RECITATIVE.

She said:-A youth approach'd of manly grace,
A son of Mars, and of th' Hibernian race :-
In flow'ry rhetoric he no time employ'd,
He came―he woo'd—he wedded and enjoy'd.

AIR.

Dido thus of old protested,

Ne'er to know a second flame, But alas! she found she jested,

When the stately Trojan came. Nature a disguise may borrow,

Yet this maxim true will prove, Spite of pride, and spite of sorrow,

She that has an heart must love. What on Earth is so enchanting

As beauty weeping on her weeds! Through flowing eyes, on bosom panting What a rapturous ray proceeds? Since from death there's no returning, When th' old lover bids adieu, All the pomp and farce of mourning Are but signals for a new,

EPISTLE TO MRS. TYLER,

It ever was allow'd, dear madam,
Ev'n from the days of father Adam,
Of all perfection flesh is heir to,
Fair patience is the gentlest virtue;
This is a truth our grandames teach,
Our poets sing, and parsons preach;
Yet after all, dear Moll, the fact is
We seldom put it into practice;
I'll warrant (if one knew the truth)
You've call'd me many an idle youth,
And styled me rude ungrateful bear,
Enough to make a parson swear.

I shall not make a long oration
In order for my vindication,
For what the plague can I say more
Than lazy dogs have done before;
Such stuff is nought but mere tautology,
And so take that for my apology.
First then for custards, my dear Mary,
The produce of your dainty dairy,

For stew'd, for bak'd, for boil'd, for roast,
And all the teas and all the toast;
With thankful tongue and bowing attitude,
I here present you with my gratitude:
Next for your apples, pears and plumbs
Acknowledgment in order comes;
For wine, for ale, for fowl, for fish-for
Ev'n all one's appetite can wish for:
But O ye pens, and O ye pencils,
And all ye scribbling utensils,

Say in what words and in what metre,
Shall unfeign'd admiration greet her,
For that rich banquet so refin'd
Her conversation gave the mind;
The solid meal of sense and worth,

Set off by the desert of mirth;

Wit's fruit and pleasure's genial bowl,
And all the joyous flow of soul;
For these, and every kind ingredient

That form'd your love-your most obedient.

TO THE REV. MR. POWELĻ,

ON THE NON-PERFORMANCE OF A PROMISE HE
MADE THE AUTHOR OF A HARE.

FRIEND, with regard to this same hare,
Am I to hope, or to despair?

By punctual post the letter came,
With P***ll's hand, and P***ll's name ;
Yet there appear'd, for love or money,

Nor hare, nor leveret, nor coney.
Say, my dear Morgan, has my lord,
Like other great ones kept his word?
Or have you been deceiv'd by 'squire?
Or has your poacher lost his wire?
Or in some unpropitious hole,
Instead of puss, trepann'd a mole?
Thou valiant son of great Cadwallader,
Hast thou a hare, or hast thou swallow'd her ?
But, now, methinks, I hear you say,
(And shake your head) "Ah, well-a-day!
Painful pre-em'nence to be wise,

We wits have such short memories,
Oh, that the act was not in force!
A horse!-my kingdom for a horse!
To love-yet be deny'd the sport!
Oh! for a friend or two at court!
God knows, there's scarce a man of quality
In all our peerless principality—"

But hold-for on his country joking,
To a warm Welchman's most provoking.
As for poor puss, upon my honour,

I never set my heart upon her.
But any gift from friend to friend,
Is pleasing in it's aim and end.

I, like the cock, wou'd spurn a jewel,
Sent by th' unkind, th' unjust, and cruel.
But honest P***]] !. Sure from him

A barley-corn wou'd be a gem.
Pleas'd therefore had I been, and proud,
And prais'd thy generous heart aloud,
If'stead of hare (but do not blab it)
You'd send me only a Welch-rabbit.

THE SICK MONKEY.
EPIGRAM I.

A LADY sent lately for one doctor Drug,
To come in an instant, and clyster poor Pug-
As the fair one commanded he came at the word,
And did the grand office in tie-wig and sword.
The affair being ended, so sweet and so nice!
He held out his hand with "You-know, ma'am,
my price."
[your brother,
"Your price," says the lady-" Why, Sir, he's
And doctors must never take fees of each other."

APOLLO AND DAPHNE,
EPIGRAM II.

WHEN Phœbus was am'rous, and long'd to be [wood,

rude, Miss Daphne cry'd pish! and ran swift to the And rather than do such a naughty affair, She became a fine laurel to deck the god's hair.

From grief to bliss, from Earth to Heav'n remov'd,

His mem'ry honour'd, as his life belov'd:
That heart o'er which no evil e'er had pow'r ;
That disposition sickness could not sour;
That sense so oft to riper years denied,

That patience heroes might have own'd with
His painful race undauntedly he ran, [pride.
And in the eleventh winter died a man.

