To virtuous love refign thy breast,
And be, by bleffing beauty-bleft.
Thus tafte the feaft by nature fpread,
Ere youth and all its joys are fled;
Come tafte with me the balm of life,
Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife.
I boast whate'er for man was meant,
In health, and Stella, and content;
And fcorn! Oh! let that fcorn be thine!
Mere things of clay, that dig the mine.
HEN lately Stella's form difplay'd
The beauties of the gay brocade,
The nymphs who found their power decline,
Proclaim'd her not fo fair as fine.
"Fate! fnatch away the bright disguise,
"And let the goddess truft her eyes."
Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair,
And fate malicious heard the pray'r;
But brighten'd by the fable drefs,
As virtue rifes in diftrefs,
Since Stella ftill extends her reign,
Ah! how shall envy footh her pain?
Th' adoring youth and envious fair,
Henceforth fhall form one common prayer;
And love and hate alike implore
The fkies-" That Stella mourn no more."
OT the foft fighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the cryftal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, tho' all unite,
Can touch my bofom with delight.
Not all the gems on India's fhore,
Not all Peru's unbounded store,
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets claim;
Nor knowledge which the learn'd approve,
To form one with my foul can move.
Yet nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor feek I nature's charris in vain;
In lovely Stella all combine,
And, lovely Stella! thou art mine.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN
TO WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A
SPRIG OF MYRTLE*,
WHAT hopes-what terrors does this gift create?
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate.
The myrtle (enfign of fupreme command,
Confign'd to Venus by Meliffa's hand)
Not lefs capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer.
In myrtle fhades oft fings the happy fwain,
In myrtle shades defpairing ghosts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers heads,
The unhappy lovers graves the myrtle fpreads,
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart.
Soon must this fprig, as you fhall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.
*Thefe verfes were firft printed in a Magazine for 1768, but were written between forty and fifty years ago. Elegant as they are, they were compofed in the fhort space of five minutes,
To Lady FIREBRACE*,
At BURY ASSIZES.
AT length muft Suffolk beauties fhine in vain,
So long renown'd in B-n's deathlefs ftrain? Thy charms at leaft, fair Firebrace, might infpire Some zealous bard to wake the fleeping lyre;
For fuch thy beauteous mind and lovely face,
Thou feem'ft at once, bright nymph, a Muse and
Grace.
To LYCE, an elderly Lady.
E nymphs whom ftarry rays inveft,
By flattering poets given,
Who fhine by lavish lovers drest,
In all the pomp of heaven;
Engrofs not all the beams on high,
Which gild a lover's lays,
But as your fifter of the sky,
Let Lyce fhare the praife.
This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, Efq. of Ipfwich, and relict of Philip Evers, Efq. of that town; the became the fecond wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the laft Baronet ef that name (to whom the brought a fortune of 25,000l.), July 26, 1737. Being again left a widow in 1759, he was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Efq. uncle to the prefent Duke of Argyle, and died July 3, 1782.
Her filver locks difplay the moon,
Her brows a cloudy fhow,
Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen,
And fhowers from either flow.
Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,
She's ftarr'd with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,
And can with thunder roar.
But fome Zelinda, while I fing,
Denies my Lyce fhines;
And all the pens of Cupid's wing
Attack my gentle lines.
Yet fpite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards exprefs,
My Lyce makes as good a fky,
And I but flatter lefs.
ON THE DEATH OF
Mr. ROBERT LEVET,
A Practifer in Phyfic.
CONDEMN'D to Hope's delufive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By fudden blafts, or flow decline,
Our focial comforts drop away.
Well try'd through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave defcend,
Officious, innocent, fincere,
Of every friendless name the friend.
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