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Not a pine in my grove is there seen,

With her mien she enamours the brave; But with tendrils of woodbine is bound :

With her wit she engages the free; Not a beech's more beautiful green,

With her modesty pleases the grave; But a sweet-brier entwines it around.

She is every way pleasing to me.
Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold;

O you that have been of her train,
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,

Come and join in my amorous lays; But it glitters with fishes of gold.

I could lay down my life for the swain,

That will sing but a song in her praise. One would think she might like to retire

When he sings, may the nymphs of the town To the bower I have labor’d to rear;

Come trooping, and listen the while; Not a shrub that I heard her admire,

Nay on him let not Phyllida frown; But I hasted and planted it there.

-But I cannot allow her to smile. O how sudden the jessamine strove With the lilac to render it gay!

For when Paridel tries in the dance Already it calls for my love,

Any favor with Phyllis to find, To prune the wild branches away.

O how, with one trivial glance,

Might she ruin the peace of my mind! From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,l. In ringlets he dresses his hair, What strains of wild melody flow!

And his crook is bestudded around; How the nightingales warble their loves

And his pipe-oh my Phyllis, beware From thickets of roses that blow!

Of a magic there is in the sound.
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join

"Tis his with mock passion to glow, • In a concert so soft and so clear,

"Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, As she may not be found to resign.

How her face is as bright as the snow,

And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. I have found out a gift for my fair ;

How the nightingales labor the strain, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed : With the noles of his charmer to vie; But let me that plunder forbear,

How they vary their accents in vain,
She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.

Repine at her triumphs, and die.
For he ne'er could be true, she averrid,
Who would rob a poor bird of its young :

To the grove or the garden he strays,
And I lov'd her the more when I heard

And pillages every sweet; Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,

He throws it at Phyllis's feet. I have heard her with sweetness unfold

“O Phyllis," he whispers, “more fair, How that pity was due toma dove :

More sweet ihan the jessamine's flower. That it ever attended the bold;

What are pinks in a morn to compare? And she call'd it the sister of love.

What is eglantine after a shower?
But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,

“Then the lily no longer is white; Let her speak, and whatever she say,

The rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Methinks I should love her the more.

Then the violets die with despite,

And the woodbines give up their perfume Can a bosom so gentle remain

Thus glide the soft numbers along, Unmov'd when her Corydon sighs ?

And he fancies no shepherd his peer; Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,

-Yet I never should envy the song, These plains and this valley despise ?

Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.
Dear regions of silence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease ?

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,

So Phyllis the trophy despise : If aught, in her absence, could please.

Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd, But where does my Phyllida stray ?

So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.

The language that flows from the heart, And where are her grots and her bowers ?

Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ; Are the groves and the valleys as gay,

- Yet may she beware of his art,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,

Or sure I must envy the song.
And the face of the valleys as fine;
The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.

Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep;

They have nothing to do but to stray ;

I have nothing to do but to weep.
Why will you my passion reprove ?

Yet do not my folly reprove; Why term it a folly to grieve ?

She was fair-and my passion begun; Ere I show you the charms of my love,

She smild and I could not but love; She's fairer than you can believe.

She is faithless and I am undone.

Erewhile, in sportive circles round
She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;
From rock to rock pursue his way,
And on the fearful margin play.

Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell,
She saw him climb my rustic cell;
Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright,
And seem all ravish'd at the sight.

She tells with what delight he stood
To trace his features in the flood; .
Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze,
And then drew near again to gaze.

She tells me how with eager speed
He flew to hear my vocal reed;
And how with critic face profound,
And sted fast ear, devour’d the sound.

Perhaps I was void of all thought :

Perhaps it was plain to foresee, That a nymph so complete would be sought

By a swain more engaging than me. Ah! love every hope can inspire ;

It banishes wisdom the while; And the lip of the nymph we admire

Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile. She is faithless, and I am undone ;

Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair, and how fickle, they be. Alas! from the day that we met,

What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain :

The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,

In time may have comfort for me. The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace which from solitude flows,

Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. High transports are shown to the sight,

But we're not to find them our own;
Fate never bestow'd such delight, .

As I with my Phyllis had known.
Oye woods, spread your branches apace;

To your deepest recesses I fly;
I would hide with the beasts of the chase ;

I would vanish from every eye. Yet my reed shall resound through the grove

With the same sad complaint it begun; How she smil'd-and I could not but love;

Was faithless—and I am undone!

His every frolic, light as air,
Deserves the gentle Delia's care ;
And tears bedew her tender eye,
To think the playful kid must die.-

But knows my Delia, timely wise, How soon this blameless era flies? While violence and craft succeed ; Unfair design, and ruthless deed!

Soon would the vine his wounds deplore,
And yield her purple gists no more ;
Ah! soon, eras'd from every grove
Were Delia's name, and Strephon's love.

