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 solid bliss,

Which heav'n alone to me dispenses; Tho' deaf and blind, her balmy kifs Would ravish the remaining fenfes.

M R.

INVITED AND STRONGLY PRESSED TO PASS A WEEK 66 EN FAMILLE" AT WARWICK CASTLE, ARRIVES, IS SHEWN THE CURIOSITIES LIKE A COMMON TRAVELLER, TREATED WITH CHOCOLATE, AND

DISMISSED DIRECTLY; UPON WHICH HE WROTE:

THE FOLLOWING VERSES.

SOME ftrollers* invited by Warwick's kind

earl,

To his caftle magnificent came, Prepar'd to refpect both the owner and feat,,

And to fhew, them due honour and fame. His chambers, his kitchen, his cellars, they prais'd,

But, alas! they foon found to their coft, That if they expected to feaft at his houfe, They reckon'd without their great hoft.

One or two perfons were with Mr. Garrick,

He

He fhew'd them Guy's pot, but he gave them

no foup, ДО СИ

KASTAK

No meat would his lordship allow,

Unless they had gnaw'd the blade bone of the boar, Or the rib of the famous dun cow.

"But fince you're my friends (fays this complai fant peer)

I'll give you a new printed book,"

"Which may to your taftes fome amusement afford,

" "Tis the hift'ry of Greville and Brooke." Since your lordship's fo civil, well-bred, and polite,

Pray pardon one curfe 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, WHENNeville, the ftout earl of Warwick, liv'dhere, Fat oxen for breakfast were flain,

And his friends were all welcome to sport and good cheer,

And invited again and again;

His nerves are so weak, and his spirits fo low,
This 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.

NATURE

ད

J

1.

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 fubmit;

But Shakespeare paints stronger and better than
you,

All critics of tafte will admit.

How! Shakespeare paint ftronger and better than
me!

Cries Nature, quite touch'd to the foul,
Not a word in his volumes I ever could fee,
But what from my records he ftole.

And thou, wicked thief-nay, the ftory I'll tell-
Whenever I paint or I draw,

My pencils you filch, and my colours you fteal;
For which thou fhalt fuffer the law.

And when on the stage in full luftre you shine,
To me all the praife fhall be giv❜n:

The toil shall be your's, and the honour be mine;
So Nature and Garrick are even.

OCCASIONED BY THE ENLARGING OF THE HOUSE OF OFFICE AT THE DOF DI

C

SEAT IN SUSSEX, FOR THE ACCOMMODATION OF THREE LADIES AT ONCE, VIZ

THE DISS OF R————D, I—Y A————LE, AND

THE Graces were play fellows never afunder, As Horace and all the old poets agree ;

This being once granted, why then 'tis no wonder, That, whene'er you fee one, you always fee three,

In bed, and at table,

Still infeparable,

No mortal, or God, e'er to part them was able: Nay, e'en to do that which goddesses do,

If one had occafion, ftill went t'other two.

So, in Suffex, three nymphs, or three graces, choose either,

O were I but Horace their praises to tell! From morning to evening were always together, And did, as they fay, that fame thing in a quill:"

In

In the park, or the grove,

Below, or above,

Not an inch e'er a one from the other would move, One only thing grieved and vexed their fouls, Where there should have been three, there were but two holes.

With curt'fy full low to the prince of the place, In terms the most moving they jointly petition, By all that is facred befeeching his grace,

To have fome regard on their helpless condition. The paper he read,

And nodding his head,

Send for Smart to come over this moment, he said, For fure in the world there is no reason why, When two friends are fitting, the third should ftand by.

The chalk-pit was dug, and mortar was made, And bricks without number from Hampness

there came,

When our architect too, who well knew his trade, Made by one fingle fabric immortal his name:

Then prithee give o'er,

Think of builders no more,

Throw thy plummet, and trowel, and hod out of

door;

So had done, without question, both Archer and

Van,

Had they had the honour to furnish the plan.

Now,