VERSE S,

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN

TO WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A

SPRIG OF MYRTLE*

WHAT hopes, what terrors, does thy gift create?
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate!

The myrtle (enfign of fupreme command,
Confign'd by Venus to Meliffa's hand)
Not lefs capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft favours, oft rejects, a lover's pray'r.
In myrtle fhades oft fings the happy fwain,
In myrtle fhades defpairing ghofts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers heads,
Th' unhappy lovers graves the myrtle spreads.
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And eafe the throbbings of an anxious heart.
Soon must this bough, as you shall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.

* These verses were first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as they are, Dr. Johnson affured me, they were composed in the short space of five minutes.

N.

To Lady FIREBRACE*,

AT BURY ASSIZES.

Ar length muft Suffolk beauties fhine in vain,
So long renown'd in B-n's deathlefs ftrain?
Thy charms at least, fair Firebraçe, might infpire
Some zealous bard to wake the fleeping lyre;
For, fuch thy beauteous mind and lovely face,
Thou seem'ft at once, bright nymph, a Muse and
Grace.

This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, Efq. of Ipfwich, and relict of Philip Evers, Efq. of that town, She became the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the last Baronet of that name (to whom the brought a fortune of 25,000 1.), July 26, 1737. Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Efq. uncle to the present Duke of Argyle; and died July 3, 1782.

To LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY.

YE nymphs whom starry rays invest,
By flatt'ring poets given,
Who fhine, by lavish lovers drest,
In all the pomp of Heaven;

Engrofs not all the beams on high,
Which gild a lover's lays,

But, as your fifter of the sky,
Let Lyce fhare the praise.

Her filver locks display the moon,

Her brows a cloudy show,

Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen,
And fhow'rs from either flow.

Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,
She's ftarr'd with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,
And can with thunder roar.

But fome Zelinda, while I fing,
Denies my Lyce fhines;
And all the pens of Cupid's wing
Attack my gentle lines.

Yet, fpite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards exprefs,
My Lyce makes as good a fky,
And I but flatter lefs.

ON THE DEATH OF

Mr. ROBERT LEVET,
A Practifer in Phyfic.

CONDEMN'D to Hope's delufive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By fudden blafts, or flow decline,
Our focial comforts drop away.

Well try'd through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave defcend,
Officious, innocent, fincere,

Of ev'ry friendless name the friend.

Yet

Yet ftill he fills Affection's eye,
Obfcurely wife, and coarfely kind ;
Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny
Thy praise to merit unrefin'd,

When fainting nature call'd for aid,
And hov'ring death prépar'd the blow,
His vig'rous remedy difplay'd

The pow'r of art without the show.
In mifery's darkest cavern known,
His ufeful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless anguish pour'd his
And lonely want retir'd to die.

No fummons mock'd by chill delay,
No petty gain difdain'd by pride,
The modeft wants of ev'ry day
The toil of ev'ry day fupply'd.

groan,

His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And fure th' Eternal Mafter found
The fingle talent well employ'd.

The bufy day-the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
His frame was firm-his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was night.

Then with no fiery throbbing pain,

No cold gradations of decay,

Death broke at once the vital chain,

And freed his foul the nearest way.

EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS,

AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN

PHILLIPS! whofe touch harmonious could remove
The pangs of guilty pow'r, and hapless love,
Reft here, diftreft by poverty no more,
Find here that calm thou gav'ft fo oft before;
Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

"Thefe lines are among Mrs. Williams's Mifcellanies: they are nevertheless recognised as Johnson's in a memorandum of his hand-writing, and were probably written at her request. Phillips was a travelling fidler up and down Wales, and was greatly celebrated for his performance.

EPITAPHIUM†

IN

THOMAM HANMER, BARONETTUM.

Honorabilis admodum THOMAS HANMER,
Baronettus,

Wilhelmi Hanmer armigeri, è Peregrinâ Henrici

North

De Mildenhall in Com. Suffolcia Baronetti forore

et hærede,

Filius;

Johannis Hanmer de Hanmer Baronetti

† At Hanmer church, in Flintshire.

Hære