No more those bowers might Strephon see,
Where first be fondly gaz'd on thee,
No more those beds of powerets find,
Which for thy charming brows he twin'd.

Each wayward passion soon would tear
His bosom, now so void of care;
And, when they left his ebbing vein,
What, but insipid age, remain ?

Optima quæque dice miseris mortalibus ævi
Prima fugit

A Tear bedews my Delia's eye,
To think yon playful kid must die;
From crystal spring, and flowery mead,
Must, in his prime of life, recede!

Then mourn not the decrees of Fate, That gave his life so short a date ; And I will join thy tenderest sighs, To think that youth so swiftly flies !


The Rev. CHARLES CHURCHILL, a poet, once of name. Churchill was now at once raised from ob great repute, was the son of a curate of St. John's, scurity to eminence; and the Rosciad, which we Westminster, in which parish he was born in 1731. have selected as his best work, is, in fact, the only He received his early education at the celebrated one of his numerous publications in which he be public school in the vicinity, whence he was sent to stowed due labor. The delineations are drawn Oxford ; but to this university he was refused ad with equal energy and vivacity; the language and mission on account of deficient classical knowledge. versification, though not without inequalities, are Returning to school, he soon closed his further superior to the ordinary strain of current poetry, and education by an early and imprudent marriage. many of the observations are stamped with sound Receiving holy orders from the indulgence of Dr. judgment and correct taste. Sherlock, he went down to a curacy in Wales, The remainder of his life, though concurring where he attempted to remedy the scantiness of his with the period of his principal fame, is little worthy income, by the sale of cider; but this expedient of notice. He became a party writer, joining with only plunged him deeper in debt. Returning to Wilkes and other oppositionists, and employed his London, he was chosen, on his father's death, to pen assiduously in their cause. With this was succeed him as curate and lecturer of St. John's. joined a lamentable defect of moral feeling, er His finances still falling short, he took various hibited by loose and irregular manners. Throwing methods to improve them; at the same time he dis- off his black suit, he decorated his large and clumsy played an immoderate fondness for theatrical ex- person with gold lace; and dismissing his wife, be hibitions. This latter passion caused him to think debauched from her parents the daughter of a of exercising those talents which he was conscious tradesman in Westminster. His writings at length of possessing; and in March, 1761, he published, became mere rhapsodies; and taking a journey to though anonymously, a view of the excellencies and France for the purpose of visiting Mr. Wilkes, defects of the actors in both houses, which he en- then an exile in that country, he was seized with a titled “The Rosciad." It was much admired, fever, which put a period to his life on November 4 and a second edition appeared with the author's 1764, at the age of 34.


Roscius deceas'd, each high aspiring play'r
Push'd all his int'rest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage ;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favor of his friends ;
For pity's sake tells undeserv'd mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume,
In pompous strain fight o'er th' extinguish'd war,
And show where honor bled in ev'ry scar.

But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favor, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those, who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.

What can an actor give? In ev'ry age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of ev'ry play'r,
Appear as often as their image there :

They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of roast beef, they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more.
Though for each million he had brought home four!

Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humor will be there ;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House, for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor, bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.

The town divided, each runs sev'ral ways,
As passion, humor, int'rest, party sways.
Things of no moment, color of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplac'd,
Conciliate favor, or create distaste.

From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises he's so droll.
Embor'd, the ladies must have something smart,
Palmer! Oh! Palmer tops the janty part
Seated in pit, the dwarf, with aching eyes,
Looks up, and vows that Barry's out of sizo ;

Whilst to six feet the vig'rous stripling grown. Who can—But Woodward came,-Hill slipp'd Declares that Garrick is another Coan.*

away, When place of judgment is by whim supplied, Melting like ghosts, before the rising day. And our opinions have their rise in pride;

+ With that low cunning, which in fools supplies When, in discoursing on each mimic elf,

And amply too, the place of being wise,
We praise and censure with an eye to self; Which Nature, kind, indulgent parent, gave
All must meet friends, and Ackman bids as fair To qualify the blockhead for a knave;
In such a court, as Garrick, for the chair.

