LONG had the mind of man with curious art
Search'd Nature's wondrous plan through ev'ry part,
Measur'd each tract of ocean, earth, and sky,
And number'd all the rolling orbs on high;
Yet still, so learn'd, herself she little knew,
Till Locke's unerring pen the portrait drew.
So beauteous Eve a while in Eden stray'd,
And all her great Creator's works survey'd ;
By Sun, and Moon, she knew to mark the hour,
She knew the genus of each plant and flow'r;
She knew, when sporting on the verdant lawn,
The tender lambkin and the nimble fawn:
But still a stranger to her own bright face,
She guess'd not at its form, nor what she was;
Till led at length to some clear fountain's side,
She view'd her beauties in the crystal tide;
The shining mirror all her charms displays,
And her eyes catch their own rebounded rays.
IMITATED FROM LA FONTAINE 1
POOR Jenny, am'rous, young, and gay, Having by man been led astray,
To nunn'ry dark retir'd; There liv'd, and look'd so like a maid, So seldom eat, so often pray'd,
She was by all admir'd.
The lady abbess oft would cry, If any sister trod awry,
Or prov'd an idle slattern; "See wise and pious Mrs. Jane, A life so strict, so grave a mien, Is sure a worthy pattern."
A pert young slut at length replies, "Experience, madam, makes folks wise, "T is that has made her such; And we, poor souls, no doubt should be As pious, and as wise, as she,
If we had seen as much."
How should we then secure our hearts?
Love's pow'r we all must feel,
Who thus can, by strange magic arts,
In ice his flames conceal.
The only account that could be found, after a diligent search, of the author of this neat and elegant performance, is in Fabricius's Bibliotheca Latina; where Petronius Afranius is placed, amongst many others, as a writer of epigrams, without any notice taken of what country he was, at what time he liv-'T is thou alone, fair Julia, know, ed, without any one circumstance to mark who or what he was. This Epigram is inserted in the appendix to the 11th edition of Epigrammatum Delectus, in usum Scholæ Etonensis, printed at London 1740, accompanied by the following note: "Elegans et acutum Epigramma! me judice, ut in tenui materiâ, et affabre undequaque concinnatum et omnibus numeris absolutum." E.
Canst quench my fierce desire,
But not with water, ice, or snow,
But with an equal fire.
Εἰς βάθυλλον.
Η Ταντάλε ποτ' ἔφη
Λίθος Φρυγών ἐν ὄχθαις.
Καὶ παῖς πότ ̓ ὄρνις ἔπλη
Πανδίο Ο χελιδών.
Εγώ δ' ἔσοπῆρον ειην,
Όπως ἀεὶ βλέπης με
Εγώ χιτών γενοίμην,
Όπως ἀεὶ φορές με
Υδωρ θέλω γενέσθαι,
Όπως σὲ χείρα λύσω.
Απαλὸν μύρον γενόμην
Ως σε κόμας ἀλείφω
Καὶ ταινία μετώπῳ.
Καὶ μάργαρον τραχήλῳ.
Καὶ σάνδαλον γενοίμην,
Μόνον ποσὶν πατων με
ANACREON, Ode xx.
A ROCK On Phrygian plains we see
That once was beauteous Niobe:
And Progne, too revengeful fair!
Now flits a wand'ring bird in air:
Thus I a looking-glass would be,
That you, dear maid, might gaze on me;
Be changed to stays, that, straitly lac'd,
I might embrace thy slender waist;
A silver stream I 'd bathe thee, fair,
Or shine pomatum on thy hair;
In a soft sable's tippet's form
I'd kiss thy snowy bosom warm;
In shape of pearl that bosom deck,
And hang for ever round thy neck :
Pleas'd to be ought that touches you,
Your glove, your garter, or your shoe.
ON THE CAMERA OBSCURA.
THE various powers of blended shade and light,
The skilful ZEUXIS of the dusky night;
The lovely forms, that paint the snowy plain
Free from the pencil's violating stain,
In tuneful lines, harmonious Phebus, sing,
At once of light and verse celestial king.
Divine Apollo! let thy sacred fire
Thy youthful bard's unskilful breast inspire,
Like the fair empty sheet he hangs to view,
Void, and unfurnish'd, till inspir'd by you;
O let one beam, one kind enlightning ray
At once upon his mind and paper play!