EPITAPH ON THE

REV. MR. REYNOLDS.
AT ST. PETER'S IN THE ISLE OF THANET.

Was rhetoric on the lips of sorrow hurg,
Or cou'd affliction lend the heart a tongue,
Then should my soul, in noble anguish free,
Do glorious justice to herself and thee.
But ah! when loaded with a weight of woe,
Ev'n nature, blessed nature is our foe.
When we should praise, we sympathetic groan,
For sad mortality is all our own.
Yet but a word as lowly as he lies,

He spurns all empires and asserts the skies.
Blush, power! he had no interest here below;
Blush, malice! that he dy'd without a foe;
The universal friend, so form'd to engage,
Was far too precious for this world and age.
Years were deny'd, for (such his worth and truth)
Kind Heaven has call'd him to eternal youth.

WHAT the prophetic Muse foretold is true.
And royal justice gives to worth it's due;
The Roman spirit now breathes forth again,
And Virtue's temple leads to Honour's fane;
But not alone to thee this grant extends,
Nor in thy rise great Brunswick's goodness ends:
Whoe'er has known thy hospitable dome,
Where each glad guest still finds himself at home;
Whoe'er has seen the numerous poor that wait
To bless thy bounty at the expanded gate;
Whoe'er has seen thee general joy impart,
And smile away chagrin from every heart,
All these are happy-pleasure reigns confest,
And thy prosperity makes thousands blest.

ON THE DEATH OF

MASTER NEWBERY.

AFTER A LINGERING ILLNESS.

HENCEFORTH be every tender tear supprest, Or let us weep for joy, that he is blest;

And shall no just, impartial bard be found,
Thy more exalted merits to resound?
Who giv'st to beauty a perpetual bloom,
And lively grace, which age shall not consume;
Who mak'st the speaking eyes with meaning roll,
And paint'st at once the body and the soul.

AN INVITATION TO MRS. TYLER,

A CLERGYMAN'S LADY, TO DINE UPON A COUPLE
OF DUCKS ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE AU-
THOR'S WEDDING-DAY.

HAD I the pen of sir John Suckling,
And could find out a rhyme for duckling,
Why, dearest madam, in that case,
I would invite you to a brace.
Haste, gentle shepherdess', away,
To morrow is the gaudy day,
That day, when to my longing arms,
Nancy resign'd her golden charms,
And set my am'rous inclination
Upon the bus'ness of the nation.
Industrious Moll, with many a pluck,
Unwings the plumage of each duck;
And as she sits a brooding o'er,

You'd think she'd hatch a couple more.
Come, all ye Muses, come and sing,-
Shall we then roast them on a string?
Or shall we make our dirty jilt run,
To beg a roast of Mrs. Bilton 3?
But to delight you more with these,
We shall provide a dish of pease:
On ducks alone we'll not regale you,

We'll wine, we'll punch you, and we'll ale you.
To morrow is the gaudy day,

Haste, gentle shepherdess, away.

TO MISS SPE.

FAIR partner of my Nancy's heart,
Who feel'st, like me, love's poignant dart;
Who at a frown can'st pant for pain,
And at a smile revive again;
Who doat'st to that severe degree,
You're jealous, e'en of constancy;

Born hopes and fears and doubts to prove,
And each vicissitude of love!

To this my humble suit attend,
And be my advocate and friend,
So may just Heav'n your goodness bless
Successful ev'n in my success!
Oft at the silent hour of night,
When bold intrusion wings her flight,
My fair, from care and bus'ness free,
Unbosoms all her soul to thee,

Each hope with which her bosom heaves,
Each tender wish her heart receives
To thee are intimately known,

And all her thoughts become thy own:

1 As every good parson is the shepherd of his flock, his wife is a shepherdess of course. 'The maid.

3 The landlady of the public house.

CUM primùm ante oculos,` viridi lasciva juventâ, Non temere attonitos Fannia pulchra stetit,

Ut mihi se gratus calor insinuavit in ossa

Miranti speciem, virgineumque decus! [non?

Dum partes meditor varias, & amabile-quid Lustrandique acies magna libido capit;

In her bewitching eyes

Ten thousand loves appear; There Cupid basking lies,

Ilis shafts are hoarded there, Her blooming cheeks are dy'd With colour all her own, Excelling far the pride

Of roses newly blown.

Her well turn'd limbs confess
The lucky hand of Jove;
Her features all express

The beauteous queen of love.
What flames my nerves invade
When I behold the breast
Of that too charming maid
Rise suing to be prest!
Venus round Fanny's waist

Has her own cestus bound, There guardian Cupids grace, And dance the circle round, How happy may he be,

Who shall her zone unloose! That bliss to all but me,

May Heav'n and she refuse.

HORACE. ODE IV.

