At fight of which, tho' no fierce brood
(Infringing Nature's laws,)

Of Tygers fawn and leave their food,
A Lion's roar applause ;

Yet, which from reasonable men

Shall admiration claim,

And which the pencil and the pen
Shall confecrate to fame.

THE FOLLOWING JEU D'ESPRIT IS THE PRODUC TION OF THE ELEGANT MRS. BOND HOPKINS, WHO SEEING A SMALL ROBIN FOLLOWING A GENTLEMAN IN THE SEVERE WEATHER OF THE SPRING, WROTE

THE

FOLLOWING

STANZAS

EXTEMPORE.

SWEET bird! who cheer'ft the heavy hours

Of Winter's dreary reign:

Oh! ftill exert thy tuneful powers,

And pour the vocal ftrain.

Whilft I with gratitude prepare
The food thy wants demand,
Go not to feek a scanty fare
From Nature's frozen hand.

Domeftic

Domeftic bird, near me remain,
Until the verdant Spring

Again fhall bid the woodland train

Their grateful tributes bring.

Sweet Robin then, thou may't explore,

And join the feather'd throng,

When ev'ry vocal bufh fhall pour

The energy of song.

May't thou enjoy the filver fcene,
Till all its charms are o'er,
And Winter's melancholy reign,

My penfioner restore!

ON CAPABILITY.

BROWN'S ALTERATIONS AT CLERMONT,

AH! murmur not, Art, at your Brown's innovation, You are still a fine lady, tho' with less affectation: And Nature, ah! pardon his hand while it dreffes, So fweetly, fo fimply, your features and treffes: Your foft fwelling bosom, not chastely concealing, Not faintly disclofing, not fully revealing;

Ah! pardon his hand, if it haply should venture, In fearch of coy beauty, quite down to the centre.

BON MOT,

OF THE LATE CHARLES TOWNSHEND..

IT is well known, that at one time Lord Barring ton was honoured with the favour of the diftinguished Countess of H-, The Noble Lord one day calling in upon the famous ftatefman, and wit, Charles Townfhend, found him furrounded with a number of huge folios. "What, exclaims Lord "B. do you read, Charles! I did not think that 66 a man of your wit and fancy could be fo ftudious.” "Good God! replies Mr. Townshend, do you think it strange that a man should read !-Do

リ

you never read ?—Do you not now and then, my "Lord, take a dip into Harrington's ocean ?".

TO A CERTAIN ATHEIST.

INDEED, Mr.

it feems very odd,

While your eyes view his works, to deny there's a.

God;

Or affert that our actions he does not regard,
Nor will punish our vice, nor our virtue reward.

What!

What! no vengeance to come! well, if this be but

true,

How happy 'twill be for the Devil and you.

ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE RIGHT HONOURABLÍ CHARLES TOWNSHEND.

BY BONNEL THORNTON, ESQ

A CATCH.

HEAVEN and Hell might strive to catch him,

But that the

alone did fnatch him.

No longer veer'd by every blaft,

The weather cock is Axţ at last.

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ABOVE CATCH,

RAKE not the afhes of the dead!

Hear this, thou monster-hide thy head,
Thou most unfeeling heart of hearts!
Thou foe to England's brightest parts,
In dull oblivion thou wilt rot,
Town/bend can never be forgot.

WHEN

WHEN THE LATE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON WAS AT ROME, (WHO IS AT PRESENT THE DOWAGER COUNTESS OF BRISTOL) SHE BEING MUCH DISTRESSED IN HER MIND, IS SAID TO HAVE AD~ DRESSED HERSELF TO THE THEN POPE, IN THE FOLLOWING LINES:

SINCE thine is the only power on earth we know,
Can wash the blackeft foul as white as fnow;
Dread, Sire, of mercies humbly deign to meet
The first of finners proftrate at thy feet.
Strange to relate, who once a married maid,
As (now a wife, and widow) claims thy aid;
Spare her confeffions, left it grieve thee fore,
To hear fuch fins, as priest ne'er heard before.
The eafieft way to lump them all at once,
And abfolution in a trice pronounce ;
Then fix the pennance, let it be for life,
To the true husband, fend the spotless wife..

EPIGRAM.