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In vain their charms display;
While a forc'd blush her cheeks infam'd, The luscious nectarine, juicy peach,
Ind seem'd to say she was asham'd. In richness, nor in sweetness reach
No handkerchief her bosom hid, The lips of Jenny Gray.
No tippet from our sight debars To the sweet koot of Graces three,
Her heaving breasts with moles o'erspread, Th’immortal band of bards agree,
Mark’d, little bemispheres, with stars ; A tuneful tax to pay ;
While on them all our eyes we more, There yet remains a matchless worth,
Our eyes that meant immoderate love. There yet remains a lovelier fourth,
In every gesture, every air,
Th’imperfect lisp, the languid eye,
We awkward imitators vie,
And, formning our own from her face,
Strive to look pretty as we gaze.
If e'er she sneer'd, the mimic crowd
Sncer'd too, and all their pipes laid down ;
If she but stoop'd, we lowly how'd,
And sullen if she'gan to frown Full many a heart, that now is free,
In solemnd silence sat profound-
But did she laugh!-the laugh went round,
Her snuff-box if the nymph pull'd out,
Each Johnian in responsive airs The conquests you shall gain.
Fed with the tickling dust bis snout,
With all the politesse of bears. When Tabby Tom your Crop pursues,
Dropt she her fan beneath her hoop,
Ev'n stake-stuck Clarians struve to stoop:
The sons of culinary Kays
Smoking from the eternal treat, His tenderness procures?
Lost in ecstatic transport gaze.
As though the fair was good to eat ;
Ev'n gloomiest king's men, pleas'd awhile,
“ Grip horribly a ghastly smile.” By decent pride, and dint of scuff,
But hark, she cries, “ My mamma calls," Keep caterwauling coxcombs ott,
And straight she's vanish'd from our sight; And ward th' attacks of love.
'Twas then we saw the empty bowls, Your Crop a mousing when you see,
'Twas then we first perceiv'd it night; She teaches you economy,
While all, sad synod, silent moan,
Buth that she went and went alone.
THE WIDOW'S RESOLUTION.
THE I'RETTY BAR-XEEPER OF THE
Written at College, 1741, “Relax, sweet girl, your wearied mind,
And to hear the poet talk,
Lay aside your sponge and chalk;
Come, O come, and bring with tite
And ali love's soft artillery;
Not unravish'd you might see
E’er her tongue could set it free.
Sylvia, the most contented of her hind,
My loyal thoughts controul;
The purpose of my soul.
And make me life sustain;
That takes it's rise from pain."
TO TIIE REV. MR. POWELL,
RECITATIVE. She said :-A youth approach'd of manly grace, A son of Mars, and of th' Hibernian race :In flow'ry rhetoric he no time employ’d, He came hewco'd-he wedded and enjoy'd.
ON THE NON-PERFORMANCE OF A PROMISE NE
MADE THE AUTHOR OF A HARE.
Dido thus of old protested,
Ne'er to know a second fame, But alas! she found she jested,
When the stately Trojan came. Nature a disguise may borrow,
Yet this maxim true will prove, Spite of pride, and spite of sorrow,
She that has an heart must love. What en Earth is so enchanting
As beauty weeping on her weeds! Througb fluwing eyes, on bosom panting
What a rapturous ray proceeds? Siace from death there's no returning,
When th' old lover bids adieu, All the pomp and farce of mourning
Are but signals for a new.
Friend, with regard to this same hare,
puss, trepann'd a mole? Thou valiant son of great Cadwallader, Hast thou a hare, or hast thou swallow'd her:
But, now, methinks, I hear you say,
But hold—for on his country joking,
THE SICK MONKEY.
EPISTLE TO MRS. TYLER,
I sball not make a long oration
And so take that for my apology.
EPITAPH ON THE
The nymph was be sure of a cold constitution, From grief to bliss, from Earth to Heav'o reTo be turn'd to a tree was a strange resolution;
mov'd, But in this she resembled a true modern spouse, His mem'ry honour'd, as his life belov'd: For she fled from his arms to distinguish his That heart o'er which no evil e'er bad pow'r; brows.
That disposition sickness could not sour;
His painful race updauntedly he ran, (pride.
(FROM THE GREEK.) To a Mouse says a Miser, “My dear Mr. Mouse,
REI, MR. REYNOLDS. Pray what may you please for to want in my AT ST. reier'S IN THE ISLE OF THANET. Says the Mouse, “Mr. Miser, pray keep yourself quiet,
As rhetoric on the lips of sorrow hurg, You are safe in your person, your purse, and your
Or cou'd alliction lend the heart a tongue, A lodging I want, which ev'n you may afford,
Then should my soul, in poble anguish free, But none wou'd come here to beg, borrow, or Do glorious justice to herself and thee. board.”
But ah! when loaded with a weight of woe,
When we should praise, we sympathetic groan,
For sad mortality is all our own.
Yet but a word : as lowly as he lies, ON A WOMAN WHO WAS SINGING BALLADS FOR
He spurns all empires and asserts the skies.
Blush, power! he had no interest here below; For her husband deceas'd, Sally chants the sweet Blush, malice! that he dy'd without a foe;
The universal friend, so form'd to engage, Why, faith, this is singular sorrow; [day, Was far too precious for this world and age. But (I doubt) since she sings for a dead man to Years were deny'd, for (such his worth and truth) She'll cry for a live one to morrow.
Kind Heaven has call'd him to eternal youth.
MONEY TO BURY HER HUSBAND.
ONE OF THE PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. T. B.
Written in his Garden, July, 1:52.
