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AN ELDERLY LADY.
1 YE Nymphs whom starry rays invest,
By flattering poets given,
In all the pomp of Heaven.
2 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.
3 Her silver locks display the moon,
Her brows a cloudy show,
And showers from either flow.
4 Her teeth the night with darkness dyes ;
She's starr'd with pimples o’er ;
And can with thunder roar.
5 But some Zelinda, while I sing,
Denies my Lycé shines;
Attack my gentle lines.
6 Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards express,
And I but flatter less.
ON THE DEATH OF MR ROBERT LEVETT,
A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC.
1 CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
Our social comforts drop away.
2 Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levett to the grave descend ;
Of every friendless name the friend.
3 Yet still he fills Affection's eye,
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
Thy praise to merit unrefined.
4 When fainting Nature call’d for aid,
And hovering Death prepared the blow,
of Art without the show.
5 In Misery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh ;
And lonely Want retired to die.
6 No summons, mock'd by chill delay;
No petty gain, disdain'd by pride ;
The toil of every day supplied.
7 His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
The single talent well employ'd.
8 The busy day—the peaceful night,
Unfelt, unclouded, glided by ;
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.
9 Then with no fiery, throbbing pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS,
AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN.
PHILLIPS! whose touch barmonious could remove
ON SIR THOMAS HANMEK, BART.
Thou who survey'st these walls with curious eye, Pause at this tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie;
1. Claude Phillips :' a Welsh travelling fiddler, greatly admired.
His various worth through varied life attend,
His force of genius burn'd in early youth,
Thus early wise, the endanger'd realm to aid,
In business dexterous, weighty in debate,
Resistless merit fix'd the senate's choice,
Then when dark arts obscured each fierce debate,
This task perform’d—he sought no gainful post,
Age call’d, at length, his active mind to rest,
To letter'd ease retired, and honest mirth,
Calm Conscience then his former life survey'd,
ON THE DEATH OF STEPHEN GREY, F.R.S.,
LONG hast thou borne the burden of the day;
Now, hoary sage ! pursue thy happy flight ;
Yet not to deep research or happy guess,