On Michael Angelo's famous Piece of the Cru-
cifixion, who stabbed a Person that he might
do it more naturally.
DR. YOUNG.
WHILST his Redeemer on the canvas dies,
Stabb'd at his feet his brother welt'ring lies;
The daring artist, cruelly serene,
Views the pale cheek, and the distorted mien;
He drains off life by drops; and, deaf to cries,
Examines ev'ry spirit as it flies;

He studies torment, dives in mortal woe,
To rouse up ev'ry pang repeats the blow;
Each rising agony, each dreadful grace,
Yet warm transplanting to his Saviour's face;

On the Death of a Lady's Cat. HARRISON.

AND is Miss Tabby from the world retir'd? And are her lives, all her nine lives, expir'd? What sounds so moving as her own can tell How Tabby died, how full of play she fell? Begin, ye tuneful nine, a mournful strife, And ev'ry muse shall celebrate a life.

A Receipt for Courtship. SWIFT.

Two or three dears, and two or three sweets; Two or three balls, and two or three treats; Two or three serenades, giv'n as a lure; Two or three oaths how much they endure; Two or three messages sent in one day; Two or three times led out from the play; Two or three soft speeches made by the way; Two or three tickets for two or three times; Two or three love-letters writ all in rhymes; Two or three months keeping strict to these rules

Can never fail making a couple of fools.

By Sir SAM. GARTH.

CAN you count the silver lights That deck the skies, and cheer the nights; Or the leaves that strew the vales, When groves are stript by winter gales; Or the drops that in the morn Hang with transparent pearl the thorn; Or bridegroom's joys, or miser's cares, Or gamester's oaths, or hermit's prayers; Or envy's pangs, or love's alarms, Or Marlbro's acts, or Molly's charms?

By AARON HILL.

Like a poor highway brook, pretence runs loud: Bustling, but shallow, dirty, weak, and proud. While, like some nobler stream, true knowledge glides,

Silently strong, and its deep bottom hides.

The Royal Knotter. Sir CH. SEDLEY.
Ан, happy people! ye must thrive,
While thus the royal pair does strive

Both to advance your glory!
While he by's valor conquers France,
She manufactures does advance,

And makes thread-fringes for ye.

Blest we! who from such queens are freed
Who, by vain superstition led,

Åre always telling beads:
But here's a queen now, thanks to God?
Who, when she rides in coach abroad,
Is always knotting threads.

Then haste, victorious Nassau, haste;
And when the summer show is past,

Let all thy trumpets sound:
The fringe which this campaign has wrought,
Though 't cost the nation scarce a groat,
Thy conquests will surround.

I MARCH'D three miles thro' scorching sand, With zeal in heart, and notes in hand; I rode four more to Great St. Mary, Using four legs when two were weary. To three fair virgins I did tie men, In the close bands of pleasing Hymen; I dipp'd two babes in holy water, And purified their mothers after. Within an hour and eke an half, I preach'd three congregations deaf; While thund'ring out with lungs long-winded, I chopp'd so fast that few there minded. My emblem, the laborious sun, Saw all these mighty labors done Before one race of his was run! All this perform'd by Robert Hewit: What mortal else could e'er go through it?

WHAT God, what genius did the pencil

Epigram by DR. DODDRIDGE, on his Motto,

Dum vivimus, vivamus.

LIVE while you live, the epicure will say, And take the pleasure of the present day. Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies. Lord, in my view let both united be! I live in pleasure when I live to Thee.

And strong as Hercules.

her Death.

THUS Philomela sung, on earth detain'd, While cumb'rous clay the rising soul restrain'd; Now the freed spirit, with th' angelic choir, In fields of light attunes th' immortal lyre, And hymns her God in strains more soft, more

strong

There only could she learn a loftier song.

Come, gentle air, the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies:
Lo! the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play.
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound;
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove,
Alike both lovers fall by those they love:
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wound she
gives:

She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.

On an Epigram.

ONE day, in Chelsea meadows walking,
Of poetry and such things talking,

Says Ralph, a inerry wag:
An epigram, if smart and good,
In all its circumstances should
Be like a jelly-bag.

