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Vos fapere, et folus aio bene vivere, quturum

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So death the poor delinquent spar'd,

* And no great wonder,' Death replies; And left to live a little longer.

• However, you stiil keep your eyes; Yet calling up a serious to k,

And fure, io fee one's loves and friends, His hour-glais trembled while he spoke- . For legs and arms would make amends.' • Neighbour,' he said, “farewel; no more

Perhaps,' says Dobson, • fo it might, • Shall Death difturb your mirthful hour: But latterly I've loit my fight.' • And farther, to avoid all blame

* This is a shocking story, faith; • Of cruelty upon my name,

· Yet there's some comfort it:ll,' says Death: • To give you time for preparation,

Each trives your sadness to amuse; “And fit you for your future ftation,

· I warrant you hear all the news.' • Three feveral warnings you thall have,

. There's none,' cries he; - and if there were, • Before you're summon'u to the grave :

• I'm grown fo deaf, I could not hear.' • Willing for once I'll quit mv prey,

• Nay, then !' the spectre ftern re oin'd, ' And grant a kind reprieve;

• These are unjuitifiable ycarnings; • In hopes you'll have no more to fay,

• If you are Lame, and Deaf, and Blind, • But, when I call again this way,

. You've iad yourThree sufficient Warnings, • Well pleas'd the world will leave,' . So come along, no more we'll part: To these conditions both confonted,

He said, and touch'd him with his dart; And parted perfectly contented.

And now, old Dubfon turning pale,
What next the hero of our tale befel,

Yields to his fate-so ends my tale.
How long hc liv'd, how wile, how well,
How roundly he pursued his course,

§ 4. The Cit's Country Bor. LLOYD. And finok'd his pipe, and strok'd his horse, The willing muic thall tell :

Cuafpicitur nitidis fundata pecunia vilis. He chiffer'd then, he bought, he fold,

THE wealthy cit, grown old in trade, Nor once perceiv'd his growing old,

Now wishes for the rural leade, Nor thought of Death as nuar;

And buckles to his onc-horse chair His f:iends not false, his wife no fhrew,

Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare ; Many his gains, his children fuw,

Wbile, wedy'd in closely by his fide, He patsid his hours in peace :

Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride, Put nihile he view d his wealth increase, With Jacky on a fiool before 'em, While thus along Life's dusty road

And out they jog in due decorum. The lexten track conient he trod,

Scarce past the turnpike half a mile, Old Time, whore hafte no mortal spares, • How all the country seems to imile!' Uncall d, unheeded, unau 3105,

And as they slowly jog together,
Brought on his eightieth year.

The cit commends the road and weather,
And now, one nigh:, in mufing mood, While Madam doats upon the trees,
As all alone he late,

Ard longs for ev'ry house the fees;
Th’unwelcome mellenger of Fate

Admires its views, its situation, Once more before hin ftood.

And thus she opens her oration: Half kill'd with anger and surprise,

• What signifies the loads of wealth, • So soon return'd!'oid Dblon cries.

• Without that richat jewel, health ? • Sofoon, d've call it! Death replies: • Excuse the fondness of a wife, • Surely, my friend, you're but in jeft! • Who doats upon your precious life! " Since I was here before

Such ceaseless toil, such constant care, < 'Tis lix-and-thirty years at least,

• Is more than huinan strength can bear : • And you are now four core.'

• One may observe it in your face• So much the worse,' the clown rejoin'd; • Indeed, my dear, you break apace; To fpare the aged would be kind :

• And nothing can your health repair, • However, see your fearch be legal ;

• But exercise, and country air. • And your authority-is't regal?

• Sir Traffick has a house, you know, • Else you are come on a fool's errand,

About a mile from Cheney-row: • With but a Secretary's warrant.

He's a good man, indeed, 'tis true; • Besides, you promisd me Three Warnings, • But not to warm, my dear, as you : • Which I have look'd for nights and mornings! • And folks are always apt to sneer• But for that loss of time and calc,

One would not be out-done, my dear!" • I can recover damages.'

Sir Traffick's name, fo nell applied, • I know,'cries Death, 'that, at the best, Awak'd his brother merchant's prido; "I feldom ain a welcome guett;

And Thrifiy, who had a!l his life • But don't be captious, friend, at Icast :

Paid utmost deference to his wife, • I little thought vou'd still be able

Confess'd her arguments had reason; • To iturnp about your farm and stable; And by th' approaching summer fealon • Your years have run to a great leigelı; Draws a few hundreds from the stocks, • 1 with vou joy, tho', of your strength!' And purchases his Country Box. Hold,' says the farmer, not lo fait !

