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He humbly answerd, “ Yea, Bob :" What from envy can be free, But since return'd from India's glunder'd land, If ill-fate could envy thee? The purse-proud Rumbdnow, on such com

mand, Would stoatly answer, “Nay, Bob."

The Negro's Conplaint.

WIDE over the tremulous sea Trob the nation two Contractors.come, The moon spread her mantle of ligt,

One cheats in corn, the other cheats in rum; And the gale, gently dying away, The greater rogue'tis hard to ascertain, Breath d soft on the bosom of night. The rogue in spirits, or the rogue in grain.

On the forecastle Maratan stood, Verses written by a Gentleman on finding an Iis tears fell unseen in the food,

And pour'd forth his sorrowful tale; Urn.

Flis sighs pass d unheard on the gale. TRILING niortal, tell me why Thou hast disturbid my urn;

Ah, wretch! in wild anguish he cry'd, Want'st thou to find out what am I?

From country and liberty torn; Vain man! attend, and learn :

Ah! Maratan, wouldst thou had died, To know what letters spett my name

Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne! Is useless quite to thee;

Thro' the groves of Angola I supay'di, An heap of dust is all I am,

Love and hope made my bosom their hos And all that thou shalt be.

There I talk'd with my favourite mi), Go now, that heap of dust explore,

Nor dream'd of the sorrow to cuae. Measure its grains, or weigh;

From the thicket the man-hunter spring, Cansıthou the title which I bore

My cries echo'd loud thro' the ar. Distinguish in the clay?

There was fury and wrath on his

torsiones What glittring honours, or high trust

He was deaf to the sbrieks of despair

. Once dignified me here, Were characters imprest on dust,

Accurs'd be the merciless band,

Who his love could trcm Maratan tez:; Which quickly disappear. Nor will the sparkling atoms show

And blasted this impotent hand, A Claudius or'a Guelph:

That was sever'd from all I held dear. Vain search ! if here the source thou 'dst know Flow, ye tears, down my cheeks ever for, Of nobles, or thyself.

Still let sleep from my eye-lids depart, The mould will yield no evidence,

And still may the arrows of woe By which thou mayst divine

Drink deep of the stream of my hean! If lords or beggars issued thence,

But hark! on the silence of night And form'd the ancient line.

My Adila's accents I hear, Learn then the vanity of birth,

And mournfulbeneath the wan light Condition, honours, name,

I see her lov'd image appear! All are but modes of common earth, Slow o'er the smooth ocean she glides, The substance just the same:

As the mist that hangs light on the Bid av'rice and ambition view

and fondly her lover she chides, Th'extent of all their gains ; Themselves, and their possessions too,

That lingers so long from the grave. A gallon vase contains.

“ (), Maratan, haste thee!" she cries, Haste, lift thy thoughts from earthly things

“ Here the reign of oppression is o'er, To more substantial bliss;

“ The tyrant is rcbb'd of his prize, And leave that grov'ling pride to kings,

“ Ani Adila 'sorrows no more.” Whicheads in dirt like this.

Vow, sinking amidst the dim rar, Let virtue be thy radiant guide,

Iler form seems to fade on my view; Twill dignify thy clay,

" () stay thee, iny Adila, stay-" And raise thy ashes glorified,

Sie beckons, and I must pursue. When suns shall fade away.

To-morrow', the white man in rain

Shall proudly account me his slave;
Upon a Gnat burnt in a Candle.

My shackles I plunge in the main,
PRIFLING insect! that art now

And rush io the realms of the brave.
But an airy gnat below,
Ah! what folly made thee fly
To the pleasing Name too nigb?
Seeming good, that treach'rous ill

Elegy to the Memory of Miss Louisa de Cheated ihine, that cheats man's will.


Thou, to whora fair Genius liom 170; Siinple thing! how shouldst thou fear

Whoin Science courted, and the What so beauteous scern'd, and fair?

lov'd; Thus deceitful pleasure's smile

Whose mind the hand of Innocence arravit. Did thy silly lifo beguile.

Pure as that form which Emy's still appris

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ccept these tributary drops--these sighs! Their want of erge from their offence is seen, (Remembrance still willon thy virtues dwell) Both pain us least when exquisitely keen. lo' nought could check thy progress to the skies,

Advice to Mr. Pope, on his intended TranslaChe soul must cherish her's it loy'd so well.

tion of Homer, 1714. thou svert all ambition could desire, Endow'd with all that nature could impart;

THOU who, with a happy genius born,

Canst tunetul verse in Hoiving numbers irm was thy breast with friendship's sacred

turn, fire,

Crown'd on thy Windsor's plains with early Ind forin'd for sentiment thy gentle heart. Be early wise, nor trust to barren praise. ir thy blest shave the pensive Muse shall Blind was the bard that sung Achilles' rage, stray,

Ile sung, und begg'd, and curs d th' quyiving ed by the pallid inoon's uncertain light,

age: tributes to thy peerless worth to pay,

If Britain his translated song would hear, Ind to thy tomb soft Sympathy invite. First take the gold—then charm the list'ning senting Memory, too, shall linger there,

ear; nd cull. sweet Howrs to deck thy holy His pension paid, tho' late—and paid to thee.

