Rich wines and fpices wafte! Like furgeon, or like brawn, fhall I Bound in a precious pickle, lie, Which I can never tafte? Let me embalm this flesh of mine EPITAPH ON MR. QUIN. THAT • A BY THE SAME. tongue, which fet the table on a roar, And charm'd the public ear, is heard no more! Clos'd are thofe eyes, the harbingers of wit, Which spoke, before the tongue, what Shakefpeare writ. Cold are thofe hands, which, living, were ftretch'd forth, •At friendship's call, to fuccour modeft worth. Here lies James Quin! deign, reader, to be taught, (Whate'er thy ftrength of body, force of thought, In nature's happieft mould however caft) To this complexion thou must come at laft. EXTEMPORE, ON HEARING A CERTAIN IMPERTINENT ADDRESS IN THE NEWS-PAPERS. BY GARRICK, THOMSON, &c. THOU effence of dock, of valerian and fage, At once the difgrace and the peft of this age, The worst that we wish thee for all thy damn'd crimes, Is to take thy own phyfic and read thy own rhimes. ANSWER TO THE JUNTO. THEIR wish muft be in form revers'd, To fuit the doctor's crimes; For, if he takes his phyfic first, He'll never read his rhimes. DR. HILL'S REPLY TO THE JUNTO'S EPIGRÁM. YE defperate junto, ye great, or ye fmall, Who combat dukes, doctors, the devil and all! EPIGRA WRITTEN M, SOON AFTER DR. HILL'S FARCE CALLED THE ROUTE WAS ACTED. FOR phyfic and farces, His farces are phyfic, His phyfic a farce is. TO DR. HILL UPON HIS PETITION OF THE LETTER I TO MR. GARRICK. BY THE SAME. IF 'tis true, as you fay, that I've injured a letter, I'll change my note foon, and I hope for the better; May the right ufe of letters as well as of men, Most devoutly I wish that they both have their due, And that I may be never mistaken for U. 4 GRACE.· ĠRAC E. BY THE SAME. YE beaux efprits, fay, what is GRACE? t Where looks give speech to ev'ry feature, TO MR. DERRICK, UPON HIS RECALLING HIS ORDERS AGAINST DANCING MINUETS IN BACKS, 3.Y THE GAME. LYCURGUS of Bath, Be not given to wrath, Thy rigours the fair fhould not feel: Still fix them your debtors, Make laws like your betters, And as faft as you make them-repeal S N N EAST, BY THE SAME. MUST I, Clorinda, ever court? Why all these pains your flame to smother? Or is it that I'm made your fport To recommend you to another. Whate'er the caufe, of this be fure, Love's leenest shaft has touch'd my heart; Nor will the wound admit of cure, Until we're either friends or-part. UPON |