With that smooth falsehood, whose appearance At length agreed, all squabbles to decide,

charms, By some one judge the cause was to be tried ; And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms, But this their squabbles did a fresh renew,

Which to the lowest depths of guile descends, Who should be judge in such a trial ?- Who? By vilest means pursues the vilest ends,

For Johnson some, but Johnson, it was fear'd, Wears Friendship's mask for purposes of spite Would be too grave; and Sterne too gay appear'd: Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night; Others for Francklin voted; but 'twas known, With that malignant envy, which turns pale, He sicken'd at all triumphs but his own :

And sickens, even if a friend prevail, For Colman many, but the peevish tongue Which merit and success pursues with hate, Of prudeni Age found out that he was young : And damns the worth it cannot imitate ; For Murphy some few pilf'ring wits declar'd, With the cold caution of a coward's spleen, Whilst Folly clapp'd her hands, and Wisdom star'd. Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a skreen,

To mischief train'd, e'en from his mother's womb, Which keeps this maxim ever in her viewGrown old in fraud, though yet in manhood's bloom, What's basely done, should be done safely too ; Adopting arts, by which gay villains rise,

With that dull, rooled, callous impudence, And reach the heights which honest men despise ; Which, dead to shame, and ev'ry nicer sense, Mute at the bar, and in the senate loud,

Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading Vice's snares, Dull 'mongst the dullest, proudest of the proud ; She blunder'd on some virtue unawares ; A pert, prim prater of the northern race,

With all these blessings, which we seldom find Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face,

Lavish'd by Nature on one happy mind, Stood forth and thrice he wav'd his lily hand- A motley figure, of the Fribble tribe, And thrice he iwirl'd his tye-thrice strok'd his Which heart can scarce conceive, or pen describe, band

Came simp'ring on; to ascertain whose sex “At Friendship's call,” (thus oft with trait'rous aim Twelve sage, impannel'd matrons would perplex. Men, void of faith, usurp Faith's sacred name) Nor male, nor female ; neither, and yet both ; “ At Friendship's call I come, by Murphy sent, Of neuter gender, though of Irish growth; Who thus by me develops his intent.

A six-foot suckling, mincing in its gait; But lest, transfus'd, the spirit should be lost, Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate; That spirit which in storms of rhet'ric lost,

Fearful it seem'd, though of athletic make, Bounces about, and flies like bottled beer,

Lest brutal breezes should 100 roughly shake In his own words his own intentions hear.

Ils lender form, and savage motion spread, "Thanks to my friends.--But to vile fortunes born, O'er ils pale cheeks, the horrid manly red. No robes of fur these shoulders must adorn.

Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase, Vain your applause, no aid from thence I draw; Of genius and of taste, of play'rs and plays; Vain all my wit, for what is wit in law ?

Much too of writings, which itself had wrote, Twice (curs'd remembrance !) twice I strove to gain of special merit, though of little note; Admittance 'mongst the law-instructed tran

For Fate, in a strange humor, had decreed Who, in the Temple and Gray's Inn, prepare That what it wrote, none but itself should read; For clients' wretched feet the legal snare ;

Much too it chatter'd of dramatic laws, Dead to those arts, which polish and refine, Misjudging critics, and misplac'd applause ; Deaf to all worth, because that worth was mine, Then, with a self-complacent jutting air, Twice did those blockheads startle at my name, It smild, it smirk'd, it wriggled to the chair ; And, foul rejection, gave me up to shame.

And, with an awkward briskness not its own, To laws and lawyers then I bad adieu,

Looking around, and perking on the throne, And plans of far more lib'ral note pursue.

Triumphant seem'd, when that strange savage dame Who will may be a judge—my kindling breast Known but to few, or only known by name, Burns for that chair which Roscius once possess'd. Plain Common Sense appear'd, by Nature there Here give your votes, your intrest here exert, Appointed, with plain Truth, to guard the chair. And let success for once attend desert.”

The pageant saw, and, blasted with her frown, With sleek appearance, and with ambling pace, To its first state of nothing melted down. And, type of vacant head, with vacant face,

Nor shall the Muse (for even there the pride The Proteus Hill put in his modest plea,

of this vain nothing shall be mortified) “ Let Favor speak for others, Worth for me." Nor shall the Muse (should Fate ordain her rhymes For who, like him, his various powers could call Fond, pleasing thought! to live in after-times) Into so many shapes, and shine in all ?

With such a trifler's name her pages blot;
Who could so nobly grace the motley list,

Known by the character, the thing forgot ;
Actor, inspector, doctor, botanist ?
Knows any one so well-sure no one knows,

+ This severe character was intended for Mr. Fitz, At once to play, prescribe, compound, compose? patrick, a person who had rendered himself remarkable

by his activity in the playhouse riots of 1763, relative to

the taking half prices. He was the hero of Garrick's * John Coan, a dwarf, who died in 1764. C. Fribbleriad. E.

Let il, to disappoint each future aim,

The morning came, nor find I that the Sun, Live without sex, and die without a name!

