Their master's manners still contract,
And footmen lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court, both great and small,
Behave alike, for all ape
all.
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH, STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,
Rather in pity than in hate,
That he should be, like Cupid, blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate.
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH OF GENERAL WOLFE.
AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.
O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing, we pay, and think e'en conquest dear;
Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight,
Myra, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Yet why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Myra follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.
TO IRIS, IN BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.
SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual offering shall I make
Expressive of my duty?
My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,
Say, would the angry fair one prize
The gift, who slights the giver?
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give-and let 'em ;
If gems, or gold, impart a joy,
I'll give them—when I get 'em.
I'll give—but not the full-blown rose,
Or rose-bud more in fashion :
Such short-lived off'rings but disclose
A transitory passion.
I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not less sincere than civil,-
I'll give thee—ah! too charming maid !—
I'll give thee to the Devil.
ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE.
GOOD people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word-
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wond'rous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways—
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumber'd in her pew-
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her-
When she has walk'd before.
But now, her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead-
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say,
That had she lived a twelvemonth more-
She had not died to-day.
DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER.
WHERE the Red Lion, staring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay ;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ;
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly shew'd the state in which he lay ;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread;
The royal Game of Goose was there in view,
And the Twelve Rules the royal martyr drew;
The Seasons, framed with listing, found a place,
And brave Prince William shew'd his lamp-black face.
The morn was cold; he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:
With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored,
And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney board`;
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night-a stocking all the day!
O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain :
Thou, like the world, the oppress'd oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;
And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.
THE wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Still, still on Hope relies;
And every pang that rends the heart
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
|