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Insensible and free:

Soon as he ey'd the rebel maid; Love's balmy blessing would you try,

“Now know my pow'r !" enrag'd, he said; No longer sport a Butterfly,

Then levell'd at her heart:
But imitate the Bee.

Full to the head the shaft he drew;
But harmless to her breast it flew,

For, lo!-'twas Dian's dart.

Exalting, then the fair-one cry'd,

“ Fond urchin, lay your bow aside ; SPEARE.

Your quiver be unbound: Wulle here to Shakespeare' Garrick pays Would you Aurelia's heart subdue, His tributary thanks and praise;.

Thy play-thing arrows ne'er will do;
Invokes the antmated stone,

Bid Damon give the wound.”
To make the poet's mind his own;
That he each character may trace
With humour, dignity, and grace;

DEATH AND THE DOCTOR. And inark, unerring mark, to men,

'Twixt Death and Schomberg, t'other day, The rich creation of his pen;

A contestdid arise ; Preferr’d the pray'r—the marble god

Death swore his prize he'd bear away ;
Methinks I see, assenting, nod,

The Doctor, Death defies.
And, pointing to his laurell'd brow,
Cry—“ Half this wreath to you lowe:

Enrag'd to hear his pow'r defy'd,
Lost to the stage, and lost to fame;

Death drew his keenest dart;
Murder'd my scenes, scarce known my name; But wond'ring saw it glance aside,
S:ink in oblivion and disgrace

And miss the vital part.
Among the common, scribbling race,
Unnotic'd long thy Shakespeare lay,
To dulness and to time a prey :
But now I rise, I breathe, I live
In you—my representative!

Again the hero's breast. I fire,
Again the tender sigh inspire;

SPOKEN BY MR. POWELL, AT THE OPENING OF TH? Each side, again, with laughter shake,

THEATRE ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN, ON MON And teach the villain-heart to quake ;

DAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1767. All this, my son ! again I do1!-No, my son !- Tis I, and you."

As when the merchant, to increase his store, While thus the grateful statue speaks,

For dubious seas, advent'rous quits the shore; A blush o'erspreads the suppliant's checks—

Still anxious for his freight, he trembling sees “ What !--Half this wreath, wit's mighty Rocks in each buoy, and tempests in each breeze; chief?

The curling wave to mountain billows swells, grant,” he cries, “ one single leaf;

And ev'ry cloud a fancied storm foretells : *That far o'erpays his humble merit,

Thus rashly lanch'd on this theatric main, Who's but the organ of thy spirit.”

Our all on board, each phantom gives us pain; Phæbus the gen'rous contest heard

The catcall's note seems thunder in our ears, When thus the god address'd the bard :

And ev'ry hiss a hurricane appears; " Here, take this laurel from my brow,

.In journal-squibs we lightning's blast espy, On bim your mortal wreath bestow ;

And meteors blaze in every critic's eye. Fach matchless, each the palm shall bear, Spite of these terrours,still some hopes we view, lo Heav'n the bard, on Earth the play'r."

Hopes ne'er can fail us—since they're plac'd

-in you, Your breath the gale, our voyage is secure,

And safe the venture which your smiles insure; CUPID BAFFLED.

Though weak his skill, th' advent'rer must sucDisna, hunting on a day,

ceed, Beheld where Cupid sleeping lay,

Where candour takes th' endeavour for the deed. His quiver by his head:

For Brentford's state two kings could once sufOne of bis darts she stole away, . And one of her's did close convey

In our's, behold! four kings of Brentford rise; Into the other's stead.

All smelling to one nosegay's od'rous savour, Wben next the archer through the grove,

The balmy nosegay of—ihe public favour.

Frum bence alone our royal funds we draw,
In search of prey, did wanton rove,
Aurelia fair he 'spy'd ;

Your pleasure our support, your will our law. Aurelia, who to Damon's pray'r

While such our government, we hope you'll own Disdain'd to lend a tender ear,

But should we ever tyrants prove-dethrone us. And Cupid's pow'r defy'd.

Like brother monarchs, who to coax the nation, The statue of Shakespeare, in the temple de Began their reign with some fair pruclamation, dicated to the bard by Mr. Garrick, in his de.

We too should talk at least-of reformation ; Jichtful garden at Hampton, was the work of Declare, that during our imperial sway, that able and ingenious master, Roubiliac.

No bard shall mourn his long-neglected play;





But then the play must have some wit, some For a Jew many people the master mistook, spirit,

Whose Levites were scullions, his bigh-priest a And we allow'd sole umpires of its merit.

For those deep sages of the judging pit, And thought he design'd onr religion to alter, Whose taste is too refin'd for modern wit, When they saw the burnt-offering smoke at the From Rome's great theatre we'll cull the piece,

altar. And plant, ou Britain's stage, the pow'ls of

The bell's solemn sound, that was heard far and Greece.

near, If some there are our British bards can

And oft rous'd the chaplain unwilling to pray'r, please,

No more to good serinous now summons the sinWho taste the ancient wit of ancient days,

ner, Be our's to save, from time's devouring wound,

But blasphemous rings in the country to dinner. Their works, and snatch their laurels from the tomb.

