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The changing year's successive plan
friend At least
rescue froin your heir.
you nobly share
On seeing a BUST of Mrs. MONTAGUE. HAD
AD this fair figure which this franie displays,
Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days,
The following TRANSLATIONS, PARODIES, and BURS, LESQUE VERSES, most of them extempore, are taken from ANECDOTES of Dr. JOHNSON, lately published by Mrse Piozzi.
ANACREON, ODE IX.
Whence and whither dost thou Ay?
Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Under leaves to hide one's head,
LINES written in ridicule of certain Poems
published in 1777 W
HERESO E'ER I turn my view,
All is strange, yet nothing new;
PARODY of a TRANSLATION from the
MEDEA of EURIPIDES.
E Rr shall they not, who refolute explore
Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes; And scanning right the practices of yore,
Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. They to the dome where smoke with curling play
Announc'd the dinner to the regions round, Suinmon’d the singer blythe, and harper gay,
And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound. The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,
By quiv'ring string or modulated wind; Trumpet or lyre-to their harsh bosoms chill,
Admission ne'er had fought, or could not find. Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun,
Her baleful eyes where sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd mischief loves to dwell, And murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the
wound. When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,
And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish,
Can yield no room to musick's soothing pow'r,
BURLESQUE of the modern Versifica
tions of ancient Legendary Tales, An IMPROMPTU.
Fell down upon the stone;
But still the child squeal'd on.
TRANSLATION of the Two First Stanzas
of the Song “ Rio verde, Rioverde," printed in Bishop Percy's Reliques of ancient English Poetry. An IMPROMPTU.
• G LASSY water, glasly water,
Down whose current clear and strong, Chiefs confus'd in mutual Naughter,
Moor and Christian roll along.
IMITATION of the Style of **** H.
ERMIT hoar, in solemn cell
Wearing out life's evening grey; Strike thy bosom sage, and tell
What is bliss, and which the way. Thus I spoke, and speaking figh’d,
Scarce repress’d the starting tear, When the hoary sage reply'd,
Come, my lad, and drink some beer.