So shall thy father Homer smile to see thee indulge the deep-drawn sigh sincere, ad o'er thy ashes shall withì pity pine.

Under the Print of Tom Britton, the Musical

Small-coal Mun. HUGAES. checkd should be those tears thy friends may shed,

T 10?mean thy raik, yet in thy humble cell lat grief, which thy fond parents' peace de- Did genıle peace and arts, unpurchased stroys;

dwell: hou art only rank'd amongst the dead, Well pleas'l, Apollo thither led his train, tind a passage to eternal joys.

And music warbled in her sweetest strain : Power which seal'd th’apparent harsh de- Cyllenius so, as fables tell, and Jove,

Came willing guests to poor Pbilemon's grove. 20 ev'ry feeling of thy heart could know, Let useless pomp behold, and blush to find d what thy pangs from futureills might be, So low a station, such a lib'ial mind. snatch' thee carly from a world of woc.

Ti inspiring muses, and the god of love, -n an unfortunate Beauty. Avon. Which most should grace the fair Melinda

( wand'rer! how shall that weak form, loosely clad in vesture light,

Love arm'd her with his bowand keenest darts, e the malice of the storni,

The muses inore enrich'd ber mind with arts. - rudeness of the winter's night? Tho' Greece in shining temples heretofore oes a smile thy cheek illume?

Did Venus' and Minerva's pow'rs adore, 3! that faint and feeble glow

The ancients thought no single goddess fit the flow'r's untimely bloom,

To reign at once o'er beauty and o'er wit; oping amidst a waste of snow.

Fach was a sep'rate claim; ill now we find

The difi rent iilles in Velinda join'd. vretch!you sigh, you would unfold course of sorrow you have run:

v Opera, like a pill'rr, may be said ple story, quickly told,

Tunailonrears down, buiexpose our lieal. i lov'd, believich, and were undonc. seep you as my hand, on press?

Tucul thinks happiness consists in state ; yon niy fcatures gazo und sich?

She was an ideot, but she eats in place. i'uo one piiy your distress? le listen to your tale, but 1?

To the Hon. Vrs. Perciral, with Hutcheson's a pittance scant, I fear,

Treatise on Liuuty and Order. GRIERSOX. llihe joy I can bestow ;

[thee. but wipe away one tear,

T'internal cuses painted here we see:

Ther 'rc born in others, but they live in moment from a life of woe.

O were our author with thy converse blest, en for this your grateful eve

Could lie behold the virtues of thy breast; beaven is rais'd-Poor girl, adicu! His needless labours with contempted view, nes of senseless mirih I fly,

Ind bid the world not red--but copy you. poverty and sickness you.

TACK, enting rotten chcese, did say,
By Dr. Young.

Like Sansou, I my thousands slay:.
smooth oil the razor best is whets I vow, quoth Roger, so you do,
Hasbi polisenss: Jerpest set; And with the self-same weapon too.

3G 2




On God's Omnipotence.


fav'ring wit Macenas purchasd fame, When Eşypt's host God's chosen tribe pur. A double share of fanie is Dorset's due,

Virgil's own works immortaliz'd his name: sud, In crystal walls th'admiring waters stond ;

At once the patron and the poet too. When thro' the dreary wastes they took their was,

On an eminent modern Preacher, The rocks relented, and pour'd forth a sea! the heat limits can thi' Almighty goodness knów, POLLIO inust needs to penitence excite


For, sce, his scarf is rich, and glores as Siuce scas can harden, and sincc rocks can fior! white;

Behold his notes display'd, his body rast;
Simili siinilis gaudet.
With what a zeal he labours to be prais'd


Nostubborn sinner able to withstand Waex Chloe's picture was 10 Chloe shown. The force and reasoning of his wig and hand Adorn'd with charms and beauty not her Much better pleas'd, so pious his inteilt

, own; Where Hogarth, pitying nature, kindly made

With five that laugh than fifty who repent:

On inoral duties when his tongue refines, Such lips, such eyes, as Chloe never had; Yo Gods! she cries in ecstacy of heart,

Tully and Plaw are his best divines; (so:

What Matibew says, or Mark, the proof How near can nature le express'd by art!

What Locke or Clarke asserts, goud script" Well! it is wondrous like! nay, let ine die, The very pouting lip, the killing ove!

