IMITATION OF HORACE.

ADDRESSED TO THE LATE LADY MILLAR.

BY THE SAME.

1.

WHY with fo many sprigs bestow'd

Nor fimple tale, or fimpler ode

Young S

will you ruin è

For, Millar, that at Bath he stays,

Since Henderfon no longer plays,
Muft furely be your doing.

11.

Why up the hill no more toils he,
Patient of duft, from Pullen's tree

To bid the fun good-morrow?

Or breathing rage against the flanks

Of Jackson's steeds, or thine, O Franks,

Calls in my whip to borrow?

III. No

III.

No more, the fultry day to cool,
The buoyant waters of Stump-pool

He cleaves with sportive vigour,
While on their idle rakes up-ftay'd
Each red-nos'd crone, and red-arm'd maid,
Stand giggling at his figure.

IV.

No more, at crazy Shandy-hall,
Black to the wrifts with ink and gal

In eafy chair I catch him ;.

Him, who fo late for wit renow❜d,
Hurled Puns and Epigrams around,

That not all Queen's could match him.

V.

Thus great Achilles once, we find,
The manners of the man refign'd,
Could with the ladies tattle;

And quite content to prove his might
To lovely Deidame at night,

Dream'd of no bloodier battle.

Temperat ora frenis?

Cur timet flavum Tiberim

Tangere? Cur olivum

Sanguine viperino

Cautiùs vitet, neque jam

Livida gustat armis

Brachia, fæpè disco,

Sæpè trans finem jaculo

Nobilis expedito?

Quid latet, ut marinæ

Filium dicunt Thetidos

Sub lacrymofa Troja.

Funera; ne virilis

Cultus in cædem, & Lycias

Proriperet catervas ?

LOVE ELEGY.

BY THE SAME.

Now funk in dumb defpondence on the thorn,
Where nightly perch'd she pours her folemn lay,
Sad Philomel beholds the gradual morn,
Bright and yet brighter, kindle into day.

Sweet child of forrow! with regret, like thine,
I too yon gold, that skirts the dapple, fee:
No joy the gleams, that now more ruddy shine,
Dear as the joy, that flies them, bring to me.

Yet then again, ye flumbers, o'er my eyes
Descending, foothe my troubled foul to reft;
And yet again, ye pleasing vifions, rise,
In all my Delia's gentler graces drest.

And tho' through every femblance ye can range,
Well might ye chufe my Delia's form to wear;
Secure, that to no lovelier
ye can change,

No mein more graceful, and no face more fair.

In vain I call: obedient to my will,

No vifions rise, no flumbers o'er me creep. And now in glory from yon eastern hill

The fun afcending bids me wake to weep.

Ah!