCHI . J
Life to high works of wonder , whose rem . ins ?' Abash'd to earth she bent her mournful eyes , Like one who sighing silently complains : Lost in amaze , I tuni'd my steps aside , When o ' er each heap I saw Oblivion stride , , With haughty mien , denoting fix'd design ; ' Thou then' ( I cry'd ) ' can ' st tell ; ah 1 deign declare : * Stern she reply'd , and thunder shook the air , " Whose once it was , 1 reck not : Now , ' tis Mine . ' C .