Rascals! we tread thee under foot,
(Weave we the woof, the thread is spun;)
Our beards we pull out by the root;
(The web is wove, your work is done.)
"Stay, oh, stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me uncurl'd, undinner'd, here to mourn."
Thro' the broad gate that leads to College Hall,
They melt, they fly, they vanish all.
But, oh! what happy scenes of pure delight,
Slow moving on their simple charms unroll!
Ye rapt'rous visions! spare my aching sight,
Ye unborn beauties, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Coventry we wail:
All hail, ye genuine forms; fair nature's issue, hail!