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TO A FRIEND.

No more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With avarice painful vigils keep;
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless sighs are breath'd for more.
Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase Heaven has gold the power?
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold?
No-all that's worth a wish-a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.

With science tread the wond'rous way,
Or learn the Muses' moral lay;
In social hours indulge thy soul,

Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl!
To virtuous love resign thy breast,
And be, by blessing beauty-blest.

Thus taste the feast by Nature spread,
Ere youth and all its joys are fled;
Come taste with me the balm of life,
Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife,
I boast whate'er for man was meant,
In health, and Stella, and content;
And scorn! oh! let that scorn be thine!
Mere things of clay that dig the mine.

STELLA IN MOURNING.
WHEN lately Stella's form display'd
The beauties of the gay brocade,

The nymphs, who found their power decline,
Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine.
"Fate! snatch away the bright disguise,
"And let the goddess trust her eyes.'
Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair,
And Fate malicious heard the pray'r;
But, brighten'd by the sable dress,
As virtue rises in distress,

Since Stella still extends her reign,
Ah! how shall envy sooth her pain?

Th' adoring youth and envious fair,
Henceforth shall form one common prayer:
And love and hate alike implore
The skies-"That Stella mourn no more."

TO STELLA.

Nor the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.
Not all the gems on India's shore,
Not all Peru's unbounded store,
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets, claim;
Nor knowledge which the learn'd approve;
To form one wish my soul can move.
Yet Nature's charms allures my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;

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WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRILE'.

WHAT hopes, what terrours, does thy gift create?
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate!
The myrtle(ensign of supreme command,
Consign'd by Venus to Melissa's hand)
Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft favours, oft rejects, a lover's pray'r.
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads,
Th' unhappy lovers graves the myrtle spreads.
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart.
Soon must this bough, as you shall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.

TO LADY FIREBRACE2,

AT BURY ASSIZES.

AT length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, So long renown'd in B-n's deathless strain? Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire

Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For, such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph, a Muse and Grace.

TO LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY. Ye nymphs whom starry rays invest, By flatt'ring poets given, Who shine, by lavish lovers drest, In all the pomp of Heaven; Engross not all the beams on high, Which gild a lover's lays,

But as your sister of the sky,

Let Lyce share the praise.
Her silver locks display the Moon,
Her brows a cloudy show,
Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen,
And show'rs from either flow.

1 These verses were first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as they are, Dr. Johnson assured me, they were composed in the short space of five minutes.

N.

2 This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, esq. of that town. She became the second wife of sir Cordell Firebrace, the last baronet of that name (to whom she brought a fortune of 25,0001.), July 26, 1737. again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, esq. uncle to the present duke of Argyle; and died July 3, 1782.

Being

Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,
She's starr'd with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,
And can with thunder roar.
But some Zelinda, while I sing,
Denies my Lyce shines;
And all the pens of Cupid's wing
Attack my gentle lines.

Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards express,
My Lyce makes as good a sky,
And I but flatter less.

ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET,

A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC.

CONDEMN'D to hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,

Our social comforts drop away.
Well try'd through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave descend,
Officious, innocent, sincere,

Of ev'ry friendless name the friend.
Yet still he fills affection's eye,

Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind;
Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny

Thy praise to merit unrefin'd.
When fainting nature call'd for aid,
And hov'ring death prepar'd the blow,
His vig'rous remedy display'd

The pow'r of art without the show.
In misery's darkest cavern known,

His useful care was ever nigh,

Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan,
And lonely want retir'd to die.

No summons mock'd by chill delay,
No petty gain disdain'd by pride,
The modest wants of ev'ry day

The toil of ev'ry day supply'd.
His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure th' Eternal Master found

The single talent well employ'd,
The busy day-the peaceful night,

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ;

His frame was firm-his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was night.
Then with no fiery throbbing pain,
No cold gradations of decay,

Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.

EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS, AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN'.

PHILLIPS! whose touch harmonious could re

move

The pangs of guilty pow'r, and hapless love,

1 These lines are among Mrs. Williams' Miscellanies: they are nevertheless recognised

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Filiam et hæredem.

Inter humanitates studia felicitèr enutritus, Omnes liberalium artium disciplinas avidè arripuit,

Quas morum suavitate haud leviter ornavit.
Postquam excessit ex ephebis,

Continuò inter populares suos famâ eminens, Et comitatûs sui legatus ad Parliamentum inissus, Ad ardua regni negotia per annos prope triginta se accinxit:

Cumque apud illos amplissimorum virorum ordines

Solent nihil temerè effutire,

Sed probè perpensa dissertè expromere,
Orator gravis et pressus;

Non minus integritatis quam eloquentiæ laude commendatus,

Equè omnium, utcunque inter se alioqui dissidentium,

Aures atque animos attraxit. Annoque demum м DCC. XIII. regnante Annâ, Felicissimæ florentissimæque memoriæ reginâ, Ad Prolocutoris cathedram

Communi Senatûs universi voce designatus est:
Quod munus,

Cum nullo tempore non difficile,
Tum illo certè, negotiis

Et variis et lubricis et implicatis difficillimum,
Cum dignitate sustinuit.

Honores alios, et omnia quæ sibi in lucrum cederent munera,

Sedulò detrectavit,

Ut rei totus inserviret publicæ;

Justi rectique tenax,

Et fide in patriam incorruptâ notus. Ubi omnibus, quæ virum civemque bonum decent, officiis satisfecisset,

as Johnson's in a memorandum of his hand-writing, and were probably written at her request. Phillips was a travelling fidler up and down Wales, and was greatly celebrated for his performance.

2 At Hanmer church in Flintshire.

Paulatim se à publicis consiliis in otium recipiens,

Inter literarum amœnitates,

Calm conscience, then, his former life survey'd Inter ante-actæ vitæ haud insuaves recordationes,Till Nature call'd him to the gen'ral doom, And recollected toils endear'd the shade, Inter amicorum convictus et amplexus,

Honorificè consenuit ;

Et bonis omnibus, quibus charissimus vixit, Desideratissimus obiit.

Hic, juxta cineres avi, suos condi voluit, et curavit

Gulielmus Bunbury Bttus nepos et hæres.

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His force of genius burn'd in early youth, With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth;

His learning, join'd with each endearing art,
Charm'd ev'ry ear, and gain'd on ev'ry heart.

Thus early wise, th' endanger'd realm to aid,
His country call'd him from the studious shade;
In life's first bloom his public toils began,
At once commenc'd the senator and man.

In business dext'rous, weighty in debate, Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the state; In ev'ry speech persuasive wisdom flow'd, In ev'ry act refulgent virtue glow'd: Suspended faction ceas'd from rage and strife, To hear his eloquence, and praise his life.

Resistless merit fix'd the senate's choice, Who hail'd him speaker with united voice. Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone, When Hanmer fill'd the chair-and Anne the throue!

Then when dark arts obscur'd each fierce de-
bate,

When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state,
The moderator firmly mild appear'd-
Beheld with love-with veneration heard.

This task perform'd he sought no gainful post,

Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's cost;
Strict on the right he fix'd his stedfast eye,
With temperate zeal and wise anxiety :
Nor e'er from virtue's paths was lur'd aside,
To pluck the flow'rs of pleasure, or of pride.
Her gifts despis'd, corruption blush'd and fled,
And fame pursu'd him where conviction led.

Age call'd, at length, his active mind to rest,
With honour sated, and with cares opprest;
To letter'd ease retir'd, and honest mirth,
To rural grandeur and domestic worth:
Delighted still to please mankind, or mend,
The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend.

And virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb.

TO MISS HICKMAN',

PLAYING ON THE SPINNET.

BRIGHT Stella, form'd for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain;
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play,
Aw'd into love our conquer'd hearts obey,
And yield reluctant to despotic sway:
But when your music soothes the raging pain,
We bid propitious Heav'n prolong your reign,
We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain.
When old Timotheus struck the vocal string,
Ambition's fury fir'd the Grecian king:
He pants for room in one poor world confin'd.
Unbounded projects lab'ring in his mind,
Thus wak'd to rage, by music's dreadful pow'r,
Had Stella's gentle touches mov'd the lyre,
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour.
Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire;
No more delighted with destructive war,
Ambitious only now to please the fair;
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms,
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.

PARAPHRASE2

OF PROVERBS, CHAP. VI.
Verses 6, 7, 8, 9, 14, 11.

"GO TO THE ANT THOU SLUGGARD."
TURN on the prudent ant thy heedful eyes,
Observe her labours, sluggard, and be wise:
No stern command, no monitory voice,
Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice;
Yet, timely provident, she hastes away,
To snatch the blessings of the plenteous day;
When fruitful summer loads the teeming plain,
She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.

How long shall sloth usurp thy useless hours, Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy pow'rs; While artful shades thy downy couch enclose, And soft solicitation courts repose? Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, Year chases year with unremitted flight, Till want now following, fraudulent and slow, Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe.

