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In satires, epistles, 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.

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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 suit before.

At length, propitious to my pray'r,

The little urchin came;
At once he fought the mid-way air,
And soon he clear'd, with dextrous care,
The bitter relicks of

my

flame.

To Kitty, Fanny now fucceeds,

She kindles flow, but lasting fires :
With care my appetite The feeds;
Each day some willing victim bleeds,

To satisfy my strange desires.

+ The number of the French academy employed in settling tfair language.

H 6

Say',

Say, by what title †, or what name,

Must I this youth address :
Cupid and he are not the same,
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 wiseft can

Insure the pleasures of to-morrow! These eyes, fo late my envy'd boast,

By Celia priz'd above all other; See one, alas ! for ever lost,

Its fellow weeping for its brother.

Yet ftill I'm bleft while one remains,

For viewing lovely Celia's beauty ; Her looks still ease acutest pains,

With tenderest love and cheerful duty.
Had I for her in battle ftrore,

The fatal blow I'd borne with pleasure;
And still to prove my constant love,
With joy I'd lose my single treasure.

+ The clini ey-sweeper.

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E'en then the beauties of her mind

Would amply bless 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 bliss,

Which Heav'n alone to me difpenfes ; Tho' deaf and blind, her balmy kiss

Would ravish the remaining senses.

MR. GARRICK,

INVITED AND STRONGLY PRESSED TO PASS A WEEK EN FAMILLE" AT WARWICK

CASTLE,

AR RIVES, 15 SHEWN THE CURIOSITIES LIKE A COMMON TRAVELLER, TREATED WITH CHOCOLATE, AND DISMISSED DIRECTLY, UPON WHICH HE WROTE THE FOLLOWING VERSES.

SOME strollers | invited by Warwick's kind earl,

To his castle magnificent came ; Prepar'd to respect both the owner and feat,

And to thew 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 hoft.
* One or two persons were with Mr. Garrick.

He

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

soup, 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 (says this complaisant

peer)

" I'll give you a new printed book, “ Which may to your tastes some amusement afford,

" 'Tis the histry of Greville and Brooke.” Since your lordship's so civil, well-bred, and polite,

Pray pardon one curse 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 stout Earl of Warwick, liv'd

here,

Fat oxen for breakfast were slain ; And his friends were all welcome to sport and good

cheer,

And invited again and again ;-
His nerves are fo weak, and his fpirits fo low,

I his 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. NA TURE

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 submit: But Shakespeare paints stronger and better than

you,

All critics of taste will admit. How! Shakespeare paint stronger and better than

me !

Cries Nature, quite touch'd to the soul ;
Not a word in his volumes I ever could see,

But what from my records he stole.
And thou, wicked thief-nay, the story l'll tell-

Whenever I paint or I draw,
My pencils you filch, and my colours you steal;

For which thou shalt suffer the law.
And when on the stage in full luftre you shine,

To me all the praise shall be giv'n :
The toil fall be your's, and the honour be mine;

So Nature and Garrick are even.

A B AL

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