On Michael Angelo's famous Piece of the Cru- He studies torment, dives in mortal woe, O glorious theft! O nobly wicked draught! With its full charge of death each feature fraught! Such wondrous force the magic colors boast, From his own skill he starts, in horror lost. On the Death of a Lady's Cat. HARRISON. AND is Miss Tabby from the world retir'd? And are her lives, all her nine lives, expir'd? What sounds so moving as her own can tell How Tabby died, how full of play she fell? Begin, ye tuneful nine, a mournful strife, And ev'ry muse shall celebrate a life. A Receipt for Courtship. SWIFT. Two or three dears, and two or three sweets; Two or three balls, and two or three treats; Two or three serenades, giv'n as a lure; Two or three oaths how much they endure; Two or three messages sent in one day; Two or three times led out from the play; Two or three soft speeches made by the way; Two or three tickets for two or three times; Two or three love-letters writ all in rhymes; Two or three months keeping strict to these rules Can never fail making a couple of fools. A Flower by Varelst. PRIOR. WHEN famed Varelst this little wonder drew, Flora vouchsafed the growing work to view. Finding the painter's science at a stand, The Goddess snatch'd the pencil from his hand: And finishing the piece, she smiling said: Behold one work of mine that ne'er shall fade. By Sir SAM. GARTH. CAN you count the silver lights That deck the skies, and cheer the nights; Or the leaves that strew the vales, When groves are stript by winter gales; Or the drops that in the morn Hang with transparent pearl the thorn; Or bridegroom's joys, or miser's cares, Or gamester's oaths, or hermit's prayers; Or envy's pangs, or love's alarms, Or Marlbro's acts, or Molly's charms? By AARON HILL. How is the world deceiv'd by noise and show Alas! how diff'rent, to pretend and know! Like a poor highway brook, pretence runs loud: Bustling, but shallow, dirty, weak, and proud. While, like some nobler stream, true knowledge glides, Silently strong, and its deep bottom hides. The Royal Knotter. Sir CH. SEDLEY. Both to advance your glory! And makes thread-fringes for ye. Blest we! who from such queens are freed Åre always telling beads: Then haste, victorious Nassau, haste; Let all thy trumpets sound: I MARCH'D three miles thro' scorching sand, With zeal in heart, and notes in hand; I rode four more to Great St. Mary, Using four legs when two were weary. To three fair virgins I did tie men, In the close bands of pleasing Hymen; I dipp'd two babes in holy water, And purified their mothers after. Within an hour and eke an half, I preach'd three congregations deaf; While thund'ring out with lungs long-winded, I chopp'd so fast that few there minded. My emblem, the laborious sun, Saw all these mighty labors done Before one race of his was run! All this perform'd by Robert Hewit: What mortal else could e'er go through it? WHAT God, what genius did the pencil Epigram by DR. DODDRIDGE, on his Motto, Dum vivimus, vivamus. LIVE while you live, the epicure will say, And take the pleasure of the present day. Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies. Lord, in my view let both united be! I live in pleasure when I live to Thee. When Kneller painted these? [move, On the Publication of Mrs. Rowe's Poems since 'Twas friendship-warm as Phoebus, kind as Love, And strong as Hercules. her Death. THUS Philomela sung, on earth detain'd, While cumb'rous clay the rising soul restrain'd; Now the freed spirit, with th' angelic choir, In fields of light attunes th' immortal lyre, And hymns her God in strains more soft, more strong There only could she learn a loftier song. Come, gentle air, the fairer Delia cries, She views the story with attentive eyes, On an Epigram. ONE day, in Chelsea meadows walking, Says Ralph, a inerry wag: Your simile, I own, is new; But how wilt make it out? says Hugh. Make it at top both wide, and fit And point it at the end. By Mrs. PILKINGTON. STELLA and Flavia ev'ry hour In Stella's soul lies all her power, More boundless Flavia's conquests are, But few a lovely mind. To rule o'er barren sands. To Mr. Pope on his Dunciad. THE raven, rook, and pert jackdaw, Though neither birds of moral kind, Yet serve, if hang'd, or stuff'd with straw, To show us which way blows the wind. Thus dirty knaves, or chattering fools, Strung up by dozens in thy lay, Teach more by half than Dennis' rules, And point instruction ev'ry way. With Egypt's art thy pen may strive: One potent drop let this but shed, And every rogue that stunk alive Becomes a precious mummy dead. TREASON does never prosper; what's the reason? Why, when it prospers, none dare call it treason. On Plutarch's Statue. From the Greek. DRYDEN. By W. CONGREVE. SEE, see, she wakes, Sabina wakes, And now the sun begins to rise; Less glorious is the morn that breaks WISE, honest Plutarch! to thy deathless praise From his bright beams, than her bright eyes. The sons of Rome this grateful statue raise: With light united, day they give, But diff'rent fates ere night fulfil: How many by his warmth will live! How many will her coldness kill! By JOSIAH RElph. No, Varus hates a thing that's base; own, indeed, he's got a knack I Of flatt'ring people to their face, But scorns to do't behind their back. Under a Picture of Mr. Poyntz. Lyttelton. SUCH is thy form, O Poyntz! but who shall find A hand or colors to express thy mind? know For why? both Greece and Rome thy fame have shar'd; Their heroes written, and their lives compar'd. On the Statue of Niobe. From the Greek. To stone the gods have changed her, but in vain: The sculptor's art has made her breathe again. Το α young Gentleman. NATURE has done her part: do thou but Learning and sense let decency refine. [thine; For vain applause transgress not virtue's rules; A witty sinner is the worst of fools. Ulysses' Dog. POPE. WHEN wise Ulysses, from his native coast Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost, To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown: Arriv'd at last, poor, old, disguised, alone, Changed as he was with age, and toils, and cares, Furrowed his rev'rend face, and white his hairs, In his own palace forced to ask his bread, Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed, Forgot of all his own domestic crew; The faithful dog alone his master knew! Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay, Like an old servant now cashier'd he lay; And, though e'en then expiring on the plain, Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man, And longing to behold his ancient lord again. Him when he saw-he rose, and crawl'd to meet, 'Twas all he could, and fawn'd, and kiss'd his feet, Seiz'd with dumb joy: then falling by his side, Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died. To King Charles I. on his Navy. WALLER. SHOULD nature's self invade the world again, And o'er the centre spread the liquid main, Thy pow'r were safe, and her destructive hand Would but enlarge the bounds of thy command: Thy dreadful fleet would style the lord of all, And rise in triumph o'er the drowned ball. On Mrs. Barbiere's first Appearance on the Stage. No pleasure now from Nicolini's tongue, In vain he strives to move us with his song: On a fair Syren we have fix'd our choice, And wait with longing ears for Barbiere's voice: When, lo! the nymph by bashful awe betray'd, Her falt'ring tongue denies her looks its aid¿ |