Ad Xanthiam Phoceum

Subdolus en! furtim labitur intus amor.

Idalii pueri, Venerisque exercitus omnis
Exornat multo lumina fœta dolo;

Hie currus, hic tela jacent, hic arcus Amoris,
Cypri posthabitis hic manet ipse jugis.
Nativis gena pulchra rosis vestita superbit,

Invalidamı artificis spernere nàta manum; Non tantas jactat veneres suavissimus horti Incola, quando novis spirat amoma comis. Concinnis membris patet immortalis origo,

[dullas,

Illa Jovis monstrant quid potuêre manus ; Reginamque Cnidi, formosam Cyprida, reddit, Quicunque egregio ludit in ore decor! Quanta mihi nervos, heu, quanta est flamma mePectoris ut video luxuriantis ebur Pectoris eximia nymphæ-jam dulcè tumentis Jam subsideutis-sed cupit ante premi. Circumdat mediam cestus (mihi credite) nympInsignis cestus, quem dedit ipsa Venus: [ham Dulce satellitium circa illam ludit amorum, Atque hilares ducit turba jocosa choros. Felix ante homines istius cingula zona

Qui solvas, felix, quisquis es, ante Deos! Omnes, tanta omnes, nisi me, contingere posse Gaudia, vosque Dii, tuque pueila neges.

WHEN Fanny, blooming fair,

First caught my ravish'd sight, Pleas'd with her shape and air, I felt a strange delight: Whilst eagerly I gaz'd,

Admiring ev'ry part, And ev'ry feature prais'd, She stole into my heart.

Xanthia Phoceu ; prius insolentem Serva Briseis niveo colore

Who nobler, prouder far than he is, Ador'd his chambermaid Briseis.

The thund'ring Ajax Venus lays
In love's inextricable maze.

His slave Tecmessa makes him yield,
Now mistress of the sevenfold shield.
Atrides with his captive play'd,
Who always shar'd the bed she made.

'Twas at the ten years siege, when all
The Trojans fell in Hector's fall,
When Helen rul'd the day and night,

And made them love and made them fight;
Each hero kiss'd his maid, and why,
Though I'm no hero, may not I?

Who knows? Polly perhaps may be
A piece of ruin'd royalty.
She has (I cannot doubt it) been
The daughter of some mighty queen;
But fate's irremeable doom

Has chang'd her sceptre for a broom.

Ah! cease to think it-how can she,
So generous, charming, fond, and free,
So lib'ral of her little store,
So heedless of amassing more,
Have one drop of plebeian blood
In all the circulating flood?

But you, by carping at my fire,
Do but betray your own desire-
Howe'er proceed-made tame by years,
You'll raise in me no jealous fears.
You've not one spark of love alive,
For, thanks to Heav'n, you're forty-five.

Georgium expecto, Salis architectum Duplicis vafrum satis, æmulosque Spero vos inter fore nunc, ut olim,

Nobile bellum.

Dumque lucubrata per omne longi Frigoris sæclum pueros tenellos Alma nox pictas videt otiosos

Volvere chartas.

Proh pudor! devota lucro juventus (Ut puellarum numerus senumque) Pallet insomnis repetita duri

Jurgia ludi. Sperne (nam multæ cerebrum Minerva Est tibi) nugas age quæstuosas, Arduas, vanas, & amara curæ

Elue mecum.

Jam riget tellus hyemantque menses,
Vestra sed laurus vireat, tuisque
In genis dulcis rosa sanitatis

Sera moretur.

Aul. Pemb. Cantab, Cal. Jan.

THE FAMOUS GENERAL EPITAPH

FROM DEMOSTHENES.

THESE for their country's cause were sheath'd in
And all base imputations dare despise; [arms
And nobly struck with glory's dreadful charins
Made death their aim, eternity their prize.
For never could their mighty spirits yield,

To see themselves and country-men in chains;
And Earth's kind bosom bides them in the field
Of battle, so the Will Supreme ordains;
To conquer chance and errour's not reveal'd,
For mortals sure mortality remains.

CARMEN IN S. CECILIAM.

DESCENDE cœlo, spiritu quæ melleo

Imples, Camena, tibias ;

Descende, pulsas quæ lyram volucri manu,
Nervumque sopitum excita:

Discat fundere suaviter severas
Testudo numerosa cantilenas :

Cava classica clangoribus auras
Repleant, resonent tremebundarum
Laquearia convulsa domorum :

Inque vicem lentâ gravia organa majestate
Spirent, augustoque sonore inflata tumescant,

ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.
DESCEND, ye Nine! descend and sing;
The breathing instruments inspire,
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!

In a sadly-pleasing strain,
Let the warbling lute complain:
Let the loud trumpet sound,
'Till the roofs all around

The shrill echoes rebound:

While in more lengthen'd notes and slow, The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow.