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Damp'd, like wet blankets, its afpiring flame,
And if not quite extinguish'd, kept it tame,
Till orient Anna lighted all its fires,

And the glad stars refponfive tun'd their choirs
Pity fhe e'er left any in the lurch,

To follow thofe who lighted her to church.

Then Halifax, my Lord, as you do yet,
Stood forth the friend of Poetry and Wit;
Sought filent Merit in its fecret cell,

And Heav'n, nay even man repaid him well.
Man, in the praise of every grateful quill,
And Heav'n in him, who bears his title ftill:
Who, on a kingdom to his virtues won,
Reflects the glories of our British Sun..

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THE late Lord E-g-e was not only a man of pleasure, but of fine parts, great knowledge, and original wit. In him we have the most affecting example, how health, fame, ambition, every thing, are drawn into that most deftructive of all whirlpoolsgaming. No man was ever more calculated by nature to serve the public, and charm fociety-I fhall leave the fhades of this picture unfinished, as, perhaps, they were not wholly owing to his own indiscretion, but his F's rigor. To give an idea of

his light, eafy vein of wit and poetry, we shall pre sent the reader with the following fable, well known to be written by him, and never published before.

FABLE OF THE ASS, NIGHTINGALE, AND KID.

BY THE LATE LORD E

-Trabit fua quemq; voluptas.

ONCE on a time it came to pass,
A Nightingale, a Kid, and Ass,
A Jack one, all fet out together,
Upon a trip-no matter whither;
And thro' a village chanc'd to take
Their journey-where there was a wake;
With lads and laffes all assembled:
Our travellers, whose genius them led
Each his own way-refolv'd to taste
Their fhare o'th' fport-we're not in hafte,
First cries the Nightingale, and I
Delight in mufic mightily!

Let's have a tune-ay, come, let's stop,
Replied the Kid, and take a hop.
Ay, do, fays Jack, the mean while I
Will wait for you, and graze hard by.
You know that 1, for fong and dance,
Care not a fart-but if, by chance,
As probably the end will be,
They go a romping—then call me.

F4

SEATED

SEATED one day in a warm bofom of hills, covered with evergreens, with a final trout ftream running through the middle, 1 reflected on the fafhion of Englishmen repairing to Nice, in Piedmont, for the establishment of health, as arifing more from the love of change in general, than to answer any falutary purposes. The accounts of the remarkable inclemency of the season at that place, and the death of two men of confequence, gave rife to the following lines.

ODE TO HEALTH.

WRITTEN MARCH 10, 1775.

IN vain ye feek the warmer sky,

Where Var rolls down her Alpine tide, And flow'rs unfold their varied dye,

In earlier fragrance by its fide:

Yet whom a length of well-fpent years deprefs,
Or wanton lives whofe complicated ills confefs.

Dowdeswell in vain invok'd the maid,

Or on the hill, or milder dale;

But found her not amid the glade,
Nor caught her in the whispering gale;

A river that lifes in the Aips, and runs by Nice.

There

There-but fuch lofs what time will fee fupplied!! Britons, your trueft, firmeft patriot genius died..

For lo! with wreath fantastic crown'd,

She treads this folitary scene;

And lightly trips thefe woodlands round,
Bedeck'd with ftole of vernal green;

Glides gently down the murmuring stream below,
And tempers with her pow'r the rougher winds that

blow.

From youth, thee, ruftic nymph, I woo'd,
At ev'ning grey, and crimafon morn,
Thy steps on beds of violets view'd,

And faw thee wanton on the thorn.

Far more, the humble fhrub and poorer cell, Thou lov'ft than in th' intemp'rate air of courts to dwell.

But tho' thy influence benigni

To me produce unclouded days,

Yet true Contentment is not mine,

Unless you claim my Laura's praise,

And bid her blood with livelier impulfe flow,
And on her pallid cheek the banish'd rofes glow.

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From grief the refcues the opprefs'd,
And drops the fympathetic tear;
She pours her balm into the breast

Of virtuous indigence and care.

Thus from corroding fear and want fet free,

She bids them Heav'n address-then facrifice to thee.

AN EPIGRAM

ON A CERTAIN LADY'S COMING INTO THE ROOM
AT BATH, WITH A DIAMOND CRESCENT IN
HER HAIR.

BY MR. POTTER.

CHASTE Dian's crefcent on her front difplay'd,
Behold! the wife proclaims herself a maid!
Come, fierce Taillard, or fiercer Junius come,
On this fair fubject urge the contest home;
Pluck honour from this emblematic moon,
And folve the point which puzzles Warburton:
This radiant enblem you may then tranfpofe,
And give the horned crefcent to the spouse.

BY

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