On  my  festivals  shall  wait ;
Love  among  my  slaves  shall  shuie,
And  attend  to  fill  me  wine.
WILLIAM  SOMERVILE.
371


Swift  as  chariot  wheels  we  fly,
To  the  minute  we  must  die  ;
Then  we  moulder  in  an  urn.
Then  we  shall  to  dust  return.
Then  in  vain  you'll  'noint  my  tomb
With  your  oiliB  and  your  perfume ;


Rather  let  them  now  be  mine,
Roses  round  my  temples  twine.
You  who  love  me  now  I  Uve,
Give  me  what  you  have  to  give ;
Let  Elysium  be  my  care,
When  the  gods  shall  send  me  there.
WILLIAM    SOMERVILE


[Born,  \6Sa.    Di«d,  I74S.]


(ViLLiAM  SoMERviLE  was  bom  at  Edston,
Warwickshire,  of  an  ancient  and  iUustrious
lily.  He  possessed  an  estate  of  1500/.  a
ir*,  was  amiable  and  hospitable^  and  united
gant  and  refined  pursuits  with  the  active
usements  which  he   has   celebrated   in   his


poem  of  the  Chase  ;  but  from  deficiency  in
economy  and  temperance  was  driven,  accoi^g
to  Shenstone^s  account,  to  drink  himself  into
pains  of  body  in  order  to  get  rid  of  thoae  of  the
mind.
^v^^^^^^a^^^^^^^M^^^^W^^^


BACCHUS  TRIUMPHANT.
A  TALX.
For  shame,'*  said  Ebony,  *'  for  shame !
om  Ruby,  troth,  you're  much  to  blame,
a  drink  at  this  confounded  rate,
0  guzzle  thus,  early  and  late."
Poor  Tom,  who  just  had  took  his  whet,
nd  at  the  door  his  uncle  met,
irprised  and  thunder-struck,  would  fain
[ake  his  escape,  but,  oh  !  in  vain
iich  blush  that  glow'd  with  an  ill  grace,
ighted  the  flambeaux  in  his  face ;
o  loop-hole  left,  no  slight  pretence,

0  paUiate  the  foul  offence.
