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“ No, Sir,” says Johnson, “ 'tis not so,
That's your mistake, and I can shew,
" An instance if

you

doubt it ; “ You Sir, who are near forty-eight, “ May much improve, 'tis not too late,

“ I wish you'd set about it.”

Encourag'd thus to mend my faults,
I turn'd his counsel in my thoughts,
Which way I should apply

it ; Learning and wit seem'd past my reach, For who can learn when none will teach?

And wit I could not buy it.

Then come my friends, and try your skill, You can inform me if you will,

(My books are at a diftance) With

you

I'!I live and learn, and then, Instead of books, I shall read men,

So lend me your assistance.

Dear * Knight of Plympton, teach me how To suffer with unruffled brow,

And smile ferene like thine ; The jest uncouth, or truth severe, To such I'll turn my

deafest

ear, And calmly drink my wine.

Thou say'st, not only skill is gain'J,
But genius too may be attain's,

By studious imitation ;
Thy temper mild, thy genius fine,
l'll copy till I make thee mine,

By constant application,

• Sir Joshua Reynolds.

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The art of pleasing, teach me Garrick,
Thou *, who revereft odes Pindaric,

A second time read o'er ;
Oh! cou'd we read thee backwards too,
Last thirty years thou should'It review,

And charm us thirty more.

If I have thoughts, and can't express 'em
Gibbons shall teach me how to dress 'em

In terms select and terse ;
Fones teach me modesty and Greek,
Smith how to think, Burke how to speak,

And Beauclerc to converse.

Let Johnson teach me how to place,
In faireft light each borrow'd grace?

From him I'll learn to write ;
Copy his clear familiar style,
And from the roughness of his file,

Grow like himself-polite.

* Mr Garrick being asked to read Mr Cumberland's Odes, laughed immoderately, and affirmed, that such stuff might as well be read backwards as forwards ; and the witty Roscius accordingly read them in that manner, and wonderful to relate ! produced the same good sense and poetry as the sentimental author ever had genius to write.

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By Mr. F I T Z P A T R I C K.

'N that sad season when the hapless belle

I well :

When furly husbands doom th' unwilling fair
To quit St. James's for a purer air,
And, deaf to pity, from their much lord town
Relentless bear the beauteous exiles down
To dismal shades, through lonely groves to Aray,
And figh the summer live-long months away ;
With all the bloom of youth and beauty grac'd,

morn DORINDA, at her toilet plac’d,
With looks intent and pentive air furvey'd
The various charms her faithful glass display'd ;
Eyes, that might warm the frozen breast of age,
Or nielt to tenderness the tyrant's rage;
Smiles, that enchanting with refiftlels art,
Stole unperceiv'd the heedless gazer's hcart;

One

Dimples, where love conceal'd in ambush lay,
To aim his arrows' at the destin'd

prey ;
And lips that promis'd in each balmy kiss
Luxurious harvest of ambrofial bliss.
Musing she sat, and watch'd each rifing grace
That ied its luftre o'er her heav'nly face,
Till lab'ring grief her anxious filence broke,
And fighing thus the lovely mourner fpoke :
Were charms like these by erring nature meant
For fober folitude and calm content ?
Must eyes fo bright be doom'd to waste their fires
On hungry parsons and unfeeling squires ;
Heav'n whose decrees (if true what priests have taught)
Are fram'd by justice and with wisdom fraught,
„Sure ne'er created such a form as this
For the dull purpose of domestic bliss.
Ah! no, these eyes were giv’n in courts to shine ;
Shall impious man then thwart the wise design?
A short-liv'd sway of some few years at most
Is all, alas ! the brightest belle can boast
Ere yet the hand of all-devouring time
Lay waste her graces, and destroy her prime:
By flow degrees she feels her pow'r decay,
And younger beauties bear the palm away.
Whilst envious fate thus haftens to destroy
The Aeeting period of all female joy,
Shall barb'rous husbands (whose tyrannic-rage
Nor pray’rs can mitigate, nor tears assuage)
E’en in those years while youth and beauty bloom,
To exile half her precious moments doom?
She goes like fome neglected flow'r to fade,
And waste her sweetness in the lonely shade,
Till winter (so the pitying gods decree)
Returning sets th' impatient captive free:
Then swift emerging from the dull retreat,
To town she flies, admiring crowds to meet :
Her happy hours glide on from morn to night,
One ceaseless round of exquisite delight :
Balls, op'ras, concerts, Almacks, and Soho,
By turns attended, various joys bestow :

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