EPIGRAM.

ON THE QUONDAM DUCHESS OF KN, SAID TO BE WRITTEN BY DR. D -S, ONE OF THE RESIDENTIARIES OF ST. PAUL'S.

Who is he?

A WIFE, who to her husband ne'er laid claim
A mother, who her children ne'er durft name;
Is this a wonder? more yet may be faid,
This wife-this mother-still remains a maid.

RONDE A U.

BY MR. LUDERS.

SHE's fo lively and so fair,

Where'er fhe comes all hearts submit,
Charm'd by her beauty and her wit:
Her spouse thinks he's her only care;

Her lover hears it with furprise,
"It is impoffible," he cries,

"She's fo lively and fo fair."

LINES ON SEEING THE COUNTESS TEMPLE *, AT
THE ROTUNDA IN DUBLIN.

ERE the fam'd Grecian artist + could
The peerless HELEN's charms display,
Ten nymphs, the boast of Afia, stood
Unveil'd before him in array.

As once, on Ida's mount 'tis said,
Where contest was for beauty's prize,
Three goddeffes their charms display'd,
Before the shepherd's ravifh'd eyes.

But were the bard to these confin'd,
He'd ne'er that firft of graces paint,
The ray of TEMPLE's angel mind,
To which all earthly tints are faint!

• Now Marchionefs of Buckingham.

↑ Zeuxis.

Paris.

SONNET.

SONNET.

TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE, THEN VICEROY OF

IRELAND.

BY T. WARWICK, L. L. B.

WHO hath not heard, by after-poets told,'
How thro' deferted rocks, and barren fand,
Torn from the dying master's tunelefs hand,
Down Thracian ftreams the lyre of Orpheus roll'd.

The mufe beheld nor mindless that of old
Her infant ftrains the rifing city plann❜d,
Exalted fair among the ftarry band,
The plastic fhell renew'd in heavenly mold.

Ierne's harp a like attention claims,
Which now her willing hand submits to thine,
O mufe-lov'd Howard, first of English names?
'Tis thine to raise her injured strings anew
Till, every lasting glory call'd in view,
Admiring ages hail the work divine.

SONNET.

WITHM Many faw the Laurel wreath
Butwin'd found Devon's breaß,

In funds which fiends alone could breathe,
She Calunny thus addrefs'es

From Devon's breaft (tho' fhe be fair

"As Venus ocean-born,)

That Laurel, filler! will we tear,

And plant therein a Thorn."

Cu this, much labour they beflow,
That Virtue mock'd their toil;

Ant kind forbade a Thorn to grow
In her med favor

Soon

Soon as it rais'd its budding head,
As foon to droop 'twas feen-
The Laurel more luxurious fpread,
And still blooms ever-green.

Whofe eyes could look e'en Tygers mild,
Whofe voice made Wolves obey.

The painter caught the poet's fire -
And Tygers, fporting mild,

With Wolves, in Kauffman's tints admire
Blithe Spenfer's fancied child.

But-when next on Una's face

Your pencil's power you try,
Let not each feature and each grace
Angelica supply:

But, by a Mirror's faithful aid,

With nice attention draw

From model of thyself, sweet maid!
A form without a flaw.

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