Book ii. Ep. So. WHEN Fannius fhould have 'fcap'd his foe, The fame. HIM VARUS did lately me to fupper call; The furniture was large, the feast but finall, THOU, whom (if faith or honour recommends A From Martial, literally tranflated. Landlord of Bath put upon me a queer bum: I atk'd him for punch, and the dog gave me mere rum". Book ii. Ep. 41. A TAYLOR. YES; Ifubmit, my lord; you've gain'd your end: To bring me here a headless trunk? I'm now your flave-that would have been I'll bow, I'll cringe, be fupple as your glove- HAL fays he's poor, in hopes you'll fay he's not; But take his word for't; Hal's not worth a Book i. Ep. 16. the fword, A lving dog! cries Jack-he faid An Epitaph to the Memory of Lucy Lytteloa. Tho' meek, magnanimous; tho`witty,wik; Merum is not tranflated at all. No more fweet patience, feigning oft relief, Lights thy fick eye, to cheat a parent's grief: With tender art to fave her anxious groan, No more thy bofom preffes down its own: Now well-earn'd peace is thine, and blifs fincere: Ours be the lenient, not unpleafing tear! O! born to bloom, then fink beneath the ftorm, To fhew us Virtue in her fairest form; Yes, we must follow foon, will glad obey, When a few funs have roll'd their cares away; Tir'd with vain life, will close the willing eye; 'Tis the great birthright of mankind to die. Bleft be the bark that wafts us to the fhore Where death-divided friends fhall part no more! To join thee there, here with thy duft repofe, Is all the hope thy hapless mother knows. On one who firft abused, and then made Love tɔ a Lady. with graceicfs verfe, dar'd alperte: FOUL The noble SHE who in fecret yields her heart, Can ne'er her fquander'd fame recover. Then grant the boon for which I pray; 'Tis better lend than throw away. WE thought you without titles great, And wealthy with a fimall citate; Which fcorn'd, prefumes not to be free, Condemn'd to feel a double fmart, Dialogue between an old Incumbent and the PerfonTo hate myself, and buin for thee. promifed the next Prefentation. I'M glad to fee you well.-O faithlefs breath! EVER bufy, ne'er employ'd, On Shakspeare's Monument at Stratford upon Avon. GREAT Homer's birth seven rival cities claim, Thy bard was thine unfchool'd, and from thee brought More than all Egypt, Greece, or Afia taught. Not Homer's felf fuch matchlefs honours won; The Greek has rivals, but thy Shakspeare none. A Sonnet. Imitated from the Spanish of Lopez de Vega. Menagiana, tom. iv. p. 176. EDWARDS. CAP APRICIOUS Wray a fonnet needs must have; I ne'er was fo put to 't before-a fonnet! Why, fourteen verfes must be spent upon it: 'Tis good howe'er t' have conquer'd the first stave. Yet I fhall ne'er find rhymes enough by half, Said I, and found myself i'the midfto' the fecord. If twice four verfes were but fairly reckon'd, I fhould turn back on th' hardest part and laugh. Thus far with good fuccefs I think I've fcribbled, On Skep. And of the twice feven lines have clean got o'er ALTHOUGH foft fleep death's fad resemblante ten. wears, Still do I with him on my couch to lie; Come, balmy sleep, for sweetly it appears, Thus without life to live, thus without de to die. On a bad Singer. WHEN fcreech-ow is foreck, their note e portends To foolith mortais death of friends: But when Corvina Arains her throat, E'en fcreech-owls ficken at the note. PON fome hafty errand Tom was fent, And met his parith curate as he went; But, juft like what he was, a forry clown, It feems he pafs'd him with a cover'd crown, The gownman ftopp'd, and, turning, fternly fac I doubt, my lad, you're far worse taught than f Why aye! fays Tom, ftill jegging on, that's tric Thank God! he feeds me; but I in taught by you * Milton. HE Epitaph on a certain Mifer. On Mr. Quin. GARRICK. ERE lies one who for med'cines would not give SAYS Epicure Quin, fhould the devil in hell I fancy now he'd with again to live, Could he but guefs how much his fun'ral cost. Lord LYTTELTON. On Captain Grenville. If, fince your all-accomplish'd Sidney fell, To fuch heroic warmth and courage join'd! On Mrs. Clive's refenting being put out of the Part DEAR Kate, it is vanity both us betwitches, In fishing for men take delight, For when I mount the ladder and you wear the YOU fhould call at his house, or should send breeches, We fhew-what we ought to conccal. him a card, Can Garrick alone be fo 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 conver fation between the two gentlemen furnished Mr. Garrick with the fubject of the Epigram; in which, with an admirable addrefs, our English Rofcius has turned an imputed neglect into a very elegant panegyric on that aruly patriotic nobleman. Carrick. Garrick. Shall I, a poor player, and ftill poorer bard, To him the Great Seals are but labour and care, To the Author of the Farmer's Letters, which were written in Ireland in the Year of the Rebellion, by Henry Brooke, Efq. 1745. GARRICK. THOU, whofe artlefs, free-born genius charms, O AS S Doctor . mufing fat, Death faw, and came without delay: Enters the room, begius the chat, With "Doctor, why fo thoughtful, pray?" The Doctor ftarted from his place, But foon they more familiar grew: And then he told his pitcous cafe, How trade was low, and friends were few. "Away with fear," the phantom faid, As foon as he had heard his tale: "Take my advice, and mend your trade: "We both are lofers if you fail. "Go write, your wit in fatire fhow, No matter, whether fart or true; "Call names, the greateft foe To dulnefs, folly, pride, and you. "Then copies fpread, there lies the trick, Among your friends be fure you tend 'em; "For all who read will foon grow fick, "And when you're call'd upon, attend 'em. Upon feeing Mr. Taylor's Pictures of Bath, m bearing a Connoiffeur declare that "they were finely painted for a Gentleman." GARRICK TELL me the meaning, you who can, Of" finely for a gentleman!" Tom Fool to Mr. Hofkins, bis Counsellor and Frie-L GARRICK. ON your care muft depend the fuccefs of my fut, The poffeffion I mean of the houfe in d.ipute, Confider, my friend, an attorney's my foe, The worst of his tribe, and the beft is fo-fo O let not his quiddits and quirks of the law, O let not this harpy your poor client claw; In law as in life, I know well 'tis a rule, That a knave should be ever too hard for a fool, To this rule one exception your client impleres That the fool may for once beat the knave out of doors. |