Hence shall his breast with bright ideas glow,
Hence num'rous forms the silver field shall strew.
But now the Muse's useful precepts view,
And with just care the pleasing work pursue
First choose a window that convenient lies,
And to the north directs the wand'ring eyes!
Dark be the room, let not a straggling ray
Intrude, to chase the shadowy forms away,
Except one bright, refulgent blaze, convey'd
Through a strait passage in the shutter made,
In which th' ingenious artist first must place
A little, convex, round, transparent glass,
And just behind th' extended paper lay,
On which his art shall all its power display:
There rays reflected from all parts shall meet,
And paint their objects on the silver sheet;
A thousand forms shall in a moment rise,
And magic landscapes charm our wand'ring eyes;
"T is thus from ev'ry object that we view,
If Epicurus' doctrine teaches true,
The subtile parts upon our organs play,
And to our minds th' external forms convey.
But from what causes all these wonders flow,
"T is not permitted idle bards to know,
How through the centre of the convex glass
The piercing rays together twisted pass,
Or why revers'd the lovely scenes appear,
Or why the Sun's approaching light they fear;
Let grave philosophers the cause inquire,
Enough for us to see, and to admire.
See then what forms with various colours stain
The painted surface of the paper plain!
Now bright and gay, as shines the heav'nly bow,
So late, a wide unpeopled waste of snow:
Here verdant groves, there golden crops
The new uncultivated fields adorn;
Here gardens deck'd with flow'rs of various dyes,
There slender tow'rs and little cities rise:
But all with tops inverted downward bend,
Earth mounts aloft, and skies and clouds descend:
Thus the wise vulgar on a pendent land,
Imagine our antipodes to stand,
And wonder much, how they securely go,
And not fall headlong on the heav'ns below.
The charms of motion here exalt each part
Above the reach of great Apelles' art;
Zephyrs the waving harvest gently blow,
The waters curl, and brooks incessant flow;
Men, beasts, and birds in fair confusion stray,
Some rise to sight, whilst others pass away.
On all we seize that comes within our reach,
The rolling coach we stop, the horseman catch;
Compel the posting traveller to stay;
But the short visit causes no delay.
Again, behold what lovely prospects rise!
Now with the loveliest feast your longing eyes,
Nor let strict modesty be here afraid,
To view upon her head a beauteous maid:
See in small folds her waving garments flow,
And all her slender limbs still slend'rer grow;
Contracted in one little orb is found
The spacious hoop, once five vast ells around;
But think not to embrace the flying fair,
Soon will she quit your arms unseen as air,
In this resembling too a tender maid,
Coy to the lover's touch, and of his hand afraid.
Enough we 've seen, now let th' intruding day
Chase all the lovely magic scenes away;
Again th' unpeopled snowy waste returns,
And the lone plain its faded glories mourns,
The bright creation in a moment flies,
And all the pigmy generation dies.
Thus, when still night her gloomy mantle spreads, The fairies dance around the flow'ry meads! But when the day returns, they wing their flight To distant lands, and shun th' unwelcome light.
IN THE COUNTESS OF COVENTRY'S BREAST'.
DELIGHTFUL scene! in which appear
At once all beauties of the year!
See how the zephyrs of her breath
Fan gently all the flow'rs beneath!
See the gay flow'rs, how bright they glow,
Though planted in a bed of snow!
Yet see how soon they fade and die,
Scorch'd by the sunshine of her eye!
Nor wonder if, o'ercome with bliss,
They droop their heads to steal a kiss;
Who would not die on that dear breast?
Who would not die to be so bless'd?
THE SQUIRE AND THE PARSON.
WRITTEN ON THE CONCLUSION Of the peace, 1748.
By bis hall chimney, where in rusty grate
Green faggots wept their own untimely fate,
In elbow chair the pensive 'Squire reclin'd,
Revolving debts and taxes in his mind:
A pipe just fill'd upon a table near
Lay by the London Evening, stain'd with beer,
With half a Bible, on whose remuants torn
Each parish round was annually fors worn.