Some three or four miles out of town "I liave been lame these four years past.' (An hour's ride will bring you down)

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He fixes on his choice abode,

In front a level lawn is seen,
Noc half a furlong from the road;

Without a thrub upon the green;
And so convenient does ir lay,

Where Taste would want its first great law,
The stages pass it ev'ry day:

But for the ikulking, lly ha-ha;
And then to snug, fo mighry pretty,

By whose miraculous aisittance
To have a house so ncar the city!

You gain a prospect two fields distance.
Take but your places at the Boar,

And now from Hyde-park Corner como
You 're let down at the

very
door,

The gods of Athens and of Rome.
Well then, suppose them fx'd at last, Here Iquabby Cupids take their places,
White-washing, painting, Scrubbing part; With Venus, and the clumsy Graces;
Hugging themselves in ease and clover,

Apollo there, with aim fo clever,
tvith all the fuss of moving over;

Stretches his leaden bow for ever;
Lo, a new heap of whims are bred,

And there, without the pow'r to fly,
And wanton in my lady's head!

Stands ax'd a tip-toc Mercury.
« Well; to be sure, it must be own'd,

The villa thus completely grac'd, • It is a charming spot of ground:

All own, that Thrifty has a taste ; • So sweet a distance for a ride,

And Madam's femaic friends and cousins, • And all about fo countryfied;

With common-council-men, by dozens, • 'Twould come but to a trilling price

Flock ev'ry Sunday to the scat,
• To make it quite a paradise !

To stare about thein, and to cat.
• I cannot bear those nasty rails,
• Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales :
Supposo, my dear, instead of thele,

§ 5. Report of an aliudged Cat, not 10 be fosse • We build a railing all Chinese ;

in any of the Books.

COW PER. • Altho' one hates to be expos'd, • 'Tis dismal to be thus inclos’d:

BETWEEN Nose and Lycs a strange conteft

, • One hardly any objects fecs

The fpc&tacles fet them unhappily wrong • I wish you'd fell those odious trecs,

The point in dispute was, as all the world knows; Objects continual paffing by,

To which the laid 1pectacles ought to belong. · Were something to amuse the cye; • But to be pent within the walls,

Sothe Tongue was the lawyer, and arguedthe cute • One mighi as well be at St. Paul's.

With a great deal of lkill, and a wig full of • Our house beholders would adore,

learning « Was there a level lawn before,

Whil chief Baroa Ear fat to balance the laws, Nothing its views to incommocte,

Su fam’d for his talent in nicely discerning. • But quite laid open to the rcad;

In belialf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, • While ev'ry traveller, in amaze,

And

your lord thip, he said, will undoubtedly Should on our little manfion gaze;

find, ' And, pointing to the choice retreat,

That the Nole has had spectacles always in wear,
Cry, “ Thar's Sir Thrifty's country-lear!" Which amounts to poilellion time out of mind.

No doubt her arguments prevail,
For Madam's TASTE can never fail.

Then, holding the spectacles up to the court
Bleft age! when all men may procure

Your loidihip observes they are made with a
The title of a connoisseur;

Itraddle,
When noble and ignoble herd

As wide as the ridge of the Nole is; in 2jort,
Are govern'd by a single word;

Design d to fit close to it, juit like a laddle. Tho', like the royal German dames,

Again, would your lordship a moment suppose It bears an hundred Christian names

('Tis acafetiiat has happen'd, and may be again) As Genius, Fancy, Judgment, Goût,

That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Whim, Caprice, Je ne içai quoi, Virtù :

Pray who would or who could wear spectacles Which appellations all describe

then? Taste, and the modern talteful tribe.

On the whole it appears, and my argumcnt thews, Now bricklayers, carpenters, and joiners, With a reasoning the court will never condemile With Chinese artists and designers,

Tharthcfpectacles plainly were made for the Noli,
Produce their schemes of alteration,

And the Nofo was as plainly intended for them.
To work this wondrous reformation.
The useful dome, which fecret fiood,

Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how,
Embofom'd in the yew tree's wood,

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes ;
The traveller with amazement iets

But what were his arguments few people know,
A temple Gothic or Chinete,

For the court did not think they were equally

wilc.
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon ;

So his lord ship decreed, with a grave fciemn tone,
A wooden arch is bent artride

Decisive and clear, without one if or butA dirch of water, four feet wicie,

That whenever the Nole put his fpectacles on, With angles, curves, and zig-zag lines,

Bg day-light or candle-ligh-Eyes fhould los From Halfpenny's exact deligns;

Inut

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$ 6. On the Birth-Day of Shakspeare. A Cenlo.

