Good sir, good doctor, go away;
To hear my sighs you must not stay,
For this my poor lost treasure:
I thank you for your pains and skill;
When next you come, pray bring your bill
I'll pay it; sir, with pleasure.
Ye friends who come to mourn her doom.
For God's sake gently tread the room,
Nor call her from the blessed—
In softest silence drop the tear,
In whispers breathe the fervent prayer,
To bid her spirit rest.
Repress the sad, the wounding scream;
I can not bear a grief extreme—
Enough one little sigh—
Besides, the loud alarm of grief,
In many a mind may start belief,
Our noise is all a lie.
Good nurses, shroud my lamb with care;
Her limbs, with gentlest fingers, spare,
Her mouth, ah! slowly close;
Her mouth a magic tongue that held—
Whose softest tone, at times, compelled
To peace my loudest woes.
And, carpenter, for my sad sake,
Of stoutest oak her coffin make—
I'd not be stingy, sure—
Procure of steel the strongest screws,
For who could paltry pence refuse
To lodge his wife secure?
Ye people who the corpse convey,
With caution tread the doleful way,
Nor shake her precious head;
Since Fame reports a coffin tossed,
With careless swing against a post,
Did once, disturb the dead.
Farewell, my love, forever lost!
Ne'er troubled be thy gentle ghost,
That I again will woo—
By all our past delights, my dear,
No more the marriage chain I'll wear,
Deil take me if I do!
THE SOLDIER AND THE VIRGIN MARY. PETER PINDAR.
A Soldier at Loretto's wondrous chapel,
To parry from his soul the wrath Divine,
That followed mother Eve's unlucky apple,
Did visit oft the Virgin Mary's shrine;
Who every day is gorgeously decked out,
In silks or velvets, jewels, great and small,
Just like a fine young lady for a rout,
A concert, opera, wedding, or a ball.
At first the Soldier at a distance kept,
Begging her vote and interest in heaven—
With seeming bitterness the sinner wept,
Wrung his two hands, and hoped to be forgiven:
Dinned her two ears with Ave-Mary flummery!
Declared what miracles the dame could do,
Even with her garter, stocking, or her shoe,
And such like wonder-working mummery.
What answer Mary gave the wheedling sinner,
Who nearly and more nearly moved to win her,
The mouth of history doth not mention,
And therefore I can't tell but by invention,
One day, as he was making love and praying,
And pious Aves, thick as herring, saying,
And sins so manifold confessing;
He drew, as if to whisper, very near,
And twitched a pretty diamond from her ear,
Instead of taking the good lady's blessing.