TO A LADY, VERY FEARFUL OF THUNDER.
SAY, whence this sudden chill, my fair,
When thunder rattles thro' the air?
Why quits your blood each distant part,
And hastes to guard the lab'ring heart?
Why all this shiv'ring, panting, crying,
This something little less than dying?
If wretches, stain'd with deadly sin,
Quake at the worm that gnaws within;
If savage tyrants trembling fly,
And think the fate they merit nigh;
If treacherous Statesmen, that have sold
Their country and their God for gold,
Are by this solemn sound dismay'd,
And dread his wrath they've disobey'd:
Yet, why does my Eliza fear
What only should the wicked scare!
For, should by this the virtuous die,
'Twere but on lightning's wings to fly,
And gain, with greater speed, the sky.
The following Verses were sent to Lady B-dg-t Lher insisting upon the Author's writing something to discover whether he had any Genius or not.
Said B-dg- to Will, "I am told you're a Poet; If 'tis false, contradict! if 'tis true, pr'ythee show it! For a subject take me; call me handsome, divine; The matter they'll like, should they not like the line."
So I would, reply'd Will; but I fear, my fair Lady, That Matter too oft has been handled already.'
On the STILL Applause most deservedly given by a numerous and brilliant Audience to Mrs. Barry, in the Character of Euphrasia, in the Grecian Daughter.
WHAT! not one hand to intervene,
Whilst matchless Barry play'd ;
Alas! what hands could plaud the scene,
Where tears so ask'd their aid?
In times very ancient, when am'rous Apollo,
With swiftness uncommon, fair Daphne did follow,
He repeated, the while, with a most anxious spirit,
A list of his virtues, to set off his merit :
I inspire all the Bards with poetical fits;
'All call me the patron of poets and wits.'
But poetry could not, and Wit wanted charms
To persuade the chaste nymph to the God's longing
' Will not music's soft strains o'er your coldness prevail?'
But the God, to his sorrow, found music could fail. "By my deep skill in plants, I know Physic, fair
And by all am acknowledg'd the chief of the trade.'
A Physician! that word added wings to her flight;
And quicker than ever she fled from his sight.
The God was mistaken, to talk of his learning;
A hint of his youth would have shew'd more dis-
cerning:
Had he mention'd his strength, and the charms of
Coy Daphne had stopp'd-and concluded the race.
Imitated by David Garrick, Esq.
FOR me my fair a wreath hath wove
Where rival flow'rs in union meet;
As oft she kiss'd this gift of love,
Her breath gave sweetness to the sweet.
A bee, within a damask rose,
Had crept, the nectar'd dew to sip;
But lesser sweets the thief foregoes,
And fixes on Maria's lips.
There, tasting all the bloom of spring,
Wak'd by the rip'ning breath of May,
The ungrateful spoiler left his sting,
And with the honey fled away.
WHEN, for the world's repose, my Celia sleeps,
See, Cupid hovers o'er the maid, and weeps.
Well mayst thou weep, fond boy thy power dies`;
Thou hast no DARTS, when Celia has no EYES.
Whilst I sat pensive in my elbow chair,
Four nymphs appear'd, O how divinely fair!
Unda came first, in water-colours gay,
Brandysia next as bright as Phoebus' ray.
In a straw-gown then came Limonia keen,
And Saccharissa sweet, was near her seen
Thus to divert my melancholy strain,
Me all at once agreed to entertain;
And to relieve my grief oppressed soul,
To mix the different quota's in a Bowl,
First Unda added to the bowl her share
Water, as chrytal clear, her hand as fair :
Brandysia, next her spirits did impart,
To give a warmth and fill up to the heart;
Nor did Limonia make the drink too keen,
For Saccharissa sweetly stept between.
Whilst fairest Unda pours the limpid stream And brisk Brandysia warms the vital frame; Whilst Saccharissa, and Limonia meet
To form that grateful contrast, fam'd sour-sweet,
And all together make the Bowl complete;
I'll drink; no longer anxious of my fate
Nor the poor rich will envy, nor the little great.
To a Lady, on a Rose which had fallen to Pieces in her bosom.
SEE, lovely Chlora, and believe
The dying flower could not deceive;
Believe me scarce the murthering war
So fatal as thy beauties are!
Just now the falling Rose confess'd
The charms superior of thy breats :
In all its fragrant bloom and pride
Blushing, it shed its leaves, and dy'd.
But, dying, chose so sweet a grave,
As Gods might wish to die and have.
WELL! if terrestial glories fly,.
And Fame and Time itself shall die ;
Virtue! O come, and dwell with me!
For permanence abides with thee!
Thou'lt grave a lasting record, where
Devouring Time shall ne'er appear!
Written over the Door of a small House in the Country.
AROUND this peaceful cot, this humble shed,
If love with innocence and virtue tread,
Though no proud column grace the gaudy door,
Where sculptur'd elegance parades it o'er,
The swain shall look with pity on the great,
Nor barter quiet for a king's estate.
Written by Mr. Garrick on the Back of his own Picture, which was sent to a Gentleman of the University of Oxford.
The mimic form on t' other side,
That you accepted, is my pride;
Resembles one so prompt to change,
Through every mortal whim to range:
You'd swear the lute so like the case,
The mind as various as the face:
Yet to his friends be this his fame,
His heart's eternally the same.
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