[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
To the Tune of, Montrose’s Lines.
–
I Toss and tumble thro’ the night,
And wish th’ approaching day,
Thinking when darkness yields to light,
I’ll banish care away:
But when the glorious sun doth rise,
And chear all nature round,
All thoughts of pleasure in me dies;
My cares do still abound.
–
My tortur’d and uneasy mind
Bereaves me of my rest;
My thoughts are to all pleasure blind,
With care I’m still opprest:
But had I her within my breast,
Who gives me so much pain,
My raptur’d soul would be at rest,
And softest joys regain.
–
I’d not envy the god of war,
Bless’d with fair Venus’ charms,
Nor yet the thundring Jupiter,
In fair Alcmena’s arms:
Paris with Helen’s beauty blest,
Wou’d be a jest to me;
If of her charms I were possest,
Thrice happier I wou’d be.
–
But since the Gods do not ordain
Such happy fate for me,
I dare not ‘gainst their will repine,
Who rule my destiny.
With sprightly wine I’ll drown my care,
And cherish up my soul;
When e’er I think on my lost fair,
I’ll drown her in the bowl.
– New Words by Different Hands.