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V E R S E S,
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN
TO WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A
SPRIG OF MYRTLE*.
What hopes-what terrors does this gift create?
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate.
*These verses were first printed in a Magazine for 1768, but were written between forty and fifty years ago. Elegant as they are, they were composed in the short space of five minutes,
To Lady FIREBRACE*,
At BURY ASSIZES.
AT length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain,
So long renown'd in B—-n's deathless strain ? Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, Thou seem'it at once, bright nymph, a Muse and
To LYCE, an elderly Lady.
By Aattering poets given,
In all the pomp of heaven;
Which gild a lover's lays,
Let Lyce share the praise.
This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, Ffq. of Ipswich, and reli&t of Philip Evers, Esq. of that town; the became the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the last Baronet of that name (to whom she brought a fortune of 25,000l.), July 26, 1737. Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Esq. uncle to the present Duke of Argyle, and died July 3, 1782.
Her silver locks display the moon,
Her brows a cloudy show,
And showers from either flow.
She's starr’d with pimples o’er;
And can with thunder roar.
Denies my Lyce shines ;
Attack my gentle lines.
And all her bards express,
And I but flatter less.
ON THE DEATH OF
Mr. ROBERT LEVET,
A Practiser in Physic. CONDEMN’D to Hope's delusive mine, ,
As on we coil from day to day,
Our social comforts drop away.
See Levet to the grave descend,
Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; Nor letter'd arrogance deny
Thy praise to merit unrefin'd. When fainting nature call’d for aid,
And hovering death prepar’d the blow, His vigorous remedy display'd
The power of art without the show. In mifery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
And lonely want retir'd to die.
No petty gain disdain’d by pride;
The toil of every day supply'd.
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
The single talent well employ’d. The busy day-the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ; His frame was firm-his powers were bright,
Tho' now his eightieth year was nigh, Then with no fiery throbbing pain,
No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
EPITAPH on CLAUDE PHILLIPS,
AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN.
PHILLIPS! whose touch harmonious could remove
pangs of guilty pow'r, and hapless love,
E P I T A P H I UM
THOMAM HANMER, BARONETTUM.
Honorabilis admodum THOMAS HANMER,
Baronettus, Wilhelmi Hanmer armigeri è Peregrina Henrici
North De Mildenhal in Com: Sufrolciæ Baronetti forore
# These lines are among Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies; they are nevertheless recognized as Johnson's, in a memorandum of his hand-writing, and were probably written at her request. Phillips was a travelling Fidler up and down Wales, and was greatly celebrated for his performance,