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That soul of science, that unbounded mind, 1 Happy infant, early blest!
That genius which ennobled human kind! Rest, in peaceful slumber rest;
Confess'd supreme of men, his country's pride; | Early rescu'd from the cares
And half esteemed an angel-till he died : Which increase with growing years.
Who in the eye of Heaven like Enoch stood,
And thro' the paths of knowledge walk'd with

No delights are worth thy stay,

Smiling as they seem, and gay; Whose fame extends, a sea without a shore !

Short and sickly are they all, Who but forsook one world to know the laws Hardly tasted ere they pall. of more.

All our gaiety is vain,
All our laughter is but pain :

Lasting only and divine,
On the same. Pope.

Is an innocence like thine.
Nature and nature's laws lay hid in night :
God said, “Let Newton be!" and all was light.

From Cowley.

Beneath a sleeping infant lies;

To earth her body's lent; HERE lies the great-False marble, tell me More glorious she'll hereafter rise, where :

Though not more innocent. Nothing but poor and sordid dust lies here.

When the archangel's trump shall blow,

And souls to bodies join,

Millions will wish their lives below
On a Young Lady. Mallet.

Had been as short as thine.
This humble grave though no proud struc-

ture grace, Yet truth and goodness sanctify the place: Yet blameless virtue, that adorn'd thy bloom,

On Two Twin Sisters. Lamented maid ! now weeps upon thy tomb: Fair marble, tell to future days, Escap'd from death, O safe on that calm shore,

That here two virgin-sisters lie,
Where sin, and pain, and passion, are no more! Whose life employ'd each tongue in praise :
What never wealth could buy, nor pow'r de- ! Whose death gave tears to ev'ry eye.

Regard and pity, wait sincere on thee! In stature, beauty, years, and fame,
Lo! soft remembrance drops a pious tear, Together as they grew, they shone;
And holy friendship sits a mourner here. So much alike, so much the same,

That Death mistook them both for one.

On Mr. Aikman and his Son. Mallet. DEAR to the wise and good, beneath this Epitaph on Mrs. Mason, in the Cathedral at stone


Mason. Here sleep in peace the father and the son!

Take, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear : By virtue, as by nature, close allied ;

1 Take that best gift which Heaven so lately The painter's genius, but without the pride:

• gave: Worth unambitious, wit afraid to shine,

| To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Honor's clear light, and friendship's warmth


Her faded form. She bow'd to ta

Her faded form. She bow'd to taste the divine.

waveThe son, fair rising, knew too short a date!

| And died. Does youth, does beauty read the But O! how more severe the parent's fate!

line? He saw him torn untimely from his side,

Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm ? Felt all a father's anguish, wept, and died.

Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine;
*E'en from the grave thou shalt have power to

On an Infant.

Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee : To the dark and silent tomb

Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move : Soon I hasted from the womb;

And, if so fair, from vanity as free, Scarce the dawn of life began

As firm in friendship, and as fond in love. * Ere I measur'd out my span.

Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die,

('Twas e'en to thee) yet, the dread path once I no smiling pleasures knew;

trod, I no gay delights could view;

Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, Joyless sojourner was I,

And bids “the pure in heart behold their Only born to weep and die.


Epitaph on Miss Drummond, in the Church of | A kindling passion ev'ry breast alarms, Brodsworth, Yorkshire. Mason. Each tongue proclaims the triumph of her

charms. Here sleeps what once was beauty, once was

But when, retir'd amidst their rural bow'rs, grace ;

rbin'd She cheers th' illustrious patriot's calmer hours; Grace, that with tenderness and sense com- | Or, smiling, sits her infant tribe among, To form that harmony of soul and face,

And guides to virtue's paths the list'ning Where beauty shines the mirror of the mind.

throng: Such was the maid, that in the morn of youth, Behold, amidst these pleasing cares of life, In virgin innocence, in nature's pride,

The tender mother, and th' engaging wife! Blest with each art that owes its charms to | More just applause these humbler virtues share, truth,

And Portia shines, as good as she is fair.
Sunk in her father's fond embrace, and died.
He weeps ; ( venerate the holy tear!
Faith lends her aid to ease affliction's load;

An Incident in High Life.
The parent mourns his child upon the bier,
The Christian yields an angel to his God.

The Bucks had din’d, and deep in council

sat; Epitaph on Mrs. Clarke. Gray. | Their wine was brilliant-but their wit grew

flat: Lo! where this silent marble weeps, Up starts his Lordship, to the window flies, A friend, a wife, a mother, sleeps;

And lo! “A race! a race !" in rapture cries. A heart, within whose sacred cell

“ Where?” quoth Sir John. “Why, see! two The peaceful virtues lov'd to dwell.

drops of rain Affection warm, and faith sincere,

Start from the summit of the crystal pane : And soft humanity, were there.