Touch'd with cach weakness which he ca Blunt and serere as Manis in the play, Downright replies--Like, Madain I do you say? With vanity he talks against the vain;

arraign, The picture bears this likeness, it is true:

With ostentation does to meekness guide

, The canvass painted is, and so are you. Proud of his periods levellid against price

Ambitiously the love of glory slights, (s: M"sickly, spouse, with many a sigh, And damns the love of fame for which

Oft tells me-Billy, I shall die! I griev'd, but recollected straight "Tis bootless to contend with fate;

THE Latin word for cold, one ask d bisi

It is, said he'tis at my finger's enė. So resignation to lleaven's will Prepar'd me for succeeding ill.

The World. 'Twas well it did; for on my life, 'Twas Heaven's will-to spare my

wife. T

"He world's a book, writ by th' eternal

Ofthe great Author;prinied in man

'Tis falsely printed, though divinely Sherlock at Temple was taking a boat, And all th’errata will appear at th' cnu. The waterman ask'd him which


he would float;

(the stream: Which way? says the Doctor; why, fool, with

On the Battle of the Bouis. To Paul's or to Lambeth—'twas all one to hin. Swift for the ancients bas argu'l so **

"Tis apparent from thience that lie bio

excel. On a Prelate's going out of Church in Time of

Divine Service, to wait on the bord Lieute- WELSHMAN and an Englishanand nant of Ireland.

Which of their lands maintain'dihez

state; L ORD Pam in the church (could you think it:) The Englishman the Welshmon qu'en

kncel'd down: When, told that the duke was just come to

The Welshman jet would not dis

abatt: town, Ilis station despising, unaw'd by the place,

Ten cooks, qnoth lie, in Wales, one "T" Ile flies from his God to attend on his Grace: To the court it was fitter to pay his devotion, Ab, quoth ihe other, each man toasts lisa Since God had no share in his lordship's pro

Brum the Lalin. motion,

Unhappy, Dido, tvas tlır fate,

In tirst and accome usedded state! A

ITU ' Rors fellow in a tavern late, [nate: One husband card tiv tight by die

Being drunk and valiant, gets a broken Fly death the other cus'd lay flying. The surgeon, with his instruments and skill, Searches his skull deeper and decper still, To feel his brains, and irr if they were sound:

0: the Funcind of l' ils?ime. And, as die keeps ado about the wounirti (pains, WAT munirous lights-this arealise The follow cries--Good surgeoii, spare your

attend, Mhen I began this brawl I had no brains. ho, in his-timi, sau dacuz:::



ihe more,

The Ilumourist. Imitated from Martial.

To a Writer of long Epitaphs. allthy humours, whether grave or nellow. Friend, in your Epitaphs I'm griei 'd Thau'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fel- So very much is said: low,

[thee, One half will never be belieu 'd, ist so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about The other never read. fere is no living with thee, nor without thee.

To Mr. Thomson, who had procured the Author

DENNIS. HAUGHTY courtier meeting in the streets n Benefit Night.

A scholar, him thus insolently greets : REFLECTING on thy worti, methinks I find je men to take the wall I ne'er pernit, Thy various Seasons in their Authorsmindi. e scholar said, I do; and gave liiin it. Spring opes her blossoms various as thy muse;

And, like thy soft compassion, sheds berdew's.

Summer's hot droughtinthyexpression glows, 'Hus with kind words Sir Edward cheer'a 100 o'er cach page a rawny ripeness throus. his friend :

[pend : -1.tumn's rich fruits th' insiructed reader galis, ar Dick! thou on my friendship may'st de- Who tastes the meaning purpose of thy sirains. now thy fortune is but very scan!; Il inter--but that po semblance takes from thee; be assurd, I'll ne'er see Dick in want.

That hoary scason yields a type of me. [lay, k's soon confind-his friend, no doubt, Shatter'd by Time's bleak storms I with ring would free hiin:

[him. Leatless, and whit’ning in a cold decay! word he kept-in want he ne'er would see Yet sball my propless iry, pale and bent,

Bless the stort sunshine which thy pity lcnt.
Turx men of infany to grandeur soar,
They lighi a torch to show their shaine

FLAVIA the least and slighiest toy

Can with resistless art emplor:

This fan, in meaner bands, would prove
To Henry Purcel.

In engine of small force in lore;

Yet she, with graceful air and mien, con a tribute from each muse is due;

Not to be told, or salely seeil, The whole poetic tribe's oblig'd to you;

Directs its wanton motions so, surely none but you, with equal ease, ld add to David, and make D'Urfey please. Gires coolness to the matchless dame,

That it wounds inore than Cupid's bow;

To ev'ry other breast a flame, The Offering modely King James I. at a ise Comedy, called the Alurriage of Arts.

To the Author of an Epitaph on Dr. Mead. Christ-Church Marriage, play'd befiiro

WACKEIT. the king,

[ Mead's not clead then, you say, only siceping these learn't mates should want an ofter

a little!

