POETICAL ESSAYS. EPILOGUE Written by M.P. ANDREWS, Efq. M.P. Spoken by Mrs. MATTOCKS. ONCE more I come your favouring fmiles to catch; Myfelf I offer now;-fay-is't a match? If fo, I do but copy nine in ten- But your ftraight-forward tafte who can refift?" [twift; [moft."Some taftes, my lady, feem to have a You can but say that I'm barefac'd at If women will forget that they grow But, oh! true woman! fond of selfish prattle, [battle: I fight my own, and not our author's He, trembling Dramatift of Notoriety, To Speculation fears to add—Satiety. Oft he has tried your patience hereto-" fore: older, [the shoulder, And wear, like children, straps across Why not, like children, give them playful fmacks, [backs?" And lay the shoulder-straps across their Mifs, you're severe-"But here's my comfort—this I'll fondly hug." Shall he not try it now a little more? In other houfes full as much as ours. He takes his feat, and, all his troubles paft, Probes his cravat, and ventures to begin: Your favourite work, ma'am ?”"No! my favourite Pug. [Shows a little dog. That is his kennel-Points to a small bafket effeminately ornamented. Oh, the pretty creature! How neat and elegant is every feature! He drinks noyau, and dines upon boil'd chicken; [vourite picking. Though ragout fweetbreads is his faLeft the hot fun should tan the little fellow, [brella When he walks out, I carry this um[Exhibits a fun-fhade. But when cold, frofty weather comes to nip it, He wears a little fpencer and a tippetCome kits me, love-oh! who could think it dear Topay five fhillings for thee every year?" Her AIR-Mr. Fawcett. WHEN to my pretty Poll I went, And I to travel fought her, "Ah, ftay at home, dear Jack, (fays fhe) I cannot cro's the water." What could I do? Away I flew, A curricle I bought her: Six (moaking bays, all Hyde park's gaze, From Tatterfall's I brought her. Dear Jack, (fays fhe) how kind you be, (She'd coax like Eve's own daughter,) With you will I both live and die, Do all but crofs the water." Then, fplafhing, dashing, through the LAURA; A BALLAD. The honey fuckle, jafmine, rofe, The glitt'ring dew begemm'd the grafs, The Zephyrs wafted rich perfumes, Stol'n from each herb and flow'r; The playful lambkins frolick'd round, When Laura reach'd the bow':. Scarce was the feated ere fhe heard A plaintive voice complain; Crying, "Alas! what have I done To merit fo much pain ? "Yet how dare I, prefumptuous wretch! (Though prefs'd with fuch a load Of dire misfortunes) how dare I Arraign the righteous God?" Ju Just as the fpoke, fhe pass'd the bow'r My hulband on a fick bed lies; The haughty Laura faid. (For Laura's parents oft had told, THE BEAUTIES OF WALTON- belong, YE gentle nymphs to whom my ftrains [fong. Approve my numbers, as ye prompt my For you the daring poet tunes his lyre. Oh, liften to the ftrains yourselves infpire! So fhall the Mufe each magic charm rehearse: [verse. So fhall each charm be lafting as her When Sylvia fmiles, methinks he fmiles to prove, The woman figh'd, and dropp'd a tear, She conquers all the delegates of love: And inftant left the bow'r; Juft then, a ruftic miller paft By, with fome bags of flour. Soon as the cottager he saw, He cried, "Thy wants I know; It grieves me much that thou fhould'st feel Such bitterness of woe., "Here, take the little all I have, (I little have to give); Gay fportive Cupids flutter round the fair, [hair; Pant on her breaft, and wanton in her Some new adorer all her glances gain, And ev'ry ringlet is a lover's chain. On Delia'st cheek eternal rofes bloom: Her ruby lips exhale a rich perfume: Her ruby lips indulge a mutual kifs, And blush, luxuriant, at imparted blifs. When bright Belindat leads the fprightly dance, {vance : From want 'twill keep thee one day With ev'ry ftep our captive hearts ad more; Thy infants yet may live." Thy wants shall be supply'd. I grieve I have no more; And, when in charity employ'd, LINES SOPHIA. The meafur'd founds we hear, fhe feems to lead; [proceed, And, as the moves, we think the firains As mufic rifes from the spheres that roll In myftic dance around the glowing pole. Oh! fill with foul-diffolving graces Harmonious, as your Aurenelia's [] fair: grew dim, hour And on the bed of leaves hisfeeble frame Lay helpiefs: patiently did he endure, In faith anticipating bleffednefs, Already more than man, in that dread When man is meaneft: his were the best [joys The pious know, and his last prayer was I faw him die: I faw the dews of death praise. Starting on his cold brow: I heard him then [Orleans, Pour out a blefling on me!-Son of I would not wish to live to know that hour [dead, When I could think upon a dear friend And weep not. FOREIGN |