A thousand pounds, which drop with nimblest In agony, in death resign'd,

force She felt the wound she left behind.

Performs its current down the slippery course!" Her infant imáge, here below,

The bets were fix'd; the dire suspense they wait Sits smiling on a father's woe:

For victory pendant on the nod of fate. Whom what awaits, while yet he strays Now down the sash, unconscious of the prize, Along the lonely vale of days ?

The bubbles roll-like pearls from Chloe's eyes. A pang to secret sorrow dear;

But ah! the glittering joys of life are short.Asigh, an unavailing tear,

How oft two jostling steeds hare spoil'd the Till time shall er’ry grief remove,

sport! With life, with mem'ry, and with love. Lo! thus attraction, by coercive laws,

Th' approaching drops into one bubble draws.

Each curs'd his fate, that thus their project On General Wolfe, in the Church of Westerham,

cross'd; in Kent, where he was born, 1727.

| How hard their lot, who neither won nor lost! While George in sorrow bows his laurell’d head,

As a west-country mayor, with formal adAnd bids the artist grace the soldier dead;

dress, We raise no sculptur'd trophy to thy name, Was making his speech to the haughty Queen Brave youth! the fairest in the lists of fame. I

Bess : Proud of thy birth, we boast th' auspicious . The Spaniard." quoth he, « with inveterate year;

spleen Struck with thy fall, we shed the gen'ral tear; | Has presum'd to attack you, a poor virgin queen, With humble grief inscribe one artless stone, But your majesty's courage has made it appear And from thy matchless honor date our own.

Thai the don had ta'en the wrong sou by the

ear." The Prayer of a Wise Heathen.

A Court Audience. Great Jove, this one petition grant; (Thou knowest best what mortals want :)

Old South, a witty churchman reckond,
Ask'd or unask'd, what's good supply;
What's evil, to our pray’rs deny!

Was preaching once to Charles the Second:
But much too serious for a court,

Who at all preaching made a sport,
To the Right Hon. Lady Ch , 1763.

He soon perceiv'd bis audience nod,

Deaf to the zealous man of God. When lovely Portia glitters at the play, The doctor stopp'd, began to call, Or, in her birth-night robes, outshines the day; “ Pray wake the Earl of Lauderdale : From crowds distinguish'd by her grace and air, | My lord! why 'tis a monstrous thing! Portia the fairest seems, where all are fair: You snore so loud you 'll wake the king."

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On a Dispute between Dr. Radcliffe and Sir | Nash represents man in the mass,
Godfrey Kneller.

Made up of wrong and right;

Sometimes a king, sometimes an ass,
SIR Godfrey and Radcliffe had one com. Now blunt, and now polite.
mon way

The picture placed the busts between,
Into one common garden-and each had a key. | Adds to the thought much strength;
Quoth Kneller, “I'll certainly stop up that | Wisdom and Wit are little seen,

But Folly's at full length.
If ever I find it unlock'd any more."
“ Your threats,” replies Radcliffe, “ disturb
not iny ease;

The following Lines were handed up to a beauAnd so you don't paint it, e'en do what you tiful young. Lady who was attending the

Trial of Criminals at the Assizes in Surrey. - You're smart,” rejoins Kneller ; “but say! Whilst petty offences and felonies smart, what you will:

Is there no jurisdiction for stealing one's heart? T'll take anything from you but potion or pill." | You, fair one, will smile, and cry, « Laws, I

defy you;"

you: The Empty Gun.

Assur'd that no peers can be summond to try

But think not that paltry defence will secure ye; As Dick and Tom in fierce dispute engage, For the muses and graces will just make a jury. And face to face the noisy contest wage; “ Don't cock your chin at me," Dick smartly

s The Dropsical Man. TAYLOR. · cries. “ Fear not-his head's not charg'd," a friend / A JOLLY, brave toper, who could not forreplies.


Though his life was in danger, old port and To , Esq. Antiquary and F.R.S. stale beer,

[drink on,

Gare the doctors the hearing—but still would Give ine the thing that's pretty, odd, and | Till the dropsy had swellid him as big as a tun; new :

| The more he took physic the worse still he All ugly, old, odd things I leave to you.

grew, And tapping was now the last thing he could do.

Affairs at this crisis, and doctors come down, On erecting a Monument to Shakspeare, under He began to consider-so sent for his son.

the Direction of Mr. Pope, Lord Burling- Tom, see by what courses I've shorten'd my life, ton, &c.

I'm leaving the world ere I'm forty and five;

More than probable 'tis, that in twenty-four To mark her Shakspeare's worth, and Bri- hours tain's love,

This manor, this house, and estate, will be Let Pope design, and Burlington approve :

yours; Superfluous care! When distant times shall My early excesses may teach you this truth, view

That 'tis working for death to drink hard in This tomb grown old-his works shall still be one's youth. new.