Free from the proud, the pompous, and the The royal hand, my lord, shall raise
How simply neat, and elegantly plain (vain, To nooler heights thy name;
Thy rural villa lifts its modest head, Who praises thee shall meet with praise,
Where fair convenience reigns in fashion's stead; Ennobled in thy fame.
Where sober plenty does its bliss impart,
And glads thine hospitable, honest heart.
Mirth without vice, and rapture without noise, And royal justice gives to worth it's due;
And all the decent, all the manly joys! The Roman spirit now breathes forth again,
Beneath a shadowy bow'r, the summer's pride, And Virtue's temple leads to Honour's fane;
Thy darling Tullia ' sitting by thy side ; But not alone to thee this grant extends,
Where light and shade in varied scenes display Nor in thy rise great Brunswick's goodness ends :
A contrast sweet, like friendly yea and nay. Whoe'er has known thy hospitable dome,
My hand, the secretary of my mind, Where cach glad guest still finds himself at home; Leaves thee these lines upon the poplar's rind. Whoe'er has secn the numerous poor that wait To bless thy bounty at the expanded gate; Whoe'er has seen thee general joy impart,
ON SEEING THE PICTURE OF
DRAWN BY MR. VARELST,
And shall no just, impartial bard be found, Then take tbe blessed blissful hour, Thy more exalted merits to resound ?
To try love's sweet infectious puw'r; Who giv'st to beauty a perpetual bloom,
And let your sister souls conspire And lively grace, which age shall not consume; In love's, as friendship's calmer fire, Who mak'st the speaking eyes with ineaning roll, So may thy transport equal mine, And paint'st at once the body and the soul. Nay-every joy be doubly thine!
So may the youth, whom you prefer,
INERTISSIME Romuli Nepotum, Quot sunt, quotque fuêre, Marce Tull}, Et quot pòst aliis erunt in annis, Gratias tibi maximas Catullus, Agit pessimus omnium Poeta ;Tanto pessimus omnium Poeta, Quanto tu optimus omnium patronus.
AN INVITATION TO MRS. TYLER, A CLERGYMAN'S LADY, TO DINE UPON A COUPLE
OF DUCKS ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE AU
THOR'S WEDDING-DAY. HAD I the pen of sir John Suckling, And could find out a rhyme for duckling, Wby, dearest madam, in that case, I would invite you to a brace. Haste, gentle shepherdess', away, To morrow is the gaudy day, That day, when to my longing arms, Nancy resign'd her golden charms, And set my am'rous inclination Upon the bus'ness of the nation. Industrious Moll?, with many a pluck, Unwings the plumage of each duck; And as she sits a brooding o'er, You'd think she'd hatch a couple more. Come, all ye Muses, come aud sing,Shall we then roast them on a string? Or shall we make our dirty jilt run, To beg a roast of Mrs. Bilion 3? Bat to delight you more with these, We shall provide a dish of pease : On ducks alone we'll not regale you, We'll wine, we'll punch you, and we'll ale you. To morrow is the gaudy day, Haste, gentle shepherdess, away.
AFTER DINING WITH MR. MURRAY, O THOU, of British orators the chief That were, or are in being, or belief; All eminence and goodness as thou art, Accept the gratitude of Poet Smart, The meanest of the tuneful train as far, As thou transcend'st the brightest at the bar,
INSCRIPTIONS ON AN ÆOLIAN
On one End. Partem aliquam, O venti, divům referatis ad
TO MISS SP_E.
* As every good parson is the shepherd of his Aock, his wife is a shepherdess of course.
2 The maid.
On one side.
Salve, Memnoniam vox imitata lyram !
Dives naturæ simplicis, artis inops !
On the other Side.
On the other End.
AN EPIGRAM BY SIR THOMAS
De Tyndaro. Non minimo insignem naso dum forte puellam
Basiat, en! voluit Tyndarus esse dicax.
THE LONG NOSED FAIR.
Frustra, ait, ergn tuis mea profero lahra labellis, In her bewitching eyes
Ten thousand loves appear;
His shafts are hoarded there.
With colour all her own,
Of roses newly blown.
Her well turn'd limbs confess Oxce on a time I fair Dorinda kiss'd,
The lucky hand of Jove; Whose no-e was too distinguish'd to be miss'd ; Iler features all express “My dear,” says 1,“ I fain would kiss you closer, The beauteous queen of love. But tho' your lips say aye—your nose says, no, What flames my nerves invade sir."
Illien I behold the breast
Of that too charming maid
Has her own cestus bound,
And dance the circle round.
How happy may he be,
Who shall her zone unloose !
That bliss to all but me,
May Ileav'n and she refuse.
Non temere attonitos Fappia pulchra stetit,
HORACE. ODE IV.
Ad Xanthiam Phoceum.
Xanthia Phoceu ; prius insolenten Idalii pueri, Venerisque exercitns omnis
Serva Criseis niveo colore
Morit Ajacem Telamone natum
Arsit Atrides medio ia triumpho Non tantas jactat veneres suavissimus horti
Virgine rapta : Ircola, quando novis spirat einoma cumis.
Barbara postquam cecidêre turmæ Concinnis membris patet immortalis origo, Thessalo victure, & ademptus liector Illa Jovis moustact quid potuêre manns ;
Tradidit fessis leviora tolli Reginamque C'nidi, forinos om Cyprida, reddit,
Pergama Graiis. Quicunque egregio ludit in ore decor !
Nescias an te generuin beati Quanta mihi nervos, heu, quanta est fiamma me
Phyllidis fiavæ decorent parentes. Pictoris ut video luxurianiis ebui [dellas,
Regium certè genus & penates Pectoris eximiæ nympha-jam dulce tumentis
Crede non illam tibi de scelesta
Plebe dileciam ; neque sic fitielem,
Brachia, & vultum, teretesque suias.