And the Burton I bought for a florin, And the Rabelais foxed and flea'd,For the others I never have opened, But those are the books I read. THE COLLECTOR TO HIS LIBRARY BROWN Books of mine, who never yet Have caused me anguish or regret,— Save when some fiend in human shape I love you and because must end When comes your moment of decay. This, more than other good, I pray. THE BOOK-PLATE'S PETITION BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE TEMPLE WHILE cynic CHARLES still trimm'd the vane Twixt Querouaille and Castlemaine, I knew the GEORGES, first and last; I lost the Third that owned me when Whose Greek is sounder than their hose; He lov'd old Books and nappy ale, Safe in the brass-wir'd book-case where In some Collector's sepulchre ! Must I be torn herefrom and thrown With frontispiece and colophon! With vagrant E's, and I's, and O's, The spoil of plunder'd Folios! With scraps and snippets that to ME Nay, rather, FRIEND, this favour grant me: CHELTENHAM, Sept. 31, 1792. THE WATER OF GOLD "BUY,-who'll buy?" In the market-place, Out of the market din and clatter, The quack with his puckered persuasive face Patters away in the ancient patter. "Buy,-who'll buy? In this flask I hold- "Buy,-who'll buy? There's a maiden there,— "Buy,-who'll buy? Are you old and gray? Drink but of this, and in less than a minute, Lo! you will dance like the flowers in May, Chirp and chirk like a new-fledged linnet! "Buy,-who'll buy? Is a baby ill? Drop but a drop of this in his throttle, Straight he will gossip and gorge his fill, Brisk as a burgher over a bottle! |