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My girl, forget thine earthly woe,
And think on God and bliss;
For fo, at least, shall not thy foule
Its heavenly bridegroom miss."
"O mother, mother! what is blisse,
And what the fiendis celle?
With him 'tis heaven any where,
Without my William, helle.
"Go out, go out, my lamp of life;
In endless darkness die :
Without him I must loathe the earth,
Without him fcorne the skye."
And so despaire did rave and rage
Athwarte her boiling veins;
Against the Providence of Heaven
She hurlde her impious strains.
She bet her breaste, and wrung her hands,
And rollde her tearlesse eye,
From rife of morne, till the pale stars
Again did freeke the skye.

When harke! abroade she hearde the trampe
Of nimble-hoofed steed;

She hearde a knighte with clank alight,
And climb the staire in speede.

And foon the herde a tinkling hande,
That twirled at the pin;
And thro' her door, that open'd not,
These words were breathed in.

"What ho! what ho! thy dore undoe;
Art watching or afleepe?
My love, doft yet remember mee,
And doft thou laugh or weep ?"
"Ah! William here so late at night!
Oh! I have watchte and wak'd:
Whence doft thou come? For thy return
My herte has forely ak'd."

"At midnight only we may ride;
I come o'er land and fea:
I mounted late, but foone I go;
Aryse, and come with me.

"O William, enter first my bowre,
And give me one embrace:

The blafts athwarte the hawthorne hiss;
Awayte a little space."

"The

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"The blafts athwarte the hawthorn hifs,
I may not harboure here;

My spurre is sharpe, my courser pawes,
My houre of flighte is nere.

All as thou lyeft upon thy couch,
Aryse, and mounte behinde;
To-night we'le ride a thousand miles,
The bridal bed to finde."

How, ride to-night a thousand miles ?
Thy love thou doft bemocke:
Eleven is the stroke that ftill

Rings on within the clocke."

"Looke up; the moone is bright, and w
Outstride the earthlie men:
I'll take thee to the bridal bed,

And night shall end but then."

"And where is, then, thy house and home;
And where thy bridal bed?"
"Tis narrow, filent, chilly, dark;
Far hence I reft my head."

"And is there any room for mee,
Wherein that I may creepe,"
"There's room enough for thee and mee,
Wherein that wee may fleepe.

All as thou ly'st upon thy couch,
Aryse, no longer stop;

The wedding guests thy coming waite,
The chamber dore is ope."

All in her farke, as there the lay,
Upon his horse she sprung:
And with her lily hands so pale
About her William clung.
And hurry-skurry forth they go,
Unheeding wet or dry;
And horfe and rider snort and blow,
And sparkling pebbles fly.

How swift the flood, the mead, the wood,

Aright, aleft, are gone!

The bridges thunder as they pass,
But earthlie fowne is none.

Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede;

Splash, splash, across the fee;

"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;

Doft feare to ride with mee?

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The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte;
Dost quake the blast to stem?
Dost shudder, mayde, to seeke the dead?"
"No, no, but what of them?

How glumlie sownes yon dirgye song!
Night-ravens flappe the wing,
What knell doth slowlie toll ding-dong?
The psalmes of death who sing?

It creeps, the swarthie funeral traine,
The corse is onn the beere;
Like croke of todes from lonely moores,
The chaunte doth meet the eere."

" Go, bear her corse when midnight's past,
With song, and tear, and wayle;
I've gott my wife, I take her home,
My howre of wedlocke hayl.

Lead forth, O clarke, the chaunting quire,
To swell our nuptial song:

Come, prieste, and reade the blessing soone;
For bed, for bed we long."

They heede his calle, and husht the sowne;
The biere was seene no more;
And followde him ore feeld and flood

Yet fafter than before.

Hallo! hallo! away they goe,
Unheeding wet or drye;
And horse and rider snort and blowe,
And fparkling pebbles flye.
How swifte the hill, how swifte the dale,
Aright, aleft, are gone!

By hedge and tree, by thorpe and towne,
They gallop, gallop on.

Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede;
Splash, splash, acrosse the fee;
"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;
Dost fear to ride with mee?

Look up, look up, an airy crewe

In roundel daunces reele:

The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte,

Mayft dimlie see them wheele.

Come to, come to, ye gostlie crew,

Come to, and follow mee,

And daunce for us the wedding daunce,

When we in bed shall be."

And

And brush, brush, brush, the ghostlie crew,
Come wheeling ore their heads,
All rustling like the wither'd leaves,
That wyde the wirlwind spreads.

Halloo! halloo! away they go,
Unheeding wet or dry;
And horse and rider snort and blowe,
And sparkling pebbles flye.

And all that in the moonshyne lay,
Behynde them fled afar;
And backwarde scudded overhead
The sky and every star.

Tramp, tramp, across the lande they speede;
Splash, splash, across the sea:
"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;
Dost fear to ride with mee?

I weene the cock prepares to crowe;
The sand will foone be runne :
I snuffe the earlye morning aire;
Downe, downe! our work is done,
The dead, the dead can ryde apace;
Oure wed-bed here is fit:
Oure race is ridde, our journey ore,
Oure endlesse union knit."

And lo!

an yren-grated gate Soon biggens to their viewe:

He craekte his whyppe; the clangynge boltes,
The doores afunder flewe.

They pass, and 'twas on graves they trode;
"Tis hither we are bounde:"
And many a tombstone gostlie white
Lay inn the moonshyne round.
And when hee from his steede alytte,
His armour, black as cinder,
Did moulder, moulder all awaye,
As were it made of tinder.
His head became a naked scull;
Nor haire nor eyne had hee.
His body grew a skeleton,
Whilome so blythe of blee.
And att his drye and boney heele

No spur was left to be;

And inn his witherde hande you might
The scythe and houre-glasse see.

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And lo! his steede did thin to smoke,

And charnel fires outbreathe;

And pal'd, and bleach'd, then vanish'd quite

The mayde f om undernethe.

And hollow howlings hung in aire,
And shrekes from vaults arofe.

Then knew the mayde the mighte no more

Her living eyes unclose.

But onwarde to the judgement-feat,

Thro' myste and moonlighte dreare,
The goftlie crewe their flyghte persewe,
And hollowe inn her eare:-

"Be patient; tho' thyne herte shoulde breke,

Arrayne not Heven's decree;

Thou nowe art of thie bodie refte,

Thie foule forgiven bee!"

Mr. SURREBUTTER'S commencement in his legal career. From the PLEADERS

W

GUIDE, a Didactic Poem in two books.

HOE'ER has drawn

a Special Plea,

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Has heard of old TOM TEWKESBURY,

Deaf as a poft, and thick as Mustard,
He aim'd at Wit, and bawl'd and bluster'd,
And died a Nifi prius Leader-
That Genius was my SPECIAL PLEADER
That great man's office I attended
By HAWK and BUZZARD recommended,
Attorneys both of wondrous skill
To pluck the Goose, and drive the Quill;
Three years I fat his smoky room in,
Pens, paper, ink, and pounce confuming,
The fourth, when Effoign Day begun,
Joyful I hail'd th' auspicious Sun,
Bade TEWKESBURY and Clerk adieu,
(Purification, Eighty-two)
Of both I wash'd my hands; and though
With nothing for my cash to shew,
But Precedents so scrawl'd and blurr'd,
I scarce could read one single word,
Nor in my books of Common Place
One feature of the law could trace,
Save BUZZARD'S nose and visage thin,
And HAWK's deficiency of Chin,
Which I while lolling at my ease
Was wont to draw instead of Pleas;

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