For thou couldst best celestial fire impart,
And with thy colours blend the spark of life;
Whether, triumphant from the glorious field,
The gallant soldier claim'd thy grace divine;
Or statesman, steady in his country's cause,
Thy vivid tint, thy animating touch
Gave lustre to each act; vile envy pined,
And Nature fondly lingered o'er thy picce;
Not Titian's kindling hues, or Guido's air
So exquisitely fine, nor Rosa's force
Romantically charming, nor the son
Of painting, Angelo, could snatch one leaf
From thy acknowledged laurels! Heav'n, how glows,
Correctly chaste, enchantingly combin'd,
Thy figur'd likeness, sce! the rosy cheek,
The modest front ingenuous, the lip
Breathing delicious love, the sparkling eye
In humid radiance rolling, the smooth chin
Dimpled, the bosom, through its gauzy veil
Panting, and ev'n from continence himself
The stolen glance extorting! Beauty's own blush
Illumes! what angel, from his sapphire seat,
Descended, to unite the magic tints,
To give Promethean vigour to thy hand,
And rifle all the stores of varying light!
Master of the potent art,
To fix the sight, to charm the heart,
To bid the distant scene return,
The sympathetic bosom burn?
While to thy canvas looks th' enamour'd youth,
Sadly he thinks upon her charming face,
Which wore the smile of innocence and truth,
Which won with love's inimitable grace;
Thy hand her fleeting beauties drew,
The shadow flourish'd, though the substance flew!
Nor was thy genius that which rais'd thy name, Fame crown'd thee high whilst thou didst shrink from fame;
Thine was unbroken friendship's link divine,
Honour unblam'd, and gen'rous bounty thine;
The fervent tear that pity bade to flow,
The feeling breast that bled at alien woe;
The simple worth, relieving, as by stealth,
The scorn of title, and the scorn of wealth,
Proclaim'd thy heart on heav'n's sublimest plan,
And even the artist sunk beneath the man!
Witness, poor Goldsmith, by thy favour rais'd,
At once rewarded, comforted, and prais'd;
Witness his grateful spirit, hov'ring here
To greet thy coming with a tender tear.
Sweet bard of auburn! lift thy pensive head,
Thine hours of grief are gone-on this blest shore
Aye shalt thou soothe thy friend with genuine lore,
United living, and united dead!
What mien majestic hurries through the shade,
In all the pomp of excellence array'd,
Flashes his bright eye through the gleam around,
And hark! shrill fairy measures sound,
'Tis Garrick-followed by his Shakspeare's train,
Garrick, who, thy admirable draught,
Seems more than mortal, as a marvel left
For noble souls to startle at, below.
Peace to thy manes! Virtue's lip, on earth
Thy praise shall breathe, and Time, his ruthless scythe
Lay by, astonish'd at thy wond'rous works!"
Dulce, et decorum pro patriâ mori.
GOOD statesman, be wise, and spend not your
No need of gaol, gibbet, or fetter;
To die for our country I own very good,
To live for our country much better.
LEST your own praise should chance to die,
Nor enter fame's large portal,
On sculptured stones you place it high,
-But stones are not immortal.
A FRIAR, who solac'd a rogue with God's love, Assur'd him, that night he should sup it above; Honest pluck-purse replies, an it may please your grace,
'Tis fast-day with me, would you sup in my place!
ODI, et amo, quanam id faciam ratione, requiris? Nescio, sed fieri sentio, et excrucior.
I hate, and love, nor know the reason why,
But this I know, I feel it and I die.
VICTRIX causa Diis placuit, sed victa Catoni.
The partial Gods espous'd the victor side,
The conquer'd party Cato chose, and died.
You pay a French barber for putting a tooth in, Which Nature has kindly pluck'd out for nothing.
IRON trunk for your gold, iron bars to keep it faster, Iron gates, iron roof, and iron too the master.
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