On a Spider. Dr. LITTLETON, Taken from bis 1Voks. BERENGER. ARTIST, who underneath my table Natura ipfa valere, et mentis viribus excitari, et quali quodam divino

Thy curious texture haft display'd!
spiritu affiari.

Who, if we may believe the fable,
PEACE to this meeting!

Wert once a lovely blooming maid !
Joy and fair time, health and good wishes :

Insidious, restless, watchful spider, Now, worthy friends, the cause why we are met

Fcar no officious damfel's broom; Is in celebration of the day that gave

Extend thy artful fabric wider, Immortal Shakipeare to this favour'd ifle, And spread thy banners round my room. The most replenished sweet work of nature,"* Swept from the rich man's costly ceiling, Which from the prime creation e'er she fram’d. Thou 'rt welcome to my homely root; O thou divinest Nature! how thyself thou blazon'st Here mayst thou find a peaceful duelling, In this thy fon! form'd in thy prodigality,

And undisturb’d attend thy woof. To hold thy mirror up, and give the time Whilst I thy wondrous fabric stare at, Its very form and pressure! When he speaks And think on hapless poet's fate; Each aged ear plays truant at his tales,

Like thee confin’d to lonely gariet, And younger hearings are quiie ravished,

And rudely banith'd rooms of state. So voluble is his discourse-gentle

And as from out thy tortur'd body As Zephyr blowing beneath the violet,

Thou draw'lt thy slender string with pain; Not wagging its sweet head- yet as rough So does he labour, like a noddy, (His noble blood enchaff"d) as the rude wind,

To spin materials from his brain. That by the top doth take the mountain pine,

He for some fiuttering tawdry creature, And make him stoop to th' vale. --'Tis wonderful

That spreads her charms before his eye; That an invisible instinct should frame him

And that's a conquest little better To loyalty, unlcarn'd ; honour, untaught ;

Than thine o'er captive butterfly,
Civility, not seen in cthers ; knowledge

Thus far 'tis plain we both agree,
That wildly grows in him, but yields a crop
As if i: had been fown. What a piece of work!

Perhaps our deaths may better lhew ita

"Tis ten to one but penury How noble in faculty ! infinite in reason !

Ends both the spider and the poct.
A combination and a form indeed,
Where every God did seem to let his seal!

SHENSTONI,
Heaven has him now—yet let our idolatrous fancy 10. The Extent of Cookery.

Aliurque et Idem.
Still fanétify his relics : and this day
Stand aye distinguish'd in the kalendar WHEN Tom to Cambridge first was fear,

A plain brown bob he wore,
To the last syllable of recorded time :

Read much, and look'd as tho' he meant For, if we take him but for all in all,

To be a fop no inore. We ne'er thall look upon his like again.

See him to Lincoln's Inn repair,

His refolution tag; § 7. On the Invention of Letters. He cherishes a length of hair, ELL me what Genius did the art invent,

And tucks it in a bag. T

The lively image of the voice to paint ; Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
Who first the secret how to colour found,

But gets into the house;
And to give shape to reason, wisely found; And foon a Judge's rank rewards
With bodies how to clothe ideas, taught; His pliant votes and bows.
And how to draw the picture of a thought: Adieu, ye bobs! ye bags give place!
Who taught the hand to speak, the eye to hear Full-bot:oms come intcad !
A filent language roving far and ncar;

Good Lord! to fee the various ways
Whose lofteit noise outstrips loud thunder's found,

Of dreifing--a calf's head. And spreads her accents thro' the world's vast round;

Sheridan's Gioff. A voice heard by the deaf, spoke by the dumb,

Curae leves loquuntur, ingentes fupeat.
Whofe echo reaches long, long time to come ; BENEATH a church-yard yew,
Which dead men spcak, as well as those alive- Decay'd and worn with age,
Tell me what Genius did this art contrive,

At dusk of eve, methought I lpied
Poor Slender's ghoft, that whimpuring cried,

Oliveet! O fireet Anne Page!
8. The Answer.

Ye geetle bards, give car!

Who talk of amorous rage, THE noble art to Cadmus owes its rise

Of painting words, and speaking to the eyes; Who fpoil the lily, rob thu rcle ; He first in wondrous magic fetters bound

Come Icarn of me to weep your

woes The airy voice, and stopp'd the flying found; O fiveer! O tweet Anne Page ! The various figures, by his pencil wiought, Why should such labour'd strains Gave colour form, and body to the thought.

Your formal Muse engaged 8

I nera

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§ 11.

SHENSTONE

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I never dreamt of flame or dart,

And grateful love and impotent regret, That fir’d my breast, or pierc'd my heart,

Shall wake to paint thv gentle mind, But figh'd, O fiveet Anne Page!

