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TO WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A

SPRIG OF MYRTLE *.

WHAT hopes, what terrors, does this gift create?
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate.
The myrtle (ensign of supreme command,
Confign'd to Venus by Melisla's hand)
Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft favours, oft rejects, a lover's pray’r.
In myrtle shades oft fings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing gliosts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers heads,
Th' unhappy lovers graves the myrtle spreads.
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart.
Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb,

* 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
Somie zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre ;
For, such thy beauteous mind and lovely face,
Thou seem'ft at once, bright nymph, à Muse and

Grace.

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To LYCE, an elderly Lady.
YE nymphs whom starry rays invest,

By flatt'ring poets given,
Who shine, by lavish lovers drest,

In all the pomp of Heaven;
Engrofs not all the beams on high,

Which gild a lover's lays,
But, as your fifter of the sky,

et Lyce Thare the praise.

* This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, Esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, Elg. of that town. She became the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the latt Baronet of that name (to whoin flie 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, "82.

L 3

Her filver locks display the moon,

Her brows a cloudy.show,
Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen,

And show'rs from either flow.

Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,

She 's starr'd with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,

And can with thunder roar.

But some Zelinda, while I fing,

Denies my Lyce shines;
And all the pens of Cupid's wing

Attack my gentle lines.

Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,

And all her bards express, My Lyce makes as good a sky,

And I but flatter less.

ON THE DEATH OF
Mr. ROBERT LEVET,

A Practiser in Phyfic.
CONDEMN'D to Hope's delufive mine,

As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,

Our social comforts drop away.
Well try'd through many a varying year,

See Levet to the grave descend,
Officious, innocent, fincere,

Of ev'ry friendless name the friend.

Yet

Yet ftill 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 hov’ring death prepar'd the blow, His vig'rous remedy display'd

The pow'r of art without the show.

In misery's darkest cavern known,

His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan,

And lonely want retir'd to die.
No summons mock'd by chill delay,

No petty gain disdain'd by pride,
The modest wants of ev'ry day

The toil of ev'ry day fupply'd.

His virtues walk'd their narrow round,

Nor made a pause, nor left a void; And sure th’ Eternal Master found

The single talent well employ'd.

The busy day, the peaceful night,

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
His frame was firm- his powers were bright,

Though 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.

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EPITAPH on CLAUDE PHILLIPS,

AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN*.

PHILIPS ! whose touch harmonious could remove
The

pangs of guilty pow'r, and hapless love,
Rest here, distrest by poverty no more,
Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before ;
Sleep undisturbid within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

EPITAPHIUM

IN

THOMAM HANMER, BARONETTUM.

Honorabilis admodum THOMAS HANMER,

Baronettus, Wilhelmi Hanmer armigeri, è Peregrinâ Henrici

North De Mildenhall in Com. Suffolciæ Baronetti forore

et hærede,

Filius;

Johannis Hanmer de Hanmer Baronetti

* 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. Phil. lips was a travelling fidler up and down Wales, and was greatly celebrated for his performance. † At Hanmer church, in Flintshire.

Hæres

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