These to the Muses' keeping I bequeath,
(We long were fellow-nurslings,) and with them
Be Bacchus and fair Venus in commission.—
Thus far, Sir, for my testament:—for respite,
I look not for it, mark, at Charon's hand,
(Take me, I would be understood to mean
Timotheus' Charon,—him in the Niobe:)
I hear his voice this moment—"Hip! halloo!
To ship, to ship," he cries: the swarthy Destinies
(And who must not attend their solemn bidding?)
Unite their voices.—I were loth, howe'er,
To troop with less than all my gear about me;—
Good doctor, be my helper then to what
Remains of that same blessed Many-feet!—Mitchell.
Phœnix. (Book viii. § 59, p. 566.)
Lords and ladies, for your ear,
We have a petitioner.
Name and lineage would you know?—
'Tis Apollo's child, the crow;
Waiting till your hands dispense
Gift of barley, bread or pence.
Be it but a lump of salt;
His is not the mouth to halt.
Nought that's proffer'd he denies;
Long experience makes him wise.
Who to-day gives salt, he knows,
Next day fig or honey throws.—
Open, open gate and door:
Mark! the moment we implore,
Comes the daughter of the squire,
With such figs as wake desire.—
Maiden, for this favour done
May thy fortunes, as they run,
Ever brighten—be thy spouse
Rich and of a noble house;
May thy sire in aged ease
Nurse a boy who calls thee mother:
And his grandam on her knees
Rock a girl who calls him brother;—