Thy wife good-nature, friendthip delicate

In secret co verte, native inirth
And you, whose love-fick minds
No medicine can afsuage,

And sprightly fancy, sweet artificer

Of focial, leaf Accuse the lecct's art no more,

*C; nor forgot But learn of Slender to deplore,

The nobl. thirst of knowledge and fair same O fweer! O (wcet Anne Page !

That led thee far through foreign climes

Inquisitive: but chief the pleasant banks And you, whose souls are held

Of Tiber, ever-honour à Stream, Likelinnets in a cage,

Detain'd thee visiting ti.e last remains
Who talk of fitters, links, and chains,

Of ancient art; fair forins exact
Attend, and imitate my strains :
O sweet ! O sweet Anne Page !

In sculpture, columns, and the mould'ring bulk

Of theatres. In deep thought wapp'd And you, who boast or grieve,

Of od rerown, thy mind survey'd the Icenes What horiid wars ye wage!

Delighted where the first of men Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye,

Once dwelt, familiar: Scipio, virtuous chief, Yet mean as I do when I high,

Stern Cato, and the patriot inind () Tweet! O sweet Anne l'age!

Of faithful Brutus, best plilosopher. Hence every fond conceit

Well did the generous fca.ch employ Of thepherd, or of fage!

Thy blooming years by virtue crown'd, tho' deaih 'Tis Sleader's voice, 'tis Slender's way,

U teen opprefs'd thee, far from home, Exprefies all you liave to say

A helpless stranger. No familiar voice, sweet! sweet Anne Page !

No pitying eye, chcer'd thy lat pangs.

O worthy longest days ! for thee fhiali fiow $ 12. Hamlet's Soliloquy imitatcı. JAGO. The pious folitary tear, To print, or not to print that is the question. And thoughtful friendlıip fadden o'er thine urn:

Whether 'tis better in a trunk to bury
The quirks and crotchets of outrageous Fancy,

Tbe Brewer's Coacbman. TAYLOR:
Or send a well-wrote copy tb the press,
And, by dikelofing, end then. Toprint, to doubt HONEST Williain, an easy and good-natur'd
No more; and by one act to say we end

fellow, The head-ach, and a thousand natural fhocks

Would a little too ofr

get

a little too mcllow, Of fribbling phrenzy—' is a conlummation Body coac:man was he to an eminent bicwerDevoutly to be with d. To print--o team

No better c'er sat da a box, to be luie. Fron, the fame thelf witl. Pope, in culfiveli bound : His corch was kept clean, and no mot. cis ornurses To sleep, perchance, with Quarles-- Ay, there's Took that care of thcir baues that he ecok of his the rub

horses. For to what class a writer may be down 'd,

He had thife-ay, and fifty good qualities more; When he hath Muftled of soine policy stuff,

But the business of rippling could ne'er be go: o'er: Muftgive us pause. There's the respect that makes so his master eiftetra y mended the matier, Th'unwilling poet keep his piece nine years.

My hiring a man who drank nothing but water. For who would bear th' impatient thifto fame, Now, William, says he, you tee the plain cale; The pride of conscious merit, and, ’bove all,

Had you drank as he di es, you'd kce; a good place. The tedious iinportuniti of friends,

Drink water! q'oth William--adali merdo eso, When as himself might his quietus make

Tou'd never have wan chi a coachiman, i trow. With a bare ikhern? Who would fardels bear, | They're soakers, like me, whom you load with To groin and sweat under a load of wit,

reproaches, But that the tread of steep Parnatius' bill

That enable you brewers ro ride in your coaches. (That undiscovei d country, w cha whole bays Few travellers return) puzzies the will, And makes us rather hear to live ukrown,

§ i. Ode on the diałb of Marzel, a farowite

Bulilinch. Add free to Plil. Stan bope, El. Than run the hazard to be known and damn'd? Thus critics do make cowards of us all;

(naturul Son ig be Eo l of Choje. field) to whom Ard thus the hithful face of many a pocm

the diurboi 10. given tbe Reveifion of it zhen

WILLIAMS. Is fichlied o'er with a pale manuscript;

be left Dresden. And curerpriz sef great fire and spirit TRY not, my Star Hope, 'tis in vain, With thi rrgirl from Dudfluy turn away,

To lop your tears, to hide your pain, And lote the name of shithors.

Or check

your horeit rage;

Give forrow and revenge their score, 13. Toive memory og ledige Lewis Largton, My pretent joy, your future hope, Escudo dicu on bis Travels to Rome. SHIPLEY.

