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Book ii. Ep. 8o.
No mourner hc, who must by praise be feed,
Book i. Ep. 39.
THE verses, friend, which thou hast read, are
But, as thou read 'st them, they may pass for these.
Book ii. Ep. 3.
You say, you nothing owe; and fo I lay :
He only owes, who something has to para
Book ii. Ep. 38.
YOU'RE fine, and ridicule my thread-bareges
Thread-bare indeed it is; bue 'tis my ont
DROPP'D a thing in verse, without a name;
I felt no centure, and I gain'd no fanie :
But ne'er enquir'd: fo left it to the beadle.
The real father lay perdue, and fimil'd.
The public now enlarges ev'ry grace,
What shining eyes it has ! how fair a face!
Of parts what tymmetry! what ftrength divize!
The noble brat is íure of Pelops line.
CANNON-BALL, one bloody day,
Took a poor failor's leg anav ;
And, as on comrade's back he made ott,
Landlord of Bath put upon me a qucer bum: A record fairly took his head off.
Carries him pick-back to the turgeons,
2ds! cries the doctor, are vou drunk,
His log was otl, and not his head.
Book viii. Ep. `19.
AL says he's poor, in hopes vou'll liv he's not ;
Polite, as all ler life in courts had been :
The noble fire of an exalted mind,
the fu ord,
Her long the warbling of the vernal grosi ;
dues not imart, Her cloquence was fiveeter than her ting,
Soft as her licart, and as her reation forong;
Her inind was virtuc by the graces
They're incorrect, il brother port lays:
Fritab on We Salita
Book i. Ep. 34.
Th’obcdiunt tcar ai ov'ry vitit tous.
An Epiimply in the Vienzory of Lucy Lotton.
Tho'meck, magnanimous; tho u istry, ale;
Her spicech was the melodious voice of Lere;
Her form cach beauty of her mird expictsz';
Above the joys, beyond the wores of life.
No more sweet patience, feigning oft relief, THO'cheerful, discreet, and with freedom well
SWORE I lov'd; and you believ'd, To thew us Virtue in her fairest form;
Yet, trust me, we were both deceivid;
Though all I swore was true.
Yes, we nutt follow foon, will glad obey,
a Ladi. 'Tis the great birthright of mankind to dic.
with gracelets verse, Bleft be the bark that wafts us to the shore
He gaz'd, and lov'd the hideous elf,
True lung the tard well known to fame ?,
of ibe Aut bor's Father, and of oubers bis Anceflors.
Lord CLARE. UNMARK'D by trophies of the great and vain
, SHE who in fecret yields her heait,
Again may clain it from her lover;
Can ne'er her quander'd fame recover.
We thought you without titles great,
And wealthy with a small cliate; Receive a like return of fiiial praise !
While by your humble self alone
You feci d unrated and unknown.
But now on fortune's swelling tide
High-borne in all the pomp of pride,
Oi grandeur vain, and forid of peit, 'Twere perjury to love thec now.
'Tis plain, my lord, you knew yourself.
SINCE first you knew my am'rous finart, TCM thought a wild profufion greaz,
Each day auginents your proud disdain; And therefore spent his whoic eftato: 'Twas thun cnough to break my heart,
Will thinks the wcalthy are ador'd,
Their patlion, merit, fate the same,
They thirit and starve alike for fame,
HY like a tyrant wilt thou reign,
When thou may'it ruie the willing mind!
Repay the joys that wait the kind?
I curic my fond enduring heari,
Condemn'd to feel a double smart,
promisit the next Presentation.
Whiat, glad to Ice me well, and with my death! Ever loving, ne'cr enjoy'd,
VAINLY hath Heaven denounc'd the wo
As Quin and Foote
One day walk'd out Thou know'st no tender cares, no bitter throes,
To view the country round,
In merry mood
Hard by the village-pound.
Foote from his poke
A shilling took,
And said, I'll bett a penny
Within this place,
I'll make this piece a guinca.
Upon the ground,
Within the pound, Enlarg d th’immente expansion of his mind.
The Shilling foon was thrown: Nor yet unrival'd the Mæonian strain,
Behold, says Foote,
The thing's made out,
For there is one pound one.
I wonder not, Thy bard was thine uníchool’d, and from thee brought
Says Quin, that thought More than all Egvpt, Greece, or Asia taught.
Should in your head be found, Not Homcı's self such matchless honours won;
Since that's the way The Greck has rivals, but thy Shakspeare none.
Your debts you pay
One shilling in the pound.
A Sonnet. Imitated from ihe Spanis of Lopez
On a Statue of Apollo crazumning Merit.
MERIT, if thou'rt blest with riches,
For God's fake buy a pair of breeches,
And give them to thy naked brother,
Why, fourteen verses must be spent upon it: 'Tis good howe'er t' have conquer'd the firit stave.
LET me die in peace! Eumenes cried,
To a hard creditor at his bed-side.
Fiow! die ! roard Gripus; thus your debts ciz
No, no, Sir, you
fha’uit die till I am paid.
Still do I with him on my couch to lie;
Come, balmy sleep, for sweetly it appcais,
Thus without life to live, thus with our dee's
On a bud Singer.
To foolith mortais death of friends :
But when Corvina irains her throat,
E'en screech-owls ficken at the note.
O PON fome hafty errand Ton was sene,
And met liis parish curate as he went;
Rur, just like what he was, a forry clous, No wonder that Oxford and Cambridge pro- it i'eins he pals d him with a cover'd crown
founi, In learning and science fo creatly abound;
The gownman stopp'd, and, turning, its roletailWhen all carry thiilor a little cach day,
i doubt, my lad, vou're far worse taugh: el.and And ne meet with 10 few who bring any away.
