Not thus succeeds the peerless dame,
Who looks and talks and acts for fame;
Intent, so wide her cares extend,
To make the universe her friend.
Now with the gay in frolics shines,
Now reasons deep with deep divines.
With courtiers now extols the great,
With patriots sighs o'er Britain's fate.
Now breathes with zealots holy fires,
Now melts in less refined desires.
Doom'd to exceed in each degree,
Too wise, too weak, too proud, too free;
Too various for one single word,

The high sublime of deep absurd.
While every talent nature grants

Just serves to show how much she wants.

Although in

combine

The virtues of our sex and thine :

Her hand restrains the widow's tears,

Her sense informs and soothes and cheers;

Yet like an angel in disguise,

She shines but to some favour'd eyes;
Nor is the distant herd allow'd

To view the radiance through the cloud.
But thine is every winning art,
Thine is the friendly honest heart;
And should the generous spirit flow
Beyond where prudence fears to go,
Such sallies are of nobler kind
Than virtues of a narrow mind.

EARL NUGENT.

ON THE LIFE OF MAN.

LIKE to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are,
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew,
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood,-
E'en such is man-whose borrow'd light
Is straight call'd in and paid to-night.
The wind blows out, the bubble dies,
The spring intomb'd in autumn lies,
The dew's dried up, the star is shot,
The flight is pass'd-and man forgot.

F. BEAUMONT.

END OF VOL. I.

C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.