149
A SCHOOL ECLOGUE.
Edward.
Hist, William ! hist ! what means that air so gay?
Thy looks, thy dress, bespeak some holiday:
Thy hat is brushed ; thy hands, with wondrous pains,
Are cleansed from garden mould and inky stains;
Thy glossy shoes confess the lacquey's care;
And recent from the comb shines thy sleek hair.
What god, what saint, this prodigy has wrought[1]?
Declare the cause, and ease my labouring thought?
William.
John, faithful John, is with the horses come;
Mamma prevails, and I am sent for home.
- ↑ Sed tamen, ille Deus qui sit, da Tityre nobis.