When my good lord the bishop had heard tho For you, ye fair, who sprightlier scenes may

strange story,

(G—'s glory; chuse,

How the place was profan'd, that was built to Where music decks in all her airs the Muse, Full of zeal he cried out, “Oh, how impious the Gay opera shall in all its charms dispense,

deed, Yet boast po tuneful triumph over sense;

To cram Christians with pudding, instead of the The pobler bard shall still assert his right,

creed!” Nor Handel rub a Shakespeare of his night. Then away to the Grove bied the church's proTo greet their mortal brethren of our skies,

tector, Here all the gods of pantomime shall rise : Resolving to give his lay-brother a lecture; Yet 'midst the pomp and magic of machines,

But he scarce had begun, when he saw, plac'd Some plot may mark the meaning of our scenes ;

before 'em, Scenes which were beld, in good king Rich's A baunch piping hot from the Sanctum Sancion

days, By sages, no bad epilogues to plays. If terms like these your suffrage can engage,

“Troth!” quoth he, “I find no great sin in the To fix our mimic empire of the stage;


[man : Confirm our title in your fair opinions,

What was useless to God to make useful to and croud each night to people our dominions.

Besides, 'tis a true christian duty, we read,
The poor and the hungry with good things to


Then again on the walls he bestowed consecration,

But reserv'd'the full rights of a free visitation: ON CONVERTING THE CHAPEL TO A KITCHEN, AT

Thus, 'tis still the Lord's house --only varied the THE LORD DONNERAYLE, CALLED


Now there's meat without grace-where was THE GROVE, IN HERTFORDSHIRE.

grace without meat.
By Ovid, among other wonders, we're told
What chanc'd to Philemon and Baucis of old;
How their cot to a temple was conjur'd by Jove,

So'a chapel was chang'd to a kitchen at Grove.

Op CUMBERLAND'S VICTORY AT The lord of the mansion most rightly conceiting,

CULLODEN, IN THE YEAR 17 16. His guests lov'd good prayers much less than good eating;

(ye, As his worm-eaten volumes old Time tumbled And possess'd by the devil, as some folks will tell


[yore, What was meant for the soul, he assign'd to the To review the great actions that happen'd of belly.

When the names of young Ammon and Cæsar The word was scarce giv'n—when down dropp'd

he saw, the clock,

He to one oppos'd Churchill-to th'other Nassau; And straight was seen fix'd in the form of a jack;

Then said, with a sigh, “What! has Britain no And, shameful to tell ! pulpit, benches, and pews,


end?" Form'd cupboards and shelves for plates, sauce

“ With these must her long race of heroes have pans, aud stews.

When straight a loud blast on her trumpet Fame blew,

[scarce knew; Pray'r-books turp'd into platters; nor think it a Which so long had been silent, the sound he fable,

But soon in his sight the swift goddess appeard, A dresser sprung out of the communion table; And, half out of breath, cry'd—“ News, news! Which, instead of the usual repast, bread and

have you heard? wine,

I yet hare one hero to add to your store, "Is stor'd with rich soups, and good English sirloin. Brave William has conquer'd-Rebellion's vo No fire, but what pure devotion could raise, 'Till now, had been known in this temple to blaze: Well pleas'd, in his annals Time set down the But, good lord ! how the neighbours around did Made the record authentic -and gave it to Fame.

'admire, When a chimney rose up in i he room of a spire !









The muse unfetter'd trod the Grecian stage;

Pree were her pinions, unrestrain'd her rage: INCRIBED ON A MONUMENT

THE TOMB Bold and secure she aim'd the pointed dart, OF CARE, IN THE GARDEN OF THE LATE JOHN

And pour'd the precept poignant to the heart, RICH, ESQ. AT COWLEY, IN MIDDLESEX; WHERE- Till dire dominion stretch'd her lawless sway, ON THREE BEAUTIFUL BOYS ARE

And Athens' sons were destin'd to obey : TUXERAL URN WITH A VEIL OF PLOVERS, Then first the stage a licens'd bondage knew, Way, busy bogs, why thus entwine

And tyrants quash'd the scene they feard toview:

Fair Freedoin's voice no more was heard to The flowery vest around this shrine ? As if, for halegou days like these,

charm, The sight too solemo were to pleasc;

Or Liberty the Attic audience warm. Mistaken bogs, what sight's so fair

Then fied the muse, indignant from the shore, To mortals, as the poinb of Care?

Nor deign'd to dwell where Freedom was no more: Here let the gloomy tyrant lie;

Vain then, alas ! she sought Britannia's isle, His urn an altar sbalt supply,

Charm'd with her voice, and cheer'd us with a Sacred to Fase, and social Mirth;

smile. For Care's decease-is Pleasure's birth.

