In fatires, epiftles, and odes would they cope,
Their numbers retreat before Dryden and Pope;
And Johnson well arm'd, like a hero of yore,
Has beat forty French, and will beat forty more.

A RIDDLE.

BY THE SAME.

KITTY, a fair, but frozen maid,
Kindled a flame I still deplore;
The hood-wink'd boy I call'd in aid,
Much of his near approach afraid,
So fatal to my fuit before.

At length, propitious to my pray'r,
The little urchin came;

At once he fought the mid-way air,
And foon he clear'd, with dextrous care,
The bitter relicks of my flame.

To Kitty, Fanny now fucceeds,

She kindles flow, but lafting fires:

With care my appetite she feeds;
Each day fome willing victim bleeds,
To fatisfy my strange defires.

The number of the French academy employed in fettling

their language.

H 6

Say,

Say, by what title †, or what name,
Muft I this youth address ?

Cupid and he are not the fame,

Tho' both can raise, or quench a flame-
I'll kiss you, if you guess.

SIR WILLIAM YOUNG TO HIS LADY,

ON HAVING AN EYE BEAT OUT.

How vain are all the joys of man,

By nature born to certain forrow; Since none, not e'en the wifest can

Infure the pleafures of to-morrow!

Thefe eyes, fo late my envy'd boast,
By Celia priz'd above all other;

See one, alas! for ever loft,

Its fellow weeping for its brother.

Yet ftill I'm bleft while one remains,
For viewing lovely Celia's beauty;

Her looks ftill eafe acuteft pains,

With tendereft love and cheerful duty.

Had I for her in battle ftrove,

The fatal blow I'd borne with pleasure;
And ftill to prove my conftant love,
With joy I'd lofe my fingle treasure.

E'en then the beauties of her mind
Would amply blefs her faithful lover;
He must be deaf as well as blind,

Who can't my Celia's charms discover.

E'en then I'd find one folid blifs,

Which Heav'n alone to me difpenfes ;

Tho' deaf and blind, her balmy kiss
Would ravish the remaining fenfes.

MR. GARRICK,

INVITED AND STRONGLY PRESSED TO PASS A WEEK 66 EN FAMILLE" AT WARWICK CASTLE, ARRIVES, IS SHEWN THE CURIOSITIES LIKE A COMMON TRAVELLER, TREATED WITH CHOCOLATE, AND DISMISSED DIRECTLY, UPON WHICH HE WROTE THE FOLLOWING VERSES.

SOME ftrollers + invited by Warwick's kind earl, To his castle magnificent came ;

Prepar❜d to respect both the owner and feat,

And to fhew them due honour and fame. His chambers, his kitchen, his cellars, they prais'd, But, alas! they foon found to their cost, That if they expected to feast at his house, They reckon'd without their great host.

One or two perfons were with Mr. Garrick.

He

He fhew'd them Guy's pot, but he gave them no foup,

No meat would his lordship allow,

Unless they had guaw'd the blade-bone of the boar, Or the rib of the famous dun cow.

"But fince you're my friends (fays this complaifant peer)

"I'll give you a new printed book,

"Which may to your tastes some amusement afford, "'Tis the hift'ry of Greville and Brooke." Since your lordship's fo civil, well-bred, and polite, Pray pardon one curfe from a finner;

For our breakfast we thank you, our very good lord, But a plague on your family dinner.

AN INSCRIPTION FOR THE CASTLE GATEWAY.

WHEN Neville, the ftout Earl of Warwick, liv'd here,

Fat oxen for breakfast were flain;

And his friends were all welcome to fport and good cheer,

And invited again and again ;~

His nerves are fo weak, and his fpirits fo low,
This earl, with no oxen does feed 'em ;

And all of the former great doings we know,
He gives us a book-and we read 'em.

1768.

D. G.

NATURE

NATURE AND GARRICK,

As Nature and Garrick were talking one day,
It chanc'd they had words and fell out;
Dame Reason wou'd fain have prevented a fray,
But could not, they both were so stout.
Says Garrick, I honour you, madam, 'tis true;
And with pride to your laws I fubmit:

But Shakespeare paints stronger and better than you,

All critics of taste will admit.

How! Shakespeare paint ftronger and better than me!

Cries Nature, quite touch'd to the foul; Not a word in his volumes I ever could fee, But what from my records he stole.

And thou, wicked thief-nay, the story I'll tell-
Whenever I paint or I draw,

My pencils you filch, and my colours you steal;
For which thou fhalt fuffer the law.

And when on the stage in full luftre you shine,
To me all the praise fhall be giv❜n:

The toil fhall be your's, and the honour be mine;
So Nature and Garrick are even.

A BAL