To a LADY before MARRIAGE. Thomas Tickell Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T124631 1073 K099398.000 Mendez, Moses. A collection of the most esteemed pieces of poetry: that have appeared for several years. With variety of originals, by the late Moses Mendez, Esq; and other contributors to Dodsley's collection. To which this is intended as a supplement. London printed for Richardson and Urquhart 1767 pp. 118-121. [8],320p. ; 8⁰.

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To a LADY before MARRIAGE . By the late Ingenious Mr. TICKEL . Not published in his Works . OH ! form'd by nature , and refin'd by art , With charms to win , and sense to fix the heart ! By thousands sought , Clotilda , can'st thou free Thy crowd of captives , and descend to me ? Content in shades obscure to waste thy life , A hidden beauty , and a country-wife . O ! listen while thy summers are my theme , Ah ! sooth thy partner in his waking dream ! In some small hamlet on the lonely plain , Where Thames , thro' meadows , rolls his mazy train ; Or where high Windsor , thick with greens array'd , Waves his old oaks , and spreads his ample shade , Fancy has figur'd out our calm retreat ; Already round the visionary seat Our limes begin to shoot , our flow'rs to spring , The brooks to murmur , and the birds to sing . Where dost thou lie , thou thinly-peopled green ? Thou nameless lawn , and village yet unseen ? Where sons , contented with their native ground , Ne'er travell'd further than ten furlongs round ; And the tann'd peasant , and his ruddy bride , Were born together , and together died . Where early larks best tell tho morning-light , And only Philomel disturbs the night , 'Midst gardens here my humble pile shall rise , With sweets surrounded of ten thousand dies ; All savage where th' embroider'd gardens end , The haunt of echoes shall my woods ascend ; And oh ! if heav'n th' ambitious thought approve , A rill shall warble cross the gloomy grove , A little rill , o'er pebbly beds convey'd , Gush down the steep , and glitter thro' the glade . What cheering scents those bord'ring banks exhale ! How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale ! That thrush , how shrill ! his note so clear , so high , He drowns each feather'd minstrel of the sky . Here let me trace , beneath the purpled morn , The deep-mouth'd beagle , and the sprightly horn ; Or lure the trout with well-dissembled flies , Or fetch the flutt'ring partridge from the skies , Nor shall thy hand disdain to crop the vine , The downy peach , or flavour'd nectarine ; Or rob the bee-hive of its golden hoard , And bear th' unbought luxuriance to thy board . Sometimes my books by day shall kill the hours , While from thy needle rise the silken flow'rs , And , thou by turns to ease my feeble sight , Resume the volume , and deceive the night . Oh ! when I mark thy twinkling eyes opprest , Soft whisp'ring , let me warn my love to rest ; Then watch thee , charm'd , while sleep locks every sense , And to sweet heav'n commend thy innocence . Thus reign'd our fathers o'er the rural fold , Wise , hale , and honest , in the days of old ; Till courts arose , where substance pays for show , And specious joys are bought with real wo . See Flavia's pendants , large , well spread , and right , The ear that wears them hears a fool each night : Mark how th' embroider'd col'nel sneaks away , To shun the with'ring dame that made him gay ; That knave , to gain a title , lost his fame ; That rais'd his credit by a daughter's shame ; This coxcomb's riband cost him half his land , And oaks , unnumber'd , bought that fool a wand . Fond man , as all his sorrows were too few , Acquires strange wants that nature never knew . By midnight-lamps he emulates the day , And sleeps perverse , the chearful suns away ; From goblets , high emboss'd , his wine must glide , Round his clos'd sight the gorgeous curtain slide ; Fruits , ere their time , to grace his pomp must rise , And three untasted courses glut his eyes . For this are nature's gentle calls withstood , The voice of conscience , and the bonds of blood ; This wisdom thy reward for ev'ry pain , And this gay glory all thy mighty gain . Fair phantoms woo'd and scorn'd from age to age , Since bards began to laugh , or priests to rage . And yet , just curse on man's aspiring kind , Prone to ambition , to example blind , Our children's children shall our steps pursue , And the same errors be for ever new . Mean while , in hope a guiltless country swain , My reed with warblings chears th' imagin'd plain . Hail humble shades , where truth and silence dwell ! Thou noisy town , and faithless court farewel ! Farewel ambition , once my darling flame ! The thirst of lucre , and the charm of fame ! In life's by-road , that winds thro' paths unknown , My days , tho' number'd , shall be all my own . Here shall they end , ( O might they twice begin ) , And all be white the fates intend to spin .