If Gallic laws her gelyrous flight restrain,
And bind her enptive with th'ignoble chain;
Bold and unlicens'd, in Eliza's days,

Free flow'd her numbers, flourish'd fair her bays;

O’er Britain's stage majestic, uncontin'd,

She tun'd her patriot lessons to mankind ; (IN LETTERS OF BRASS, INSERTED BY A FEMALE

For mighty heroes ransack'd ev'ry age, FIGURE REPRESENTING HISTORY) ON A MARBLE

Then beam'd them glorious in her Shakespeare's PYRAMID OF THE MONUMENT OF JOHN, DUKE

page. OF ARCYLE.

Shakespeare's no more !-lost was the poet's panie,

[fame; Britos, behold, if patriot worth be dear, Till thon, my friend, my genius, sprung ta A shrine that claims thy tributary tear !

Lurd by his laurel's never-fading bloom, Silent that tongue admiring senates heard, You boldly snatch'd the trophy from his tomb, Nerveless that arm opposing legions fear'a ! Taught the decliving muse again to soar, Nor less, O Campbell! thine the pow'rto please, and to Britannia gire one port more. And give to grandeur all the grace of ease.

Pleas'd in thy lays we see Gustavus live; Long, from thy life, let kindred beroes trace But, O Gustavus ! if thou can'st, forgive Arts which ennoble still the noblest race.- Britons, more savage than the tyrant Dane, Others may owe their future fame to me; Beneath whose yoke you drew the galling chain, I borrow immortality from thee.

Degen’rate Briton's, by thy worth dismay'd, Westminster Abbey. P, WHITEHEAD. Prophane thy glories, and proscribe thy shade.




praise, ED.

And Chloe shines lovely in Prior's sweet lays; O’er the tombs as pale Envy was hov'ring So, wou'd Daphne but smile, their example la around,


(Apollo : The manes of each hallow'd hero to wound;

And, as she looks like Venus, I'd sing like On Argyle's, when she saw only truth was related

But, alas! while no smiles from the fair-one Of him, whom alive she most mortally bated,

inspire, And finding the record adopted by Fame,

How languid my strains, and how tuneless my In revenge to the poet-she gnaw'd out bis


Go, Zephyrs, salute in soft accents her ear,
And tell how I lapyvish, sigh, pine, and despair;

In gentlest murmurs my passion commend ;

But whisper it softly, for fear you offend, [pain ;

For sure, 0 ye winds, ye may tell her my

l'is Strephon's to suffer, but not to complain. TO KR. BROOKE, ON THE PEFUSAL OF A LICENCE TO HIS PLAY OF GUSTAVUS VASA.

Wherever I go, or whatever I do, [view : First published in the Gentleman's Magazine, Still something presents the fair nymph to my 1739.

If I traverse the garden, the garden still shows While Athens glory'd in her free-bora race,

Me her neck iu the lily, her lip in the rose: And science flourish'd round her fav'rite place,

But with her neither lily nor rose can compare;

Far sweeter's ber lip, and her bosom more fair. *These verses appeared first in captain Thom

grove, son's Life of Whitehead, and perhaps were his If, to vent my fond anguish, I steal to the own. The Epitaph was written at the request of The spring there presents the fresh bloom of my the duchess, c.


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The nightingale too, with impertinent noise,
Pours fortb her sweet strains in my syren's sweet


Thus the grove and its music her image still
For, like spring she looks fair, like the night-

ingale sings.

To Schomberg quoth Death, “ I your patient If, forsaking the groves, I fly to the court,

will have :"

(save." Wbere beauty and splendour united resort, To Death replied Schomberg, “ My patient I'll Some glimpse of my fair in each charmer I spy, Then Death seiz'd his arrow, the doctor his pen, In Richmond's fair form, or in Brudepel's bright And each wound the one gave, t'other heal'd it eye;


(ance, But, alas! what wou'd Brudenel or Richinond'Till Death swore he never had met such defiUnbeeded they'd pass, were my Daphne but since he and the college had been in alliance.

there. If to books I retire, to drown my fond pain, And lwell over Horace, or Ovid's sweet strain;

In Lydia, or Chloe, my Daphne I find;
But Chloe was courteous, and Lydia was kind : BY MR. GARRICK, ON PAUL WHITEHEAD, ESQ.
Like Lydia, or Chloe, wou'd Daphne bat prove, HERE lies a man misfortune could not bend,
Like Horace, or Ovid, I'd sing and I'd love.

Prais'd as a poet, honour'd as a friend :
Though his youth kindled with the love of fame,
Within bis bosom glow'd a brighter flame :
Whene'er his friends with sharp afflictions bled,
And from the wounded deer the herd was fed,
WHITEHEAD stood forth, the healing balm applied,
Nor quitted their distresses-till he died.

D. G.

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