Your simile, I own, is new;

But how wilt make it out? says Hugh.
Quoth Ralph, I'll tell thee, friend;

Make it at top both wide, and fit
To hold a budget-full of wit,

And point it at the end.

By Mrs. PILKINGTON.

STELLA and Flavia ev'ry hour
Unnumber'd hearts surprise;

In Stella's soul lies all her power,
And Flavia's in her eyes.

More boundless Flavia's conquests are,
And Stella's more confin'd;
All can discern a face that's fair,

But few a lovely mind.
Stella, like Britain's monarch, reigns
O'er cultivated lands;
Like eastern tyrants Flavia deigns

To rule o'er barren sands.
Then boast, fair Flavia, boast your face,
Your beauty's only store:
Each day that makes thy charms decrease,
Will give to Stella more.

To Mr. Pope on his Dunciad. THE raven, rook, and pert jackdaw,

Though neither birds of moral kind, Yet serve, if hang'd, or stuff'd with straw, To show us which way blows the wind. Thus dirty knaves, or chattering fools,

Strung up by dozens in thy lay, Teach more by half than Dennis' rules, And point instruction ev'ry way. With Egypt's art thy pen may strive: One potent drop let this but shed, And every rogue that stunk alive Becomes a precious mummy dead.

TREASON does never prosper; what's the

reason?

Why, when it prospers, none dare call it treason.

On Plutarch's Statue. From the Greek. DRYDEN.

By W. CONGREVE.

SEE, see, she wakes, Sabina wakes,

And now the sun begins to rise;

Less glorious is the morn that breaks

WISE, honest Plutarch! to thy deathless praise

With light united, day they give,

But diff'rent fates ere night fulfil: How many by his warmth will live! How many will her coldness kill!

By JOSIAH RElph.

No, Varus hates a thing that's base; own, indeed, he's got a knack

I

Of flatt'ring people to their face,

But scorns to do't behind their back.

Under a Picture of Mr. Poyntz. Lyttelton. SUCH is thy form, O Poyntz! but who shall find

A hand or colors to express thy mind?
A mind unmov'd by ev'ry vulgar fear;
In a false world, that dares to be sincere:
Wise without art, without ambition great;
Though firm, yet pliant; active, though sedate;
With all the richest stores of learning fraught,
Yet better still by native prudence taught:
That, fond the griefs of the distress'd to heal,
Can pity frailties it could never feel;
That, when misfortune sued, ne'er sought to
What sect, what party, whether friend or foe:
That, fix'd on equal virtue's temp'rate laws,
Despises calumny, and shuns applause :
That to his own perfections singly blind,
Would for another think this praise design'd.

know

have shar'd;

On the Statue of Niobe. From the Greek. To stone the gods have changed her, but in vain:

The sculptor's art has made her breathe again.

Το α young Gentleman.

NATURE has done her part: do thou but Learning and sense let decency refine. [thine; For vain applause transgress not virtue's rules; A witty sinner is the worst of fools.

Ulysses' Dog. POPE.

WHEN wise Ulysses, from his native coast Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost, To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown: Arriv'd at last, poor, old, disguised, alone, Changed as he was with age, and toils, and cares, Furrowed his rev'rend face, and white his hairs, In his own palace forced to ask his bread, Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed, Forgot of all his own domestic crew; The faithful dog alone his master knew! Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay, Like an old servant now cashier'd he lay; And, though e'en then expiring on the plain, Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man, And longing to behold his ancient lord again. Him when he saw-he rose, and crawl'd to meet,

'Twas all he could, and fawn'd, and kiss'd his feet,

Seiz'd with dumb joy: then falling by his side, Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died.

To King Charles I. on his Navy. WALLER.

SHOULD nature's self invade the world again, And o'er the centre spread the liquid main, Thy pow'r were safe, and her destructive hand Would but enlarge the bounds of thy command: Thy dreadful fleet would style the lord of all, And rise in triumph o'er the drowned ball.

On Mrs. Barbiere's first Appearance on the Stage.

No pleasure now from Nicolini's tongue, In vain he strives to move us with his song: On a fair Syren we have fix'd our choice, And wait with longing ears for Barbiere's voice: When, lo! the nymph by bashful awe betray'd, Her falt'ring tongue denies her looks its aid¿