The gate now claps, as ev'ning just grew dark,
Tray starts, and with a growl prepares to bark;
But soon discerning, with sagacious nose,
The well-known savour of the Parson's toes,
Lays down his head, and sinks in soft repose:
The doctor ent'ring, to the tankard ran,
Takes a good hearty pull, and thus began:
Why sits thou thus, forlorn and dull, my friend,
Now war's rapacious reign is at an end?
Hark, how the distant bells inspire delight!
See bonfires spangle o'er the veil of night!
What 's peace, alas! in foreign parts to me?
At home, nor peace nor plenty can I see;
Joyless I hear drums, bells, and fiddles sound,
'Tis all the same-four shillings in the pound.
My wheels, though old, are clogg'd with a new tax;
My oaks, though young, must groan beneath the axe:
Maria, countess of Coventry, the eldest daughter of John Gunning, esq. by his wife Bridget, daughter of John Bourk, lord viscount Mayo, in Ireland. She was married to George William, the sixth earl of Coventry, March 5, 1752, and departed this life October 1, 1760. Her transcendent beauty was the admiration of all who beheld
2 The London Evening Post, the only paper at that time taken in and read by the enemies of the house of Hanover.
See there! free-thinking now so rank is grown,
It spreads infection through each country town;
Deistic scoffs fly round at rural boards,
'Squires, and their tenants too, profane as lords,
Vent impious jokes on ev'ry sacred thing.
Here's to you then, to church and king.
Have you not swore that I should Squab succeed?
Think how for this I taught your sons to read;
How oft discover'd puss on new-plough'd land,
How oft supported you with friendly hand;
When I could scarcely go, nor could your worship
stand.
'T was your's, had you been honest, wise, or civil; Now ev'n go court the bishops, or the Devil.
If I meant any thing, now let me die;
I'm blunt, and cannot fawn and cant, not I,
Like that old presbyterian rascal, Sly.
I am, you know, a right true-hearted Tory,
Love a good glass, a merry song, or story.
Thou art an honest dog, that 's truth, indeed-
Talk no more nonsense then about the creed.
I can't, I think, deny thy first request;
"T is thine; but first a bumper to the best.
Most noble 'Squire, more gen'rous than your wine,
How pleasing 's the condition you assign!
Give me the sparkling glass, and here, d' ye see,
With joy I drink it on my bended knee:-
Great queen! who governest this earthly ball,
And mak'st both kings and kingdoms rise and fall;
Whose wondrous power in secret all things rules,
Makes fools of mighty peers, and peers of fools;
Dispenses mitres, coronets, and stars;
Involves far distant realms in bloody wars,
Here's church and king; I hate the glass should Then bids war's snaky tresses cease to hiss,
Though one takes tythes, and t'other taxes land.
Heav'n with new plagues will scourge this sinful nation,
Unless you soon repeal the toleration,
And to the church restore the convocation.
Plagues we should feel sufficient, on my word,
Starv'd by two houses, priest-rid by a third.
For better days we lately had a chance,
Had not the honest Plaids been trick'd by France.
Is not most gracions George our faith's defender?
You love the church, yet wish for the Pretender!
Preferment, I suppose, is what you mean;
Turn Whig, and you perhaps may be a dean:
But you must fir-t learn how to treat your betters.
What's here? sure some strange news, a boy with
letters;
Oh, oh! here 's one, I see, from parson Sly:
"My rev'rend neighbour Squab being like to die;
I hope, if Heav'n should please to take him hence,
To ask the living would be no offence."
And gives them peace again- nay, gave us this:
Whose health does health to all mankind impart,
Here's to thy much-lov'd health:
'SQUIRE, rubbing his hands.
-With all my heart.
WITH A WATCH WHICH SHE BORROWED TO HANG AT HER
BED'S HEAD.
WHILST half asleep my Chloe lies,
And all her softest thoughts arise;
Whilst, tyrant Honour lay'd at rest,
Love steals to her unguarded breast;
Then whisper to the yielding fair,
Thou witness to the pains I bear,
How oft her slave with open eyes
All the long night despairing lies;
Impatient till the rosy day
Shall once again its beams display,
And with it be again may rise,
To greet with joy her dawning eyes.
Tell her, as all thy motions stand,
Unless recruited by her hand,
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