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PARODY OF A TRANSLATION

FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES.

1 ERR shall they not, who resolute explore

Time's gloomy backward with judicious eyes ; And, scanning right the practices of yore,

Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise.

2 They to the dome where smoke with curling play

Announced the dinner to the regions round, Summon’d the singer blithe, and harper gay,

And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound.

3 The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,

By quivering string or modulated wind, Trumpet or lyre—to their harsh bosoms chill,

Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find.

4 Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun,

Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell,

And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.

5 When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,

And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish,

Can yield no room to music's soothing power.

BURLESQUE

ON THE MODERN VERSIFICATION OF ANCIENT LEGENDARY

TALES : AN IMPROMPTU.

THE tender infant, meek and mild,

Fell down upon the stone;
The nurse took up the squealing child,

But still the child squeald on.

EPITAPH FOR MR HOGARTH.

The hand of him here torpid lies,

That drew the essential form of grace ;
Here closed in death the attentive eyes,

That saw the manners in the face.

TRANSLATION

OF THE TWO FIRST STANZAS OF THE SONG 'RIO VERDE,

RIO VERDE,' PRINTED IN BISHOP PERCY'S “RELIQÙES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY :' AN IMPROMPTU.

GLASSY water, glassy water,

Down whose current, clear and strong,
Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter,

Moor and Christian, roll along.

TO MRS THRALE,

ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR.

AN IMPROMPTU.

Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five.
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five;
Ladies, stock and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five ;
He that ever hopes to thrive,
Must begin by thirty-five;
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.

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IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION

OF AN AIR IN THE CLEMENZA DE TITO' OF METASTASIO,

BEGINNING, 'DEH! SE PIACERMI VUOI.'

WOULD you hope to gain my heart,
Bid your teasing doubts depart.

E

He who blindly trusts will find,
Faith from every generous mind ;
He who still expects deceit,
Only teaches how to cheat.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS SKAITING.

O’ER crackling ice, o’er gulfs profound,

With nimble glide the skaiters play;
O'er treacherous Pleasure's flowery ground

Thus lightly skim, and haste away.

TRANSLATION

OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO IN THE ‘ADRIANO' OF METASTASIO,

BEGINNING, 'TU CHE IN CORTE INVECCHIASTI.'

Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one
Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour :
Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness,
To sink the fatal precipice before him,
And then lament his fall with seeming friendship :
Open to all, true only to thyself,
Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise,
Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses,
And drive discountenanced Virtue from the throne
That leave the blame of rigour to the prince,
And of his every gift usurp the merit;
That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose,
And only build upon each other's ruin.

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IMPROMPTU

ON HEARING MISS THRALE CONSULTING WITH A FRIEND ABOUT

A GOWN AND HAT SHE WAS INCLINED TO WEAR.

WEAR the gown, and wear the hat,

Snatch thy pleasures while they last ;
Hadst thou nine lives, like a cat,

Soon those nine lives would be past.

TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL.

PASTORAL I.

Milebæus. Now, Tityrus, you supine and careless laid,
Play on your pipe beneath yon beechen shade ;
While wretched we about the world must roam,
And leave our pleasing fields, and native home;
Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame,
And the wood rings with Amaryllis' name.

Tityrus. Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd,
For I shall never think him less than god;
Oft on his altars shall my firstlings lie,
Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye:
He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads,
And me to tune at ease the unequal reeds.

Milebceus. My admiration only I express'd,
(No spark of envy harbours in my breast),
That when confusion o'er the country reigns,
To you alone this happy state remains.
Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats,
Far from their ancient fields and humble cots.

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