(ultie: king himself did offer—what, I pray? Why, cgad! Sir, von've hil it off there to a ter'd, twice or thrice, to go away, Yet, friend, his awaking I very much double

Pluto knows whom he's got, and will ne'er let

hiin out. bemory Parson's busirer 10 m zoung Lady ku sent him her Complimenis on the Ten of

To Mr. Pope. dearts.

While malice, Pope, denies tlıy page tr Compliments, dear lady, pray forbear; while critics and while bards in rage, Old English services are more sincere. send ten bearts; the tythe is only nine. While warward pens thy word assail,

Admiring, won't admire: e me but one, and burn the other nine.

And envious tongues decrv;

These times tho'many a friend bewail,
By Dr. Donne.

'These times bewail not I. 1 unable, yonder beggar cries,

But when the world's loud; raise is thine, stand or go. If he says true, he lies. And spleen no morr shall blame;

When with ihy Homer thou shalt shine

Iu one establishit fame:
DORE always smiles whenever he recites: When none shall rail, and erry lay
He smiles, you think, approving what he Devote a wreath to thee:

vet iu this no vanity is shown; (writes: That day (for come it will)--ihat day
juest inan niay like what's not his own. Shall I la ment to scc.


3 G3

Britisli Economy
Written in a Lady's Prayer-Book.

I merry old England it once was a rule,
The King had his poet, and also his fool:

In vain, Clarinda, night and day But now we're so frugal, I'd have you to know For wercy to the Gods vou pray: Poor Cibber must serve both for fool and [it

, What arrogance, on Heaven to call

For that which you deny to all.

for poet:

Found stuck on the Statue of the Moor which So much, my Pope, thy English Iliad charms,

As pity melts us, or as passion warms, supports the Sun-Dial in Clement's-Inn.

That after ages shall with wonder seek In vain, poor sable son of woe,

Who't was translated Homer into Greek. Thou seek'st the tender tear ; Froin thee in vain with pangs they flow, For inercy dwells not here.

By HARRINGTON. From cannibals thou fled'st-io vain; The golden hair that Galla wears, Lawyers less qnarter give;

Is hers: who would have thought it? The first won't eat you till you're slain, She swears 'tis hiers; and trire she swears, The last will do't alive.

For I know where she bought it.


so Lady

Isabella Thynne, cutiing Trees it WHEN Jack was poor, the lad was frank

Paper. Wallei. and free;

Fair hand, that can on virgin paper write, Of late he's grown brimful of pride and pelf : Yet from the stain of ink preserve it whit: You wonder that he don't remember me ; Whose travel o'er that silver tield does shos Why so? You see he has forgot himself. Like iracks of lererets in morning snow:

Lore's image thus in purest minds is wroca

Without a spot or bleinish to the thought. By PRIOR.

Strange, that your fingers should the pencil John I ow'd great obligation ;

Without the help of colours or of oil? T° But John unhappily thought fit

For tho' a painter boughs and leares can rx

'Tis yours alone to make them bend and shis To publish it to all the nation:

Whose breath salutes your new-created for Sure John and I are more than quit.

Like southern winds, and makes it genisa

Orpheus could make the forest dance, bu!!". On the Burser of St. John's College in Orford Can make the motion and the forest too. cutting down a fire Row of Trees. Evans. A poet, when he would describe bis mind,

Is, as in language, so in fame, confind: INDULGENT nature to each kind bestows

Your works are read wherever there are n
A secret instinct to discern its foes : So far the scissors goes beyond the pen.
The goose, a silly bird, avoids the fox : (rocks ;
Lambs fly from wolves, and sailors steer from
A rogire the gallows as his fate foresees,

By Prior.
And bears the like antipathy to trees. Tuy nags, the leanest things alive,

So very hard thou lov'st to drive,
Good Music and ind Dancers.

I heard thy anxious coachman say

It cost thee more in whips than hay. ill the motion with the music snits! So Orpheus play'd, and, like them, danc'd the brátcs.

A Cure for Poetry Sever wealthy towns contend for Ho dead,

[bre Ye little wits, that glcam'd awhile, Thro' which the living Homer begged

While Pope vouchsaf'd a ray; Alas! depriv'd of his kind smile,

On some Snow which melted on a Ledy's Bim How soon se fade away! To compass Phæbus' car about,

The envious snow comes down in haste

To prove thy breast less fair; Thus cinpty vapours rise;

But grieves to see itself surpast,
Each tends his cloud to put him out,

And melts into a tear.
That rear'd him to the skies..
Alas! these skies are not your sphere;.
There he shall ever burn:

The French Poet.
Weep, weep, and fall; for earth ye were, When old Elijah, as the Scriptores say.
And must to earth return.

Triumphant mounted to the r ea'u ofi'.

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