Whv aye! says Tom, ftill jogging on, that's true
Epitaph on a certain Mifer.
On Mr. Quin.
In fishing for men take delight,
His hook bait with ven’son, I love it so well,
Extempore, on bearing a certain impertinent Ad. On Captain Grenville. Lord LYTTELTON.
dies in the Newspapers. By Garrick, Tbompon, YE weeping mufes, graces, virtues, tell,
THOU eflence of dock, of valerian and fage,
At once the disgrace and the peft of this age,
Answer to the Junto.
"HEIR with must be in form revers'd,
To suit the doctor's crimes ;
He'll never read his rhymes.
Dr. Hill's Reply to the Junto's Epigram.
YE desperate junto, ye great or ye small, Designed for the Monument of Sir Isaac Newtor. Who combat dukes, doctors, thc deuce, and
Whether gentlemen, scribblers, or poets in jail,
I'll take neither fage, dock, nor ballam of honey;
Do you take the physic, and I'll take the money
Writien soon after Dr. Hill's Farce, called The Roud,
His equal there fcarce is;
His farces are phylic,
His phyfic a farce is.
To thun each other oft agree;
To Dr. Hill, upon his Petition of the Letter I, o
IF 'tis true, as you say, that I've injur'd a letter,
I'll change my note toon, and I hope for the That you may ne'er vitend my ear.
Hereafter be fix'd by the tongue and the pen ;
of Portia, and faying the was fierely as well. And that I may be never miitaken for U.
Colloquial Epigram * GARRICK.
Can Garrick alone be so cold ? * Soon after the promotion of Lord Camden to the Seals, Mr. Wilmot, his Lordship's purse-bearer, called at Hampton, where learning that Mr. Garrick had not yet paid his congratulatory compliments, the convere fation between the two gentiemen furnished Mr. Garrick'with the subject of the Epigram; in which, with an admirabie address, our English Roscius has turned an impụtcd negled into a rery elegant panegyric on that auly patriotis nobleman.
• Thus trade increasing by degrees, Shall. I, a poor plaver, and Itill poorer bard, “ Doctor, we both shall have our ends :
Shall folly with Camden makc bold? “ For you are sure to have your fees, What joy can I give him, dear Wilmot, declarc : “ And I am sure to have your friends.
Promocion no honours can bring; To him the Great Seals are but labour and care, Upon a certain Lord's giving forse Thrzand Pos With joy to your country and king.
for a Houf.
So many thousands for a house, To the Aubor of the Farmer's Letters, which evere
For you, of all the world, lord Mouse I written in Ieland in ibe Year of obe Rebellion, A little house would best accord by Henry Brooke, Ef. 1745.
GARRICK, With you, my very little lord! O THOU, whose artless, frce-born genius And then exactly match'd would be charms,
Your house and hoipitality. W'hose rustic zeal cach patri t bosom warms; Pursue the glorious task, the pleasing toil, Foriake the fields, and till a nobler foil ; Upon secing 17:. Tuna's Pictures of Bain, ra Extend the farmer's care to human kind,
bearing a Connoljert sechwe Ibu “ too Manure the heart, and cultivate the mind : finely painted for a Genuenian.” GARRICK There plant religion, reason, freedom, truth, And tow the feeds of virtue in our youth :
TELL.me the meaning, you who can,
Of “finely for a gentleman!" Let no rank weeds corrupt, or brambles choak,
Is genius, raret gift of Heaven, And shake the vermin from the British oak : To the hir'd artist only given! From northern blafts protect the vernal bloom,
Or, like the Catholic salvation, And guard our pastures from the wolves of Rome: Paid in for any clats or station On Britain's liberty iograft thy name,
Is it bound 'prentice to the trade, And reap the harvest of immortal famc!
Which works, and as it works is paid!
Is there no fill to build, inrent, Upon a Lady's Embroidery. GARRICK. Unless inspir'd by five pai ceni?
And shalt thou1, Taylor, paint in vain, ARACHNE once, as poetstell;
Unless impell d by hopes of gain : art defied;
Be wife, my friend, and take thy fce,
That Claude Loraine may yield to chee.
Tom Fool to Mr. Hoskins, bis Counsellor and Frie: For you'll inore furcly feel her hate,
GARRICK. Who rival both her art and wit.
ON your care must depend the success of myfuit,
The poiletlion I mean of the house in dipute. Deuth and the Dofor. Occasioned by a p}fician's Confider, my friend, an attorney's my foe, lampsoning a Friend of the Amhor. The worst of his tribe, and the best is fo-fo.
GARRICK. O let nor his quiddits and quirks of the law, musing fat,
( let not this harpy your poor client claw; Death law, and came without delay : In law as in life, I know ivell 'tis a rulc, Enter the room, begins the chat,
That a knare thould be crer too hard for a fool. l'ith “ Doétor, why so thoughtful, pray :"
To this rule onc cxception pour client impleres, The Doctor started from his place,
That the fooi may for once beat the knare out of
From ib- Spanish. GARRICK.
Where rival dow'rs in union mect; « Take my advice, and inund your trade : As oft the kind the gift of love, “ ll'e both are loters if you fail.
Her breath gave tweetncls to the fivect. “ Go write, your wit in fatire thow,
A bee within a damask rofe No inauer, whether imart or true;
Had crept, the nectar'd dew to lipi * Call names, the greateli fiie
But kifer live is the thiet foregoes" To duincís, folly, pride, and you.
And fixes on Louila's lip. « Then copies Ipread, there lies the trick, There tasting all the bloom of Ipring,
Among your friends be fure you send 'en; Wak'd by the ripening breath of May, * For all who read will toon grow fick,
Th' ungrateful fpoiler lett his fting, " And when you're call d upon, attend 'em.
And with the honey flew away,