At church, in silks and satins new, She never slumber'd in her pew— Her love was sought, I do aver, But now her wealth and fin'ry fled, The doctors found, when she was dead, Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent-street well may say, That, had she liv'd a twelvemonth more, She had not dy'd to-day. A SONNET. WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Lost to ev'ry gay delight; Myra, too sincere for feigning, Fears th' approaching bridal night. Yet why impair thy bright perfection! She long had wanted cause of fear. FROM THE ORATORIO OF THE CAPTIVITY. SONG. THE wretch condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies; And ev'ry pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way, And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. SONG. O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver, Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever, Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing, 1 A PROLOGUE, WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS, A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE. PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS1. WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage, And save from infamy my sinking age! Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year, What in the name of dotage drives me here? A time there was, when glory was my guide, Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside; 1 This translation was first printed in one of our author's earliest works, "The present State of Learning in Europe," 12mo. 1759. |