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Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
With science tread the wond'rous way,.
Thus taste the feast by nature spread,
STELLA IN MOURNING.
When lately Stella's form display'd The beauties of the gay brocade, The nymphs, who found their power decline, Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine. “ Fate! snatch away the bright disguise, “ And let the goddess trust her eyes.” VOL. I.
Thus blindly pray'd the Fretful Fair,
Th' adoring Youth and envious Fair,
Nor the soft sighs of vernal gales
Not all the gems on India's shore,
Yet nature's charms allure my eyes,
Written at the Request of a Gentleman to whom a
Lady had given a Sprig of Myrtle*.
What hopes, what terrors, does thy gift create ?
* These verses were first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as they are, Dr. Johnson assured me, they were composed in the short space of five minutes.
TO LADY FIREBRACE*,
AT BURY ASSIZES.
At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain,
TO LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY,
By flatt'ring poets given,
In all the pomp of Heaven;
Engross not all the beams on high,
Which gild a lover's lays,
Let Lyce share the praise.
Her brows a cloudy show,
And show'rs from either flow.
* This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacoa, Esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, Esq. of that town. She became the second wife of Şir Cordell Firebrace, the last Baronet of that name (to whom she brought a fortune of 25,000l.), July 26, 1737.' Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Esq. uncle to the present Duke of Argyle, and died July
Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,
She's starr'd with pimples o'er;
And can with thunder roar.
But some Zelinda, while I sing,
Denies my Lyce shines ;
Attack my gentle lines.
Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards express, My Lyce makes as good a sky,
And I but flatter less,
ON THE DEATH OF
MR. ROBERT LEVET,
A Practiser in Physic.
CONĐEM N'D to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day, By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.
Well try'd through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave descend,
Of ev'ry friendless name the friend.
Yet still he fills Affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind;
Le notis anni predun tow enntest. Hor. lib. 2. Ep. 2.5