IMSELF he flew, when he the foe would fly; you fay, you nothing owe; and fo I fay: HIM What madness this-for fear of death to die! Book v. Ep. 78. VARUS did lately me to fupper call; The furniture was large, the feast but small, The tables fpread with plate, not meat; they put Much to accoft the eye, nought for the gut: We came to feaft our bellies, not our eyes; Pray take away your gold; give us fome pies. Book i. Ep. 16. THOU, whom (if faith or honour recommends Book i. Ep. 16. He only owes, who fomething has to pay. YOU'RE fine, and ridicule my thread-bare gown; A The Mifluke. TAYLOR. An Epitaph to the Memory of Lucy Lyttelton. MADE to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes; Tho' meek, magnanimous; tho' witty, wife; Her fpeech was the melodious voice of Love; WHEN from her breast chafte Arria fnatch'd Soft as her heart, and as her reafon ftrong the fword, Her form each beauty of her mind exprefs d Her mind was virtue by the graces drefs'd. THOMSON. Epitaph on Mifs Stanley. HERE, Stanley! reft, efcap'd this mortalftrife, Above the joys, beyond the woes of life. Fierce pangs no more thy lively beauty ftain, And sternly try thee with a year of pain: No more fweet patience, feigning oft relief, Lights thy fick eye, to cheat a parent's grief: With tender art to fave her anxious groan, No more thy bofom preffes down its own: Now well-carn'd peace is thine, and blifs fincere : Ours be the lenient, not unpleafing tear! O! born to bloom, then fink beneath the ftorm, ro fhew us Virtue in her fairest form; To fhew us artless Reafon's moral reign; What boaftful Science arrogates in vain; * Mum is not tranflated at all. Th' obe Th' obedient paffions, knowing each their part, Calm light the head, and Harmony the heart! Yes, we must follow foon, will glad obey, When a few funs have roll'd their cares away; Tir'd with vain life, will clofe the willing eye; 'Tis the great birthright of mankind to die. Bleft be the bark that wafts us to the fhore Where death-divided friends fhall part no more! To join thee there, here with thy duft repote, Is all the hope thy haplefs mother knows. SINCE first you knew my am'rous fmart, Each day augments your proud difdain; 'Twas then enough to break my heart, And now, thank Heaven! to break my chain. Ceafe, thou fcorner, ceafe to fhun me! Now let love and hatred cease! Half that rigour had undone me,, All that rigour gives me peace. My heart ftill hovering round about you, I thought I could not live without you: Now we have liv'd three months afunder, How I liv'd with you is the wonder. SHE who in fecret yields her heart, Again may clain it from her lover; But the who plays the trifler's part, Can ne'er her fquander'd fame recover. Then grant the boon for which I pray ; Tis better lend than throw away. WE thought you without titles great, And wealthy with a fmall eftate; While by your humble self alone. You feem'd unrated and unknown. But now on fortune's fwelling tide High-borne in all the pomp of pride, Of grandeur vain, and foud of pelf, 'Tis plain, my lord, you knew yourself. TOM thought a wild profusion great, And therefore fpent his whole eftate : Will thinks the wealthy are ador'd, And gleans what mifers blush to hoard, Their paffion, merit, fate the fame, They thirit and starve alike for fame. Ever doom'd to feek and mifs, In merry mood They chatting ftood, Hard by the village-pound. On Shakspeare's Monument at Stratford upon Avon. A thilling took, GR SEWARD. REAT Homer's birth feven rival cities claim, More than all Egypt, Greece, or Afia taught. CAPR ten. And faid, I'll bett a penny I'll make this piece a guinea. Upon the ground, The fhilling foon was thrown i For there is one pound one. Says Quin, that thought Should in your head be found, For God's fake buy a pair of breeches, WHEN fcreech-owls fcreek, their note portends To foolish mortals death of friends: UPON But, juft like what he was, a forry clown, Milton, Epitaph Epitaph on a certain Mifer. HERE lies one who for medicines would not give S I fancy now he'd with again to live, On Captain Grenville. Lord LYTTELTON. E weeping mufes, graces, virtues, tell,' -On Mrs. Clive's resenting being put out of the Part of Portia, and faying the was furely as well qualified to wear Breeches as Mr. Garrick was to GARRICK. play Ranger. DEAR Kate, it is vanity both us betwitches, Since i muft the truth on 't reveal; On Mr. Quin. GARRICK. AYS Epicure Quin, Should the devil in hell May the right ufe of letters, as well as of men, For when I mount the ladder, and you wear the YOU fhould call at his house, or should send breeches, We fnew-what we ought to conceal, him a card, Can Garrick alone be fo cold? * Soon after the promotion of Lord Camden to the Seals, Mr. Wilmot, his Lordship's purse-bearer, called at Hampton; where learning that Mr. Garrick had not yet paid his congratulatory compliments, the converfation between the two gentlemen furnished Mr. Garrick with the subject of the Epigram; in which, with an admirable addrefs, our English Rofcius has turned an imputed neglect into a very elegant panegyric on that truly patriotic nobleman. 3 H 4 Garrick. Garrick. Shall I, a poor player, and still bard, poorer Shall folly with Camden make bold? What joy can I give him? dear Wilmot, declare : Promotion no honours can bring; To him the Great Seals are but labour and care: With joy to your country and king, To the Author of the Farmer's Letters, which were written in Ireland in the Year of the Rebellion, by Henry Brooke, Efq. 1745. GARRICK. THOU, whofe artlefs, free-born genius chaims, Whofe ruftic zeal each patriot bofom warms; : Death and the Doctor. O cafioned by a Physician's lampooning a Friend of the Author. GARRICK. A S Doctor mufing fat, Death faw, and came without delay; Enters the room, begins the chat, : With Doctor, why fo thoughtful, pray ?” The Doctor ftarted from his place, But foon they more familiar grew; And then he told his piteous cafe, How trade was low, and friends were few. "Away with fear," the phantom said, As foon as he had heard his tale: Take my advice, and mend your trade: "We both are loters if you fail. Go write, your wit in fatire show, "No matter, whether smart or true; Call names, the greatest foe "To dulnefs, folly, pride, and you. "Then copies fpread, there lies the trick, "Among your friends be fure you fend 'em ; For all who read will toon grow fick, And, when you 're call'd upon, attend 'cm. Upon feeing Mr. Taylor's Pictures of Bath, and Pal'd in for any class or station? Is it bound 'prentice to the trade, Tom Fool to Mr. Hofkins, bis Counsellor and Friend. GARRICK. ON your care must depend the fuccefs of my fuit, Confider, my friend, an attorney 's my foe, |