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Rich wines and fpices wafte!. Like furgeon, or like brawn, Thall I Bound in a precious pickle, lie,
Which I can never tafte ?
Let me embalm this flesh of mine
And spoil th’Egyptian trade!
A mummy ready made.
EPITAP Η' ο Ν
APHON MR. QUIN.
THAT tongue, which set the table on a roar, And charmd the public ear, is heard no more! Clos'd are those eyes, the harbingers of wit, Which spoke, before the tongue, what Shake
fpeare writ. Cold are those hands, which, living, were
stretch'd forth, At friendftip's cal, to fuccour modeft worth. Here lies James, Quin! deign, reader, to be
taught, (Whate'er thy strength of body, force of thought, In nature's happief mould however cast) To this complexion thou must come at last.
EXTEMPORE, ON HEARING A CERTAIN IMPERTINENT ADDRESS IN THE NEWS-PAPERS.
BY GARRICK, THOMSON, &c.
THOU effence of dock, of valerian and sage, At once the disgrace and the peft of this age, The worst that we will thee for all thy damn'd
crimes, Is to take thy own phyfic and read thy own rhimes.
ANSWER TO THE JUNTO.
THEIR wish must be in form revers’d,
To suit 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 EPIGRAM.
YE desperate junto, ye great, or ye small,
WRITTEN SOON AFTER DR. HILL'S PARCE
CALLED THE ROUTE WAS ACTID.
DR. HILL UPON HIS PETITION OF THE
LETTÉR I TO MR. GÁRRICK.
If'tis true, as you say, that I've injured a letter, I'll change my note foon, and I hope for the
better; May the right use of letters as well as of men, Hereafter be fix'd by the tongue and the pen; Most devoutly I wish that they both have their
due, And that I may be never mistaken for U.
YE beaux esprits, fay, what is Grace?
Behold in public-CUMBERLAND!
TO MR. DERRICK,
UPON NIS RECALLING HIS ORDERS AGAINST
DANCING MINUETB IN BACKS,
LYCURGUS of Bath,
Be not given to wrath,
Still fix them your debtors,
Make laws like your betters,
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 cause, of this be sure,
Love's kneenest shaft has touch'd my heart; Nor will the wound admit of cure,
Until we're either friends or-part.