Says Tom (who's a lad of a generous spirit,

And not like young rakes, who're in haste to On Mr. Nash's Picture at full Length, between

inherit) the Busts of Sir Isaac Newton and Mr. Pope,

Sir, don't be dishearten'd; although it be true, at Bath.

ChesteRFIELU. Th' operation is painful, and hazardous too,

'Tis no more than what many a man has gone The old Egyptians hid their wit

through. In hieroglyphic dress,

And then, as for years, you may yet be callid To give men pains in search of it,

young, And please themselves with guess.

Your life after this may be happy and long. Moderns, to hit the self-same path,

Don't flatter me, Tom, was the father's reply,

With a jest in his mouth, and a tear in his eye: And exercise their parts,

Too well, by experience, my vessels, thou Place figures in a room at Bath :


[ghost. Forgive them, God of arts !

No sooner are tapp'd, but they give up the Newton, if I can judge aright,

All Wisdom does express;
His knowledge gives mankind delight,

Adds to their happiness.

To James Harris, Esg.
Pope is the emblem of true Wit,
The sunshine of the mind;

Martial, Book iv. Ep. 87.
Read o'er his works in search of it,

Wouldst thou, by Attic taste improvd, You'll endless pleasure find.

| By all be read, by all be lov'd,

To learned Harris' curious eye,

Book i. Ep. 40. By me advis’d, dear Muse, apply:

Is there t'enrol amongst the friendly few, In him the perfect judge you'll find,

Whose names pure faith and ancient fame reIn him the candid friend, and kind.

new; If he repeats, if he approves,

Is there, enrich'd with virtue's honest store, If he the laughing muscles moves,

Deep vers'd in Latian and Athenian lore; Thou nor the critic's sneer shalt mind, Is there, who right maintains, and truth purNor be to pies or trunks consign'd.

sues, If he condemns, away you fly,

Nor knows a wish that heaven can refuse? And mount in paper-kites the sky,

Is there, who can on his great self depend? Or dead 'mongst Grub-street's records lie.. Now let me die, but Harris is this friend. Book i. Ep. 11.

Book ïi. Ep. 80. CURMUDGEOn the rich widow courts;

When Fannius should have 'scap'd his foe, Nor lively she, nor made for sports ;

His own hands stopp'd his breath : "Tis to Curmudgeon charm enough,

And was't not madness, I would know,
That she has got a church-yard cough.

By dying to 'scape death?
Book i. Ep. 14.

The same.
When Arria from her wounded side

Himself he slew, when he the foe would

fly; To Pætus gave the reeking steel, I feel not what I've done, she cried;

What madness this—for fear of death to die! What Pætus is to do, I feel.

Book x. Ep. 78.

VaRus did lately me to supper call;
Book iii. Ep. 43.

The furniture was large, the feast but small; Before a swan, behind a crow,

The tables spread with plate, not meat; they put Such self-deceit ne'er did I know.

Much to accost the eye, nought for the gut. Ah! cease your arts-Death knows you're grey,

We came to feast our bellies, not our eyes; And spite of all will keep his day.

Pray take away your gold; give us some pies. Book iv. Ep. 78.

Book i. Ep. 16. With lace bedizen'd comes the man,

Thou, whom (if faith or honor recommends And I must dine with Lady Anne.

A friend) I rank amongst my dearest friends, A silver service loads the board,

Remember you are now almost threescore; Of eatables a slender hoard.

Few days of life remain, if any more: “ Your pride and not your victuals spare;

Defer not what no future time insures; I came to dinė, and not to stare."

And only what is past, esteem that yours. Book vii. Ep. 75.

Successive cares and troubles for you stay; When dukes in town ask thee to dine,

Pleasure not so; it nimbly fleets away;

Then seize it fast: embrace it ere it Aies; To rule their roast, and smack their wine; Or take thee to their country seat,

In the embrace it vanishes and dies. To mark their dogs, and bless their meat;

“I'll live to-morrow," will a wise man say?

To-morrow is too late—then live to-day.
- , dream not on preferment soon:
Thou'rt not their friend, but their buffoon.

From Martial, literally translated.
Book viii. Ep. 35.

A LANDLORD at Bath put upon me a queer Alike in temper and in life,

hum :

[mere rum.

| I ask'd him for punch, and the dog gave me A drunken husband, sottish wife, She a scold, a bully he

Book ii. Ep. 41. The devil's in't they don't agree.

Yes; I submit, my lord; you've gain'd your Book xii. Ep. 23.

end :

[friend. Your teeth from Hemmet, and your hair I'U bow. I'll cringe, be supple as your glove

in I'm now your slave-that would have been four from BolneyWas not an eye too to be had for money?