These lines, which have been communicated by Dr. Turton, son to Mrs. Turton, the lady to whom they are addressed by her maiden name of Hickman, must have been written at least as early as the year 1734, as that was the year of her marriage at how much earlier a period of Dr. Johnson's life they may have been written, is not known.

2 In Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies, but now This Paraphrase is inserted in Mrs. Wil-printed from the original in Dr. Johnson's own liams's Miscellanies. The Latin is here said to hand-writing.

be written by Dr. Freind. Of the person whose memory it celebrates, a copious account may be seen in the Appendix to the Supplement to the Biographia Britannica.

HORACE,

L13. IV. ODE VII, TRANSLATED.

THE Snow, dissolv'd, no more is seen,
The fields and woods, behold! are green;
The changing year renews the plain,
The rivers know their banks again;
The sprightly nymph and naked grace
The mazy dance together trace;
The changing year's successive plan
Proclaims mortality to man;

Rough winter's blasts to spring give way,
Spring yields to summer's sov'reign ray;
Then summer sinks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again;
Her losses soon the Moon supplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies
Where Priam and his sous are laid,
Is nonght but ashes and a shade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
Will toss us in a morning more?
What with your friend you nobly share
At least you rescue from your heir.
Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
Or virtue, shall restore to Earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly slain.
Diana calls to life in vain;

Nor can the might of Theseus rend

The chains of Hell that hold his friend.
Nov. 1784.

ON SEEING A BUST OF MRS.
MONTAGUE.

HAD this fair figure which this frame displays,
Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days,
In every dome in every sacred place,

Her statue would have breath'd an added grace, And on its basis would have been enroll'd, "This is Minerva, cast in virtue's mould."

The following Translations, Parodies, and Burlesque verses, most of them extempore, are taken from Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson published by Mrs. Piozzi.

ANACREON, ODE IX.

LOVELY Courier of the sky,
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scatt'ring, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way:
Is it business? is it love?

Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.

Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,

Vows to Myrtale the fair;

Grac'd with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, smiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,

On the bard her dove bestow'd:

Vested with a master's right,

Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge, consign'd to me :
VOL. XVI.

Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless task without reward;
Smiling at my master's gates,
Freedom my return awaits;
But the lib'ral grant in vain
Temp's me to be wild again.
Can a prudent dove decline
Blissful bondage such as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune's guest without a home;
Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed:
Now my better lot bestows
Sweet repast, and soft repose;
Now the gen'rous bowl I sip
As it leaves Anacreon's lip:
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers snatch his bread;
Then, with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play;
Or from wine, as courage springs,
O'er his face extend my wings;
And when feast and frolic tire,
Drop asleep upon his lyre.
This is all, be quick and go,

More than all thou canst not know;
Let me now my pinions ply.

I have chatter'd like a pye.

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OF A TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF
EURIPIDES,

Enn shall they not, who resolute explore
Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes;
And, scanning right the practices of yore,

Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise.
They to the dome where smoke with curling play
Announc'd the dinner to the regions round,
Summon'd the singer blythe, and harper gay,
And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound.
The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill;

By quiv'ring string or modulated wind;
Trumpet or lyre-to their harsh bosoms chill,
Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find.
Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun,
Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around;
Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell,
And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the
wound.

When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,
And purple nectar glads the festive hour,
The guest, without a want, without a wish,
Can yield no room to music's soothing pow'r.
Rr

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IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF ***. The near approach a bed may show

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Of human bliss to human woe,

EPITAPH FOR MR. HOGARTH. THE hand of him here torpid lies,

That drew th' essential form of grace; Here clos'd in death th' attentive eyes, That saw the manners in the face.

TRANSLATION

OF THE BOLLOWING LINES WRITTEN UNDER
A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS
SKAITING.

SUR un mince chrystal l'hyver conduit leurs pas,
Le précipice est sous la glace:
Telle est de nos plaisirs la legere surface:
Glissez, mortels; n'appuyez pas.

O'ER ice the rapid skaiter flies,

With sport above, and death below; Where mischief lurks in gay disguise, Thus lightly touch and quickly go.

IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION

OF THE SAME.

O'ER Crackling ice, o'er gulphs profound, With nimble glide the skaiters play; O'er treach'rous Pleasure's flow'ry ground Thus lightly skim, and haste away.

TO MRS. THRALE,

ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH
YEAR. AN IMPROMPTU.

Orr in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five!
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,

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