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EPITAPH ON. FOP,
A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON.
[August, 1792.] THOUGH once a puppy, and though Fop by name, Here moulders One whose bones some honour claim No sycophant, although of spaniel race, And though no hound, a martyr to the chaseYe squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice, Your haunts no longer echo to his voice ; This record of his fate exulting view, He died worn out with vain pursuit of you.
“ Yes "the indignant shade of Fop replies " And worn with vain pursuit, Man also dies.”
GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ.
Ilis picture of me in Crayons, drawn åt Eartham in the 61st, year of my age, and in the months of
August and September, 1792.
[October, 1792.) ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace
On chart or canvass, not the form alone
And semblance, but, however faintly shown, The inınd's impression too on cvery face
With strokes that time ought never to erase
Thou hast so pencill’d mine, that though I own
The subject worthless, I have never known The artist shining with superiour grace.
But this I mark—that symptoms none of wo
In thy incomparable work appear. Well-I am satisfied it should be so,
Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear :
For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see
RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE.
In language warm as could be breath'd or penn'd, Thy picturo speaks th' Original, my friend, Not by those looks that indicate thy mind They only speak thee Friend of all mankind; Expression here moro soothing still I see, That Friend of all a partial Friend to me
MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELEY.
TEARS flow, and cease not, where the good man lies, Till all who knew him follow to the skies. Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep; Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants, weep, And justly-few shall ever him transcend As husband, parent, brother, master, friend.
A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWER
DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT. *
[Spring of 1793.]
THRIVE, gentle plant; and weave a bow'r
For Mary and for me,
Thy foliage large and free.
Thou cam’st from Eartham, and wilt shade
(If truly I divine)
Of Him who made thee mine.
Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And envy seize the Bay,
Such honour'd brows as they,
Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,
And with convincing pow'r ;
Be crown'd with Virgin's bow'r ?
Receiving from her a Network Purse, made by herself.
[May 4, 1793.]
My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
Than plaything for a nurse,
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here :
For sichest rogues to win it;
For an Hermitage in the Author's Garden.
This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears,
TO MRS. UNWIN.
MARY! I want a lyre with other strings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings.
But thou hast little need. There is a book
By seraphs writ with beams of heav'nly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright;
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine,