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1 The only account that could be found, after a How should we then secure our hearts? diligent search, of the author of this neat and elegant Love's pow'r we all must feel, performance, is in Fabricius's Bibliotheca Latina; Who thus can, by strange magic arts, where Petronius Afranius is placed, amongst many

In ice his flames conceal. others, as a writer of epigrams, without any notice taken of what country he was, at what time he liv- l’T is thou alone, fair Julia, know, ed, without any one circumstance to mark who or

Canst quench my fierce desire, what he was. This Epigram is inserted in the ap- But not with water, ice, or snow, pendix to the 11th edition of Epigrammatum De

But with an equal fire. lectus, in usum Scholæ Etonensis, printed at London 1740, accompanied by the following note: “ Elegans et acutum Epigramma! me judice, ut in tenui materiâ, et afiabre undequaque concinpatum et omnibus numeris absolutum.' E.

Εις βάθολλον. .


Η Ταντάλα ποτ' εςη
Λίθος Φρυγων εν όχθαις.
Και παις πότ' όρνις έπτη
Πανείο Ο χελιδων.
Εγω δ' έσοπτρον ειην,
Οπως αεί βλέπης με.
Εγώ χιτών γενοίμην,
Οπως αι φορης με:
Υδαρ θέλω γενέσθαι, ,
Οπως σε Xispee λύσω.
Απαλόν μύρον γενόμιμη
Ως σε κώμας αλείψω
Και ταινίη μετωπω. .
Και μάργαρον τραχήλω.
Και σάνδαλον γενοίμην,
Μόνον ποσίν σατιών με

A ROCK on Phrygian plains we see
That once was beauteous Niobe:
And Progne, too revengeful fair!
Now fits 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.




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 mast place
A little, convex, round, transparent glass,
And just behind th' extended paper lay,
On which bis 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; IN THE COUNTESS OF COVENTRY'S BREAST'.
"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.

DELIGHTFUL scene! in which appear But from what causes all these wonders flow,

At once all beauties of the year! 'T is not permitted idle bards to know,

See how the zephyrs of her breath How through the centre of the convex glass

Pan gently all the flow'rs beneath! The piercing rays together twisted pass,

See the gay flow'rs, how bright they glow, Or why revers'd the lovely scenes appear,

Though planted in a bed of snow! Or why the Sun's approaching light they fear;

Yet see how soon they fade and die, Let grave philosophers the cause inquire,

Scorch'd by the sunshine of her eye!
Enough for us to see, and to admire.

Nor wonder if, o'ercome with bliss,
See then what forms with various colours stain They droop their heads to steal a kiss;
The painted surface the paper plain!

Who would not die on that dear breast?
Now bright and gay, as shines the heav'nly bow,

Who would not die to be so bless'd?
So late, a wide unpeopled waste of snow:
Here verdant groves, there golden crops of corn
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,

By bis hall chimney, where in rusty grate And not fall headlong on the heav'ns below. Green faggots wept their own untimely fate,

The charms of motion here exalt each part In elbow chair the pensive 'Squire reclin'd, Above the reach of great Apelles' art;

Revolving debts and taxes in his mind: Zephyrs the waving harvest gently blow,

A pipe just fill'd upon a table near 'The waters curl, and brooks incessant flow;

Lay by the London Evening ?, stain'd with beer, Men, beasts, and birds in fair confusion stray, With half a Bible, on whose remuants torn Some rise to sight, whilst others pass away. Each parish round was annually forsworn.

On all we seize that comes within our reach, The gate now claps, as ev'ning just grew dark, The rolling coach we stop), the horseman catch; Tray starts, and with a growl prepares to bark; Compel the posting traveller to stay;

But soon discerning, with sagacious nose, But the short visit causes no delay.

The well-known savour of the Parson's toes,
Again, bebold what lovely prospects rise! Lays down his head, and sinks in soft repose:
Now with the loveliest feast your longing eyes, The doctor ent'ring, to the tankard ran,
Nor let strict modesty be bere afraid,

Takes a good hearty pull, and thus began:
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; Why sits thou thus, forlorn and dull, my friend,
Contracted in one little orb is found

Now war's rapacious reign is at an end ?
The spacious hoop, once five vast ells around; Hark, how the distant bells inspire delight!
But think not to embrace the flying fair,

See bonfires spangle o'er the veil of night!
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. What 's peace, alas ! in foreign parts to me?

Enough we've seen, now let th' intruding day At home, nor peace nor plenty can I see; Chase all the lovely magic scenes away;

Joyless I hear drums, bells, and fiddles sound, Again th' unpeopled snowy waste returns,

'Tis all the same-four shillings in the pound. And the lone plain its faded glories mourns, My wheels, though old, are clogg'd with a new tax; The bright creation in a moment flies,

My oaks, though young, must groan beneath the axe: And all the piginy generation dies.

Thus, when still night her gloomy mantle spreads, The fairies dance around the flow'ry meads!

" Maria, countess of Coventry, the eldest daughBut when the day returns, they wing their flight

ter of John Gunning, esq. by his wife Bridget, To distant lands, and shun th’ unwelcome light.

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 her.

?" The London Evening Post, the only paper at that time taken in and read by the enemies of the house of Ilanover.




My barns are half unthatch'd, until'd my house,
Lost by this fatal sickness all my cows;
See there is the bill my late damn'd law-suit cost! Have you not swore that I should Squab succeed?
Long as the land contended for--and lost:

Think how for this I taught your sons to read; Ev'n Ormond's Head I can frequent no more, How oft discover'd puss on new-plough'd land, So short my pocket is, so long the score ;

How oft supported you with friendly hand; At shops all round I owe for fifty things.

When I could scarcely go, nor could your worship This comes of fetching Hanoverian kings.


'SQUIRE. I must confess the times are bad indeed,

'T was your's, bad you been honest, wise, or civil; No wonder; when we scarce believe our creed;

Now ev'n go court the bishops, or the Devil.
When purblind Reason 's deem'd the surest guide,
And hear'n-born Faith at her tribunal try'd;
When all church-pow'r is thought to make men

If I meant any thing, now let me die;

I'm blunt, and cannot fawn and cant, not I, Saints, martyrs, fathers, all call'd fools and knaves.

Like that old presbyterian rascal, Sly. 'SQUIRE.

I am, you kuow, a right true-hearted Tory,

Love a good glass, a merry song, or story. Come, preach no more, but drink, and hold your tongue :

'SQUIRE. I'm for the church:-but think the parsons wrong. Thou art an honest dog, that 's truth, indeed

Talk no more nonsense then about the creed. PARSON.

I can't, I think, deny thy first request;
See there! free-thinking now so rank is grown, 'Tis thine ; but first a bumper to the best.
It spreads infection through each country town;
Deistic scoffs fly round at rural boards,
'Squires, and their tenants too, profane as lords, Most noble 'Squire, more gen'rous than your wine,
Vent impious jokes on ev'ry sacred thing.

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:-
Come, drink;

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, —Here's to you then, to church and king. Makes fools of mighty peers, and peers of fools ;

Dispenses mitres, coronets, and stars; 'SQUIRE.

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, stand,

And gives them peace again nay, gave us this: Though one takes tythes, and t'other taxes land. Whose health does health to all mankind impart,

Here's to thy much-lov'd health:

'SQUIRE, rubbing his hands.
Heav'n with new plagues will scourge this sinful

With all my heart.
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,

Whilst half asleep my Chloe lies,

And all her softest thoughts arise ;

Whilst, tyrant Honour lay'd at rest,
Is not most gracions George our faith's defender ? Love stcals to her unguarded breast;
You love the church, yet wish for the Pretender! Then whisper to the yielding fair,

Thou witness to the pains I bear, 'SQUIRE.

How oft her slave with open eyes Preferment, I suppose, is what you mean;

All the long night despairing lies;

Iimpatient till the rosy day
Turn Whig, and you perhaps may be a dean:
But you must fir-t learn how to treat your betters. Shall once again its beams display,
What 's here : sure some strange news, a boy with And with it he again may rise,

To greet with joy her dawning eyes.
Oh, oh! here's one, I see, from parson Sly :

Tell her, as all thy motions stand, “ My rer'rend neighbour Squab being like to die;

Unless recruited by her hand,
I hope, if Heav'n should please to take him hence,
To ask the living would be no offence.”

• Madam de Pompadour.

So shall my life forget to move;

Soft looks and sighs his passion soon betray'd, Unless each day the fair I love

Awhile he woos, then weds the lovely maid. Shall new repeated vigour give

I shall not now, to grace my tale, relate, [state, With smiles, and make me fit to live.

What feasts, what balls, what dresses, pomp and Tell her, when far from her I stray,

Adorn'd their wuptial day, lest it should seem How oft I chide thy slow delay;

As tedious to the reader as to him, But when beneath her smiles (live,

Who, big with expectation of delight, Bless-d with all joys the gods can give,

Impatient waited for the happy night; How often I reprove thy haste,

The happy night is come, his longing arms
And think each precious moment flies too fast. Press close the yielding maid in all her charms,

The yielding maid, who now no longer coy
With equal ardour loves, and gives a loose to joy :

Dissolv'd in bliss more exquisite than all

He e'er had felt in Heav'n, before his fall,

With rapture clinging to his lovely bride,

In murmurs to himself Belphegor cry'd, (fears!

“ Are these the marriage chains ? are these my

Oh, had my ten but been ten thousand years !" ............Fugit indignata sub umbras. Virg. But ah, these happy moments last not long!

For in one month his wife has found her tongue; TH'infernal monarch once, as stories tell,

All thoughts of love and tenderness are lost,
Review'd his subjects froin all parts of Hell ; Their only aim is who shall squander most;
Around his throne unnumber'd millions wait, She dreams of nothing now but being fine,
He scarce believ'd his empire was so great ; Whilst he is ever guzzling nasty wine;
Still as each pass'd, he ask'd with friendly care She longs for jewels, equipage, and plate,
What crime had caus’d their fall, and brought | And he, sad man! stays out so very late!
them there :

Hence ev'ry day domestic wars are bred, Scarce one he question'd, but reply'd the same, A truce is hardly kept while they 're abed; And on the marriage noose lay'd all the blame; They wrangle all day long, and then at night, Thence ev'ry fatal errour of their lives

Like wooing cats, at once they love and fight. They all deduce, and all accuse their wives.

His riches too are with his quiet flown, Then to his peers and potentates around, And they once spent, all friends of course are gone; Thus Satan spoke; Hell trembled with the sound. The sum design'd his whole ten years to last,

“ My friends, what vast advantages would flow Is all consurn'd before the first is past: To these our realms ? could we but fully know Where shall he hide? ah, whither must he fly? The form and nature of these marriage chains, Legions of duns abroad in ambush lie, That send such crowds to our infernal plains : For fear of them, no more he dares to roam, Let some bold patriot then, who dares to show And the worst dun of all, bis wife's at home. His gen'rous love to this our state below,

Quite tir'd at length with such a wretched life, For bis dear country's good the task essay,

He flies one night at once from debts and wife; And animate awhile some human clay;

But ere the morning dawn his flight is known; Ten years in marriage bonds he shall remain, And crowds pursue him close from town to town: Enjoy its pleasures, and endure its pain,

He quits the public road, and wand'ring strays Then to his friends return'd, with truth relate Through unfrequented woods, and pathless ways; The nature of the matrimonial state." [prov'd: At last with joy a little farm he sees,

He spoke; the list’ning crowds his scheme ap- Where liv'd a good old man, in health and ease; But who so much his prince or country lov'd, Matthew his name: to him Belphegor goes, As thus, with fearless heart, to undertake

And begs protection from pursuing foes, This hymeneal trial, for their sake?

With tears relates his melancholy case, At length with one consent they all propose Tells him from whence he came, and who he was, That fortune shall by lot the task impose;

And vows to pay for his reception well, The dreaded chance on bold Belphegor fell,

When next he should receive his rents from Hell: Sigbing h'obey'd, and took his leave of Hell. The farmer hears his tale with pitying ear,

First in fair Florence he was pleas'd to fix, And bids him live in peace and safety there; Bought a large house, fine plate, a coach and six; Awhile be did; no duns, no noise, or strife, Dress'd rich and gay, play'd high, drank hard, and Disturbid him there;--for Matt had ne'er a wife. whor'd,

But ere few weeks in this retreat are past And liv'd, in short, in all things like a lord : Matt too himself becomes a dun at last; His feasts were plenteous, and his wines were strong, Demands bis promis'd pay with heat and rage, So poets, priests, and pimps, his table throng, Till thus Belphegor's words his wrath assuage. Bring dedications, serions, whores, and plays, “My friend, wedevils, like English peers,"he cry'd, The Devil was ne'er so flatter'd in his days:

* Though free from law, are vet by honour ty'd; The ladies too were kind, each tender dame

Though tradesmen's cheating bills I scorn to view, Sigh'd, when she mention'd Roderigo's name; I pay all debts that are by honour due; Por so he's call’d: rich, young, and debonnair, And therefore have contriv'd long since a way, He reigns soie monarch of the longing fair ; Beyond all hopes thy kindness to repay; No daughter, sure, of Eve could e'er escape We subtile spirits can, you know, with ease The Devil, when cloth'd in such a tempting shape. Possess whatever human breasts we please,

One nymph at length, superior to the rest, With sudden frenzy can o'ercast the mind, Gay, beautiful, and young, inspir'd his breast; let passions loose, and captive reason bind:

Thus I three mortal bosoms will infest,

He knew his pow'r expir'd, refus'd to try, And force them to apply to you for rest ;

But all excuses fail'd; he must; or die; Vast sums for cure they willingly shall pay, At last despairing he the task essay'd, Thrice, and but thrice, your pow'r I will obey." Approach'd the monarch's ear, and whisp'ring said:

He spoke, then fled unseen, like rushing wind, “Since force, not choice, has brought thy servant And breathless left his mortal frame behind :

here, The corpse is quickly known, and news is spread Once more, Belphegor, my petition hear, That Roderigo 's in the desert dead;

This once at my request, thy post resign, His wife in fashionable grief appears,

And save my life, as once I rescu'd thine." Sighs for ove day, then mourns two tedious years. Cruel Belphegor, deaf to his request,

A beauteous maid, who then in Florence dwelt, Disdain'd his pray’rs, and made bis woes a jest; In a short time unusual symptoms felt;

With tears and sighs he beg'd, and beg'd again, Physicians ca ne, prescrib'd, then took their fees, Still the ungrateful fiend but mock'd his pain; But none could find the cause of her disease; Then turning round he told th' expecting court, Her parents thought 't was love disturb'd her rest, This dev'l was of a most malignant sort; But all the learn'd agreed she was possess'd;

And that he could but make one trial more, In vain the doctors all their art apply'd,

And if that failid, he then must give him o'er :
In vain the priests their holy trump'ry try'd; Then placing num'rous drums and trumpets round,
No pray’rs nor med'cines could the demon tame, Instructed when he mov'd his hand to sound,

Tili Matthew heard the news, and hast’ning came: He whisper'd in his patient's ear again,
He asks five hundred pounds; the money's pay'd; Belphegor answer'd, all his arts were vain :
He forms the magic spell, then cures the maid: He gives the sign, they sound ; th' outrageous din
Hence chas'd, the Dev'l to two rich houses flies, Startles the king, and frights the Dev'l within ;
And makes their heirs successively his prize, He asks what 't is, and vows that in his life
Who both, by Matthew's skill reliev'd from pains, He ne'er had heard the like-except his wife;
Reward his wondrous art with wondrous gains. * By Hear'n's! 't is she,” Matt cries, "you 'd best

And now Belphegor, having thrice obey'd,
With reason thinks his host is fully pay'd ; She comes once more to seize you for her own;"
Next free to range, to Gallia's king he flies, Belphegor, frighted, not one word replies,
As dev'ls ambitious ever love to rise ;

But to th’ infernal shades for refuge fies; Black hideous scenes distract his royal mind, There paints a dreadful sketch of marry'd lives, From all he seeks relief, but none can find, And feelingly confirms the charge on wives : And vows vast treasures shall his art repay, Matthew, o'erpay'd with honours, fame, and fees, Whoe'er can chase the strange disease away: Returns to bless'd obscurity and ease, At length, instructed by the voice of fame, With joy triumphant lo pæan sings, To Matthew sends; poor Matt reluctant came; And vows to deal no more with dev'ls or kings.

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i From the commencement of the Spanish war in 1739, to the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, signed October 7, 1748, the land-tax was raised from two shillings to four shillings. In 1749 it was lowered to three shillings, at which rate it was continued till 1752, when Mr. Pelham, at that time the minister, reduced it to two shillings, at which rate it continued till the time of his death in 1754. This was one, amongst others, of those popular measures which gilded the evening of this minister's life, and rendered his death an object of public lamentation. To this event we owe this happy imitation, wrote soon after the land-tax act of that year passed, E.

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