Respect, adore you every thing, but lore.

Book vir. Ep. 19.
Book xii. Ep. 30.

Hal says he's poor, in hopes you'll say he's not ; Nep is a sober fellow, they pretend :

But take his word for't: Hal's not worth a Such would I have my coachman, not my


Book i. Ep. 13.
Book xii. Ep. 103.

When from her breast chaste Arria snatch'd
You sell your wife's rich jewels, lace, and the sword,

And gave the deathful weapon to her lord ; The price once paid, away the purchase goes : | My wound, she said, believe me, does not But she a better bargain proves, I'ın told;

smart, Still sold returns, and still is to be sold. But thine alone, my Pætus, pains my heart.

* Merum is not translated at all.


Book ix. Ep. 88.
My works the reader and the hearer praise; Epitaph on Miss Stanley. THOM
They're incorrect, a brother-poet says : *

Here, Stanley! rest, escap'd this mortal But let him rail; for when I give a feast,

strife, Am I to please the cook, or please the guest ?

Above the joys, beyond the woes of life.

Fierce pangs no more thy lively beauty stain, Book i. Ep. 34.

And sternly try thee with a year of pain : Her father dead, alone no grief she knows; | No more sweet patience, feigning oft relief, Th' obedient tear at ev'ry visit flows.

Lights thy sick eye, to cheat a parent's grief: No mourner he who must by praise be fee'd ;

With tender art to save her anxious groan, But he who mourns in secret, mourns indeed !

No more thy bosom presses down its own :

Now well-earn'd peace is thine, and bliss sinBook i. Ep. 39.

cere: The verses, friend, which thou hast read, are Ours be the lenient, not unpleasing tear! mine;

0! boru to bloom, then sink beneath the But, as thou read'st them, they may pass for

storm thine.

To show us Virtue in her fairest form ;

To show us artless Reason's moral reign,
Book ii. Ep. 3.

What boastful Science arrogates in vain;
You say, you nothing owe; and so I say:

Th' obedient passions, knowing each their part, He only owes, who something has to pay.

Calm light the head, and harmony the heart ! Book üi. Ep. 58.

Yes, we must follow soon, will glad obey, You're fine, and ridicule my thread-bare When a few suns have roll'd their cares away; gown:

Tir’d with vain life, will close the willing eye; Thread-bare indeed it is; but 'tis my own. 'Tis the great birthright of mankind to die.

Blest be the bark that wafts us to the shore
Where death-divided friends shall part no

more! I DROPP'D a thing in verse, without a name;

ne; To join thee there, here with thy dust repose, I felt no censure, and I gain'd no fame: The public saw the bastard in the cradle,

Is all the hope thy hapless mother knows.
But ne'er inquir'd; so left it to the beadle.
A certain nobleinan takes up the child;

To Alossa.
The real father lay perdue, and smil'd.
The public now enlarges ev'ry grace :

I lov'D thee beautiful and kind,
What shining eyes it has ! how fair a face! And plighted an eternal vow;
Of parts what symmetry! what strength divine! So alter'd are thy face and mind,
The noble brat is sure of Pelops' line.

"Twere perjury to love thee now.

To Corinna.

The Mistake. TAYLOR.
A CANNON-BALL, one bloody day,
Took a poor sailor's leg away;
And, as on comrade's back he made off,
A second fairly took his head off.
The fellow, on this odd emergence,
Carries him pick-back to the surgeon's.
2- ds! cries the doctor, are you drunk,
To bring me here a headless trunk?
A lying dog! cries Jack-he said
His leg was off, and not his head.

Since first you knew my am'rous smart,

Each day'augments your proud disdain ; 'Twas then enough to break my heart,

And now, thank Heaven! to break my chain.
Cease, thou scorner, cease to shun me!

Now let love and hatred cease!
Half that rigour had undone me,

All that rigour gives me peace.

An Epitaph to the Memory of Lucy Lyttelton.
Made to engage all hearts, and charm all |

My heart still hovering round about you,

I thought I could not live without you : eyes; Tho' meek, magnanimous; tho' witty, wise;

Now we have liv'd three months asunder, Pollte as all her life in courts had been,

How I liv'd with you is the wonder. Yet good as she the world had never seen; The noble fire of an exalted inind, With gentle female tenderness combin'd; Dialogue between an old Incumbent and the Her speech was the melodious voice of love; Person promised the next Presentation. Her song the warbling of the vernal grove; Her eloquence was sweeter than her song, I'm glad to see you well.-O faithless breath! Soft as her heart, and as her reason strong; What, glad to see me well, and wish my death! Her form each beauty of her mind express'd; No more, replies the youth, Sir, this misgiving: Her mind was virtue by the graces dress d. lI wish not for your death, but for your living!

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