Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue, fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. Do thine, sweet Auburn,-thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! 340 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldly woe; Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down, they sink, and spread a ruin round. Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill, An abridgment of all that was pleasant Shall still be his flatterers, go where he in man; As an actor, confessed without rival to shine; 95 will; Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love, As a wit, if not first, in the very first And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys line; above. BEAU TIBBS AT HOME I am apt to fancy I have contracted a new acquaintance whom it will be no easy matter to shake off. My little beau yesterday overtook me again in one of the public walks, and slapping me on the shoulder, saluted me with an air of the most perfect familiarity. His dress was the same as usual, except that he had more powder in his hair, wore a dirtier shirt, a pair of temple spectacles, and [10 his hat under his arm. As I knew him to be a harmless amusing little thing, I could not return his smiles with any degree of severity; so we walked forward on terms of the utmost intimacy, and in a few minutes discussed all the usual topics preliminary to particular conversation. |