As he on other great events hath done, Cold-blooded critics, by enervate sires

Put on a brighter robe than what he wore Scarce hammer'd out, when Nature's feeble fires To go his journey in the way before. Glimmer'd their last; whose sluggish blood, half Full in the centre of a spacious plain, froze,

On plan entirely new, where nothing vain, Creeps lab'ring through the veins; whose heart Nothing magnificent appear'd, but Art ne'er glows

With decent modesty perform'd her part, With fancy-kindled heat;-a servile race, Rose a tribunal : from no other court Who in mere want of fault, all merit place; It borrow'd ornament, or sought support: Who blind obedience pay to ancient schools, No juries here were pack'd to kill or clear, Bigots to Greece, and slaves to musty rules; No bribes were taken, nor oaths broken here ; With solemn consequence declar'd that none No gownmen, partial to a client's cause, Could judge that cause but Sophocles alone. To their own purpose tun'd the pliant laws, Dupes to their fancied excellence, the crowd, Each judge was true and steady to his trust, Obsequious to the sacred dictate, bow'd.

As Mansfield wise, and as old Foster* just. When, from amidst the throng, a youth stood forth, In the first seat, in robe of various dyes, Unknown his person, not unknown his worth: A noble wildness flashing from his eyes, His look bespoke applause; alone be stood, Sat Shakspeare.-In one hand a wand be bore, Alone he stemm'd the mighty critic flood.

For mighty wonders fam'd in days of yore; He talk'd of ancients, as the man became

The other held a globe, which to his will Who priz'd our own, but envied not their fame; Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill: With noble rev'rence spoke of Greece and Rome, Things of the noblest kind his genius drew, And scorn'd to tear the laurel from the tomb. And look'd through Nature at a single view:

“But more than just to other countries grown, A loose he gave to his unbounded soul, Must we turn base a postates to our own?

And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll ; Where do these words of Greece and Rome excel, Calld into being scenes unknown before, That England may not please the ear as well? | And, passing Nature's bounds, was something more. What mighty magic's in the place or air,

Next Jonson sat, in ancient learning train'd, That all perfection needs must centre there? His rigid judgment Fancy's fights restrain'd, In states, let strangers blindly be preferr'd; Correctly prun'd each wild luxuriant thought, In state of letters, merit should be heard.

Mark'd out her course, nor spar'd a glorious fault Genius is of no country, her pure ray

The book of man he read with nicest art,
Spreads all abroad, as gen'ral as the day;

And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart;
Foe to restraint, from place to place she flies, Exerted penetration's utmost force,
And may hereafter e'en in Holland rise.

And trac'd each passion to its proper source ;
May not (to give a pleasing fancy scope,

Then strongly mark'd, in liveliest colors drew, And cheer a patriot heart with patriot hope) And brought each foible forth to public view. May not some great extensive genius raise

The coxcomb felt a lash in ev'ry word, The name of Britain 'bove Athenian praise ; And fools, hung out, their brother fools deterr'd. And, whilst brave thirst of fame his bosom warms, His coinic humor kept the world in awe, Make England great in letters as in arms?

And Laughter frighten'd Folly more than Law. There may—there hath-and Shakspeare's Muse Bui, hark !—The trumpet sounds, the crowd gives aspires

way, Beyond the reach of Greece : with native fires And the procession comes in just array. Mounting aloft, he wings his daring flight, | Now should I, in some sweet poetic line, Whilst Sophocles below stands trembling at his Offer up incense at Apollo's shrine; height.

Invoke the Muse to quit her calm abode, “Why should we then abroad for judges roam, And waken mem'ry with a sleeping ode. When abler judges we may find at home?

For how should mortal man, in mortal verse, Happy in tragic and in comic pow'rs,

Their titles, merits, or their names rehearse ? Have we not Shakspeare ?-Is not Jonson ours ? But give, kind Dullness, memory and rhyme, For them, your nat'ral judges, Britons, vote; We'll put off Genius till another time. They 'll judge like Britons, who like Britons wrote.” First, Order came with solemn step, and slow,

He said, and conquer'd-Sense resum'd her sway, In measur'd time his feet were taught to go. And disappointed pedants stalk'd away.

Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye, Shakspeare and Jonson, with deserv'd applause, Lest this should quit his place, that step awry. Joint-judges were ordain'd to try the cause. Appearances to save his only care; Meantime the stranger ev'ry voice employ'd, So things seem right, no matter what they are. To ask or tell his name-Who is it?Lloyd. In him his parents saw themselves renew'd,

Thus, when the aged friends of Job stood mute, Begotten by sir Critic on saint Prude. And, tamely prudent, gave up the dispute,

Then came drum, trumpet, hautboy, fiddle, fute: Elihu, with the decent warmth of youth,

Next snuffer, sweeper, shifter, soldier, mule : Boldly stood forth the advocate of Truth;

Legions of angels all in white advance ; Confuted Falsehood, and disabled Pride,

Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance ; Whilst baffled Age stood snarling at his side. Pantomime figures then are brought to view, The day of trial's fix'd, nor any fear

n hand with fools go two by two. Lest day of trial should be put off here. Causes but seldom for delay can call

* Sir Michael Foster, one of the judges of the King's In courts where forms are few, fees none at all. Bench.

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