HOLT WATERS . A Tale . Extracted from the Natural History of Berkshire . Two Nymphs of chaste Diana's train , Both fair , and tolerably vain , One morning early left their beds , And said their pray'rs , and drest their heads . The coach was order'd , in they step , Not well awake , nor quite asleep : Of well-dress'd Beaus a brace they chuse , At once for ornament , and use . Their conversation need I tell ? Or who spoke most , or which spoke well ? Or how it ran of various things , Of Queens and grottos , wars and Kings , Of fortune-tellers , or the fashion , Of marriage , or predestination — ? In short , they settled all the nation . Not many miles the Nymphs were come , Ere Cloe wish'd she'd stay'd at home . Her lively colour comes and goes , The lilly struggled , and the rose . " I wish ! " — Wish on , thou gentle maid ; Of Wishes need one be afraid ? " Why then " — and whisper'd something low ; But what , or when , or where , or how , None but the Muse shall ever know . Yet trust me , Prudes , it was no more , Than you or I have wish'd before : Bright Emily , of royal race , Might wish the same in such a case . In short , — the lady — but no matter : I'll never tell one earthly creature . For why should I , in lays forbidden , Unveil what Custom would have hidden ? But lest the Beaus , for Beaus might blame , Should hear , and after hurt her fame , On each she cast a languid look , And thus the Heroes twain bespoke . " What vast variety of woe Does Jove let fall on folks below ! Poor Kitty , who but yesterday Was all so giggling , and so gay , Is pouring now the frantic tear , And bares her breast , and beats the air : All comfort from her bosom's fled , For ah ! her Parroquet is dead . " Now 'tis but civil , as I guess , To visit people in distress ; If not for love , in spite , or joke , To see how horridly they look : For grief the fairest cheek will stain , And make folks look extremely plain . " Then wonder not , if I alight , To do what's decent , and what's right ; To visit first the hapless maid , Then pay the rite to Polly's shade : Whose grave I'll sprinkle — with my tears , And mix my friendly drops with hers . Excuse me then — I can no more — Here , Thomas , stop ; undo the door . " Tom stops , and Cloe soon alights , Looks pleas'd , but full of fears and frights . Sir Fopling he must needs attend her , And , with a speech , his hand will lend her . " O no , Sir Fopling ! — You'll excuse it ; Time's precious , and we must not lose it . " Away she flies , as swist as wind , And leaves the lover far behind . At length a little farm she sees , Surrounded by a clump of trees ; No yelping Cur was heard from far , The door had neither bolt nor bar : So in she goes , and looks around , But no expedient's to be found . What shall she do ? Her wants are pressing , And speedily require redressing . In haste she trips it to the dairy , In hopes to find or Nan or Mary ; But not a living soul was there , Nor cat to squall , nor mouse to stir . In short , the bus'ness must be done ; Time to consider there was none . The cream-pot first she fill'd with liquor , Fit for the thorax of the Vicar . Nay Jove himself , the skies protector , Would call such liquor heav'nly Nectar . So , in a grot , I've seen enthron'd Some river goddess , osier-crown'd , Pour all her copious urns around . Hence plenteous crops our harvests yield , And Ceres laughs thro' all the field . A pan of milk , unskimm'd its cream , Did next receive the bounteous stream ; The bounteous stream in bubbles breaks , And many a curious eddy makes . O stop , dear nymph ; alack ! forbear ; Spoil not our cheese ! our butter spare ! What will poor Gooddy Baucis say , To see her milk all turn'd to whey ? The nymph was deaf , the noise was loud , And who hear less than those that shou'd ? So in an aqueduct I've stood , And heard aghast the headlong flood : What tho' with Stentor's lungs you call , I hear you not , I'm deafness all . The rite perform'd , herself much eas'd , And Polly's gentle shade appeas'd , Back to her company she flies , Quite unobserv'd by vulgar eyes . The muse indeed behind her stood . And heard the noise , and saw the flood . But when poor Baucis from the field . Return'd , and saw her vessels fill'd ; How did she lift her hands , and stare ! And cry'd — " What Fairy has been here ? I left this milk-pan yet to skim , And saw no bubbles on the brim ! My cream-pot too was hardly full , But now it over-flows the bowl ! Yet no disorder I can view , No six-pence left in Kattern's shoe : My pewter on the shelves have slept , The house too's neither brusht nor swept . Well ; guard us all , I say , from evil ! For mighty watchful is the Devil . " A large brown jugg stood there apart , The reservoir of near a quart ; The liquor pure , as amber fine , But stock'd with particles saline . Now Baucis , who came hot from work , Was very dry , her dinner pork ; One draught , cry'd she , of good sound beer ! I'm thirsty , and no creature near — Let's see what Heav'n has sent us here . She smelt it , and no full-blown rose Sent half the fragrance to her nose . It looks , thinks she , like cowslip wine , And if not sweet , I'm sure 'tis fine : However , 'tis a sin to waste it , I'll e'en take heart o'grace , and taste it — She drank , and down the liquor went ; " A little , and therewith content , We learn , says she , from good St. Paul : And sure Content is all in all ! Our beer is dead , but no great matter , 'Tis better still than common water . We poor folks must make shift , 'tis true ; Howe'er , to give the dev'l his due , E'en let him bake , but never brew . "