When, to involve me with confummate grief,
Beyond expreffion, and above belief,

Madam,' the monfter cry'd,

that you may find

I can be grateful to the fair that's kind,

Step to the door, I'll fhew you fuch a fight

• Shall overwhelm your fpirits with delight.

• Does not that wretch, who would dethrone his king,
Become the gibbet, and adorn the ftring?

You need not now an injur'd husband dread;
Living he might, he'll not upbraid you dead;
'Twas for your fake I feiz'd upon his life;
He would, perhaps, have fcorn'd so chaste a wife.
And, Madam, you'll excuse the zeal I fhew
To keep that secret none alive should know.'

• Curs'd of all creatures! for, compar'd with thee, The devils,' faid I, ' are dull in cruelty.

• Oh! may that tongue eternal vipers breed,

• And, wasteless, their eternal hunger feed;
In fires too hot for falamanders dwell,
The burning earnest of a hotter hell!
• May that vile lump of execrable luft
Corrupt alive, and rot into the duft!

• May'st thou, despairing at the point of death,
With oaths and blafphemies refign thy breath;
And the worst torments that the damn'd should share,
In thine own person, all united, bear!'

Oh, Celia! oh, my friend! what age can fhew
Sorrows like mine, fo exquifite a woe?
Indeed it does not infinite appear,
Because it can't be everlafting here:
But it's fo vaft, that it can ne'er increase;
And fo confirm'd, it never can be less.

WILLIAM

Awake!' fhe cried, thy true-love calls,

• Come from her midnight grave;

Now let thy pity hear the maid

This is the dumb and dreary hour

When injur'd ghosts complain;

• When yawning graves give up their dead, To haunt the faithlefs fwain.

• Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,

Why did you promife love to me,

And not that promise keep?

Why did you fwear my eyes were bright, • Yet leave thofe eyes to weep?

That face, alas! no more is fair,
Thofe lips no longer red;

• Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
And ev'ry charm is fled.

The hungry worm my fifter is;

This winding-sheet I wear;

• And cold and weary lasts our night,

. Till the laft morn appear.

. But,

But, hark! the cock has warn'd me hence;
A long and late adieu!

Come fee, falfe man! how low fhe lies
Who dy'd for love of you.'

The lark fung loud, the morning fmil'd
With beams of rofy red;
Pale William quak'd in ev'ry limb,
And raving left his bed.

He hied him to the fatal place
Where Marg❜ret's body lay,

And stretch'd him on the green-grafs turf
That wrapp'd her breathless clay.

And thrice he call'd on Margʼret's name,
And thrice he wept full fore;

Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word fpoke never more!

THE NEW-YEAR'S OFFERING.

MADAM,

TO MYRTILLIS.

BY DR. JOHNSON.

ONG have I look'd my tablets o'er,

And find I've much to thank you for,
Out-standing debts beyond account;
And new-who knows to what amount!
Tho' fmall my wealth, not fmall my foul:
Come then, at once I'll pay the whole.

Ye

Ye pow'rs! I'm rich, and will command
The hoft of flaves that round me ftand:
Come, Indian, quick difclose thy ftore,
And hither bring Peruvian ore'; s
Let yonder negro pierce the main,.
The choiceft, largest pearl to gain;
Let all my flaves their arts combine,
To make the blushing ruby mine;
From eaftern thrones the di'monds bear,
To fparkle at her breaft and ear.
Swift, Scythian, point th' unerring dart
That ftrikes the ermine's little heart,
And fearch for choiceft furrs the globe,
To make my Myrtillis a robe.'
Ah, no! Yon Indian will not go:
No Scythian deigns to bend his bow;
No fullen
negro fhoots the flood.

How, flaves!Or am I understood??
All, all, my empty power difown;
I turn, and find myself alone:

'Tis Fancy's vain illufion all!

Nor Moor nor Scythian waits my call.
Can I command, can I confign?

Alas! what earthly thing is mine!

Come, then, my Mufe, companion dear

Of poverty, and foul fincere,

Come, dictate to my grateful mind

A gift that may acceptance find:

Come, gentle Mufe, and with thee bear
An off'ring worthy thee and her;
And, tho' thy prefents be but poor,
My Myrtillis will ask no more.
An heart that scorns a fhameful thing,
With love and verse, is all I bring;
Of love and verse the gift receive,
'Tis all thy fervant has to give.
N n

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