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The changing year's successive plan
Proclaims mortality to man.
Rough winter's blasts to spring give way,
Spring yields to summer's sovereign ray;
Then summer sinks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again;
Her losses soon the moon supplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies
Where Priam and his sons are laid,
Is nought but ashes and a shade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
Will toss us in a morning more?
What with


friend At least


rescue froin your heir.
Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
Or virtue, shall restore to earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly Nain,
Diana calls to life in vain ;
Nor can the might of Theseus rend
The chains of hell that hold his friend,

you nobly share

Nov. 1784.

On seeing a BUST of Mrs. MONTAGUE. HAD

AD this fair figure which this franie displays,

Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days,
In every dome, in every

sacred place,
Her ftatue would have breath'd an added grace,
And on its basis would have been enroll’d,
“ This is Minerva, cast in Virtue's mould.”


Bb 3

The following TRANSLATIONS, PARODIES, and BURS, LESQUE VERSES, most of them extempore, are taken from ANECDOTES of Dr. JOHNSON, lately published by Mrse Piozzi.

OVELY courier of the sky,

Whence and whither dost thou Ay?
Scatt’ring, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way :
Is it business? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.

Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair ;
Grac'd with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, smiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,
On the bard her dove bestow'd :
Vested with a master's right,
Now Anacreon rules my fight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge, consign’d to me:
Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless talk without reward ;
Smiling at my master's gates,
Freedom my return awaits ;
But the liberal grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again.
Can a prudent dove decline
Blissful bondage such as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune's guest without a home;


Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly shelter’d, coarsely fed :
Now my better lot bestows
Sweet repast, and soft repose ;
Now the generous bowl I sip
As it leaves Anacreon's lip :
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers snatch his bread;
Then with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play ;
Or from wine as courage springs,
O'er his face extend my wings;
And when feast and frolick tire,
Drop asleep upon his lyre.
This is all, be quick and go,
More than all thou canst not know;
Let me now my pinions ply,
I have chatter'd like a pye.

LINES written in ridicule of certain Poems

published in 1777 W

HERESO E'ER I turn my view,

All is strange, yet nothing new;
Endless labour all along,
Endless labour to be wrong;
Phrase that time has Aung away,
Uncouth words in disarray,
Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet,
Ode, and elegy, and sonnet.



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.

He tender infant, meek and mild,

Fell down upon the stone;
The nurse took up the squealing child,

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.

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