An artless grace the conscious heart bestows, And on the generous cheek a tincture glows, More lovely than the bloom that paints the vernal rose. The lofty pyramid shall cease to live, Fleeting the praise such monuments can give! But Charity, by tyrant Time revered, Sweet Charity, amidst his ruins spared, Secures her votaries unblasted fame, And in celestial annals saves their name. EPIGRAMS. A MEMBER of the modern great And the' other's shoes are paid for. To Wasteall, whose eyes were just closing in death, Doll counted the chalks on the door; [breath, 'In peace (cried the wretch) let me give up my And Fate will soon rub out my score.' 'Come, bailiffs (cries Doll), (how I'll hamper this Let the law be no longer delay'd, [cheat!) I never once heard of that fellow call'd Fate, And, by God, he shan't die till I'm paid.' APOLLO-TO MR. C- F——————, ON HIS BEING SATIRIZED BY AN IGNORANT PERSON. WHETHER he's worth your spleen or not, I wish my friend a nobler lot Than that of trampling vermin. A blockhead can't be worth our care, As you've some common sense to spare, lend him. P ON MR. CHURCHILL'S DEATH. SAYS Tom to Richard, Churchill's dead:' Postscript. WOULD honest Tom G- -d get rid of a scold, COULD Kate for Dick compose the gordian string, ON SEEING J. C. C-FT, ESQ. ABUSED IN A NEWSPAPER. WHEN a wretch to public notice, Busy, pert, unmeaning parrot! Should for hunger hang or drown: IMITATIONS. ANACREON. ODE V. SHED roses in the sprightly juice, Bring us more sweets ere these expire, ANACREON. ODE IX. TELL me (said I), my beauteous dove (If an ambassadress from love), Tell me, on what soft errand sent, Thy gentle flight is this way bent? Ambrosial sweets thy pinions shed As in the quivering breeze they spread!' A message (says the bird) I bear From fond Anacreon to the fair; A virgin of celestial grace! The Venus of the human race! 'Me, for a hymn or amorous ode, The Paphian Venus once bestow'd To the sweet bard; for whom I'd fly Unwearied to the farthest sky. 6 Through the soft air he bade me glide (See, to my wing his billet's tied), And told me 'twas his kind decree, When I return'd, to set me free. "Twould prove me but a simple bird, With crumbs of his ambrosial bread, |