Since mirth is good in this behalf,
  At some particulars let us laugh: 
  Witlings, brisk fools, cursed with half-sense,
  That stimulates their impotence;
  Who buzz in rhyme, and, like blind flies,
  Err with their wings for want of eyes;
  Poor authors worshipping a calf,
  Deep tragedies that make us laugh,
  A strict dissenter saying grace,
  A lecturer preaching for a place,
  Folks, things prophetic to dispense,
  Making the past the future tense,
  The popish dubbing of a priest,
  Fine epitaphs on knaves deceased.

* * * * *

  Forced by soft violence of prayer,
  The blithesome goddess soothes my care,
  I feel the deity inspire,
  And thus she models my desire. 
  Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
  Annuity securely made,
  A farm some twenty miles from town,
  Small, tight, salubrious, and my own;
  Two maids, that never saw the town,
  A serving-man not quite a clown,
  A boy to help to tread the mow,
  And drive, while t’other holds the plough;
  A chief, of temper formed to please,
  Fit to converse, and keep the keys;
  And better to preserve the peace,
  Commissioned by the name of niece;
  With understandings of a size
  To think their master very wise.

WILLIAM SHENSTONE

  FROM THE SCHOOLMISTRESS

  Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,
  Emblem right meet of decency does yield: 
  Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trow,
  As is the harebell that adorns the field;

  And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield
  Tway birchen sprays; with anxious fear entwined,
  With dark distrust, and sad repentance filled;
  And steadfast hate, and sharp affliction joined,
  And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement unkind.

* * * * *

  A russet stole was o’er her shoulders thrown;
  A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air;
  ’Twas simple russet, but it was her own;
  ’Twas her own country bred the flock so fair! 
  ’Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare;
  And, sooth to say, her pupils ranged around,
  Through pious awe, did term it passing rare;
  For they in gaping wonderment abound,
  And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight on ground.

* * * * *

  Lo, now with state she utters the command! 
  Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair;
  Their books of stature small they take in hand,
  Which with pellucid horn secured are;
  To save from finger wet the letters fair: 
  The work so gay, that on their back is seen,
  St. George’s high achievements does declare;
  On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been
  Kens the forth-coming rod, unpleasing sight, I ween!