Lies murier'd in his cage. LANGTO., dear partner of

my soul,

Matzel's no more

re! Ye graces, loves, Accept what pious pallion meditates Ye linnets, nightingales, ard doves, To grace thy fate, . Sad memory,

Attend th' untimely bier;

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Let erery forrow be express'd,

For every fugitive; and when thou thus Beat with your wings cach mournful breast, Shalt stand impleaded at the high triberal And drop the nat'ral tear.

Of hood-wink'd Justice, who shall tell thao! In height of song, in beauty's pride,

Then stay the present inftant, dear Hörazza By fell Grimalkin's claus he died

Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings. But vengeance thall have way:

'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! fur Icepe On pains and tortures I'll retine;

Than all the crimson treasures of life's fcanda Yet, Matzel, that one death of thine

O! let it not elude thy grasp; but, like His nine will ill repay.

The good old patriarch upon record,

Hold the fleet angel faft, until he bless thet. For thee, my bird, tlic sacred Nine, Who lov'd thy tuneful notes, Iltall join In thy funertal terte:

§ 17. On Lord Cobbam's Gardens. Corte My painful talk shall be to trite

IT puzzles much the fages brains,

Where Eden ftood of yore; Thieten al dirge which they indites

Some place it in Arabia's plains; And hang it on thy hearse.

Some say, it is no more. In vain I lor'd, in vain I mourn,

But Cobham can these tales confute,
My bird, who never to return

As all the curious know;
Is fied to happier shades,
Where Leíbia thall for him prepare

For he has prov'd beyond dispute

That Paradise is Stow.
The place most charming and most fair
Of all th' E'ynian glades.

§ 18. To a Child five lears Old. COTTO There shall thy notes in cypress grove Suoth wreichcú ghosts that died for love; FAIREST flow's, all fow'rs excelling

Which in Eden's garden grew,
There shall thy plaintive strain
Lull impious Phædra's endless grief,

Flow'rs of Eve's embower'd dwelling
To Procris yield tome short relict,

Are, my fair-one, types of you.
And soften Dido's pain.

Mark, my Polly, how the roles

Emulate thy damask cheek; Till Proferpine by chance shall hear

How the bud its sweets discloses ;
Thy notes, and make thee all her care,

Buds thy opening bloom bespeak.
And love thee with my love;

Lilies are, by plain direction,
While each attendant foul shall praile

Emblems of a double kind;
The matchless Matzel's tuneful lays,

Emblems of thy fair complexion,
And all her songs approve.

Emblems of thy fairer mind.

But, dear girl, both flow'rs and beauty $ 16. To-morrow. COTTON.

Blossom, fade, and die away ;

Then pursue good sense and duty, TO-MORROW, didst thou say?

Evergreens that ne'er decay, Methoucht I heard Horario lay, To-morrow. Go to I will not hear of it-To-morrow! § 19. To Miss Lucy Fortescul. LYTTELTON. 'Tis a tharper, who ftakes his penury Against thy plenty-u ho takes thiy ready cash, ONCE, by the Mufe alone iufpird,

I sung
And pays the. nouglit but wishes, hopes, and No serious love my bosom tird;
promises,

Yet every tender maid, deceiv'd,
The currency of idcots-injurious bankrupt, The idly mournful tale believed,
That gulls the easy creditor!--To-morrow! And wept my fancicd pains.
It is a period nowhere to be found

But Venus now, to punish me,
In all the hoary registers of Time,

For having feign'd so well, Unless ferchance in the fool's calendar.

Has made my heart fo fond of thee, Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds fociety

That not the whole Aonian quire With those who own it. No, my Horatio,

Can accents soft enough inspire 'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is iis father ;

Its real flame to tell.
Wroughtof such stufias dreams are; andas baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.
Butloft, in v friend--arrest the preient moments;

$ 20. To Mr, Welt", a Fickbart. 540

LIITELTUS For be aliur'd they all are arrant tell-tales; And though their flight be filent, and their path FAIR Nature's facet fimplicity, Trackless, as the wing'd couriers of the air, With elegance resin'd, They post to heaven, and there record thy folly. Well in thy fcat, my friend, I fes, Becaule, tho'station's on th' important watch,

But better in thy mind.
Thou, like a sleeping, faithie's centinci,

To both from courts and all their stats
Didit let them país unnotic'd, unimprov'd. Eager I My, to prove
And know, for that thou slumb’redft on the guard, Joys far above a courtier's fate,
Thou înalt be made to answer at the bar

Tranquillity and love. * Gilbert West, Esq. the author's cousin,

+ Near Croydon.

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Pereunt et Imputantur.

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