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Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe,
Which thy frozen bosom beares,
On whose tops the pinkes that growe,
Are of those that April wears:
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

The first stanza of this little Sonnet, which an eminent Critic (Bishop Warburton in his Shakespeare) justly admires for its extreme sweetness, is found in Shakespeare's Measure for Measure, A. 4, Sc. 1; both the stanzas are preserved in Beaumont and Fletcher's Bloody Brother, A. 5. Sc. 2. Sewel and Gildon have printed it among Shakespeare's smaller poems, but they have done the same by 20 other pieces that were never writ by him; their book being a wretched heap of inaccuracies and mistakes: it is not found in Taggard's old edition of Shakespeare's Sonnets reprinted by Lintot. Reliques of Ancient Poetry, Vol. I, 2nd Ed., p. 227.

CLII. EPITAPH.

By fond affection to thy friends endear'd,
By worth ennobled, and by all rever'd,
Go, gentle Spirit to the realms above,

And share with Angels thy Redeemer's love.

CLIII. Remarkable Instance of Fecundity, from a curious monumental Inscription.

It startles us at first thoughts to find, that the world has been peopled by the descendants of a single pair of the human species. The fecundity of the human species is certainly great ;

its numbers would undoubtedly have been greater, were it not for the mortality occasioned by epidemical diseases, war, famine, and accidents of all kinds. But as the increase of the brute and vegetable kind would bear no proportion to the human species, were it not for these seeming calamities; we find the divine mercy illustrating itself even in its punishments; and with a fatherly tenderness, thinning the human species, that the remnant of them might meet a sufficient supply of the necessaries of life. Should our species he exempted from these catastrophes, and should the brute creation increase in proportion, there would then be substituted another want, which we do not feel at present, there would be too great scarcity of vegetables to supply both the species. But this evil is prevented by subjecting both species to violent deaths, the rational to the devastations of war, and the irrational to the supply of the calls of our hunger. Thus Partial ill is universal

good; and Whatever is, is right.

The possibility of peopling the world by one pair of the human species, and the kindness of our heavenly Father in making the instances of great fecundity scarce and remarkable, employed my thoughts, when I saw the following inscription at the cathedral of Lincoln, which I here transmit to you.

"Here lyeth the body of Michael Honywood, D. D. who was grandchild, and one of the THREE HUNDRED and SIXTYSEVEN persons that Mary, the wife of Robert Honywood, Esq, did see, before she died, lawfully descended from her (that is) 16 of her own body, 114 grandchildren, 228 of the third generation, and 9 of the fourth."- Mrs. Honywood died in the year 1605, and in the 78th year of her age.

CLIV. Alliteration.

The late Mr Pitt, the translator of Virgil, exhibited a striking

instance of the facility of alliterative Composition.-I believe that it was in a mixed company, that the apt alliterations of Mr Pope, in the translations of Homer, were spoken of as happy specimens of poetic skill, and Mr Pitt was in some degree abused for having paid little attention in his works to the use of this figure. But Mr P., it seems, held alliteration in contempt; and said that it was not for want of opportunity that he had not used it, and that he thought it the easiest thing in the world to jingle alliterations together without end. "Propose a subject,” said he, “and I will give it you in alliterative array directly." Some one present mentioned Cardinal Wolsey, whereupon, in two or three minutes, Mr Pitt exclaimed,

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'Begot by Butchers, but by Bishops bred,

How high his honour holds his haughty head."

Home, the celebrated author of Douglas, seems to have been very partial to alliteration;-for example:

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My father feeds his flocks, a frugal swain

But when the matter matched his mighty mind—
But with the froward he was fierce as fire."

CLV. PUT THAT AND THAT TOGETHER.

On a trial, where a female servant sued her master for wages, the counsel for the defendant cross-examined a fellowservant of the plaintiff sharply as to the treatment she had experienced the food she had had, &c.-and, on her replying to his questions, said "Well, we'll put that and that together." The servant, annoyed by his sharp questioning, at length said to the Judge, "My lord, may I ask that gentleman (meaning the counsel for the defendant) one question?" "Of course you may" said the Judge." "Well then" said she, addressing the learned Counsel," what is that you have on your nose?" "On my nose," said the barrister, "Oh, I believe I have a mole

there."

"Well" returned the woman,

I have one on my

backside, and you may put that and that together!"

CLVI. CHARITY-AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.

TO THE QUEEN,

THE FOLLOWING POEM,

WRITTEN IN PRAISE OF THE SUBLIMEST OF ALL XTIAN VIRTUES, IN THE PRACTICE OF WHICH

HER MAJESTY

EXHIBITS SO BRIGHT AND AMIABLE AN EXAMPLE,
IS WITH ALL DUTY AND RESPECT

INSCRIBED BY HER MAJESTY'S
MOST DEVOTED AND OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT
CHR. ANSTEY.

BATH, Jan. 1, 1779.

Had it pleas'd him, from whom all wisdom flows,
Him who each good, each perfect gift bestows,
With knowledge to exalt my feeble mind,
Bright as e'er shed its lustre on mankind,
Though on my lips persuasive accents_hung,
Sweet as the music of an ANGEL's tongue,
Still should I languish, still my soul despair,
If thou, sweet CHARITY, wert absent there-
Vain were my voice as sounding brass that rings
To deeds of Heroes, or the pomp of Kings,
Vain as the tinkling cymbal, that displays
Man's gaudy pride, but not th' ALMIGHTY's praise.
Could I in various languages expound

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All subtle texts, all mysteries profound,
Could I by faith the solid rocks displace,

And make the mountains tremble from their base,

Still in my breast shouldst thou refuse to reign,
My faith were fruitless, and my knowledge vain.
Tho' the rich produce of my worldly store
In alms profuse I lavish on the poor,
Yet all unmcv'd their tales of sorrow hear,
Nor for their sufferings drop one silent tear,
If ne'er from Godlike pity's sacred source
My bounty flow, nor heaven direct its course,
If vanity provoke the generous deed,
Mean is the gift, and small will be its meed.
Tho' to a Martyr's glory I aspire,

And seek my triumphs in the torturing fire,
Firm and undaunted to my latest breath,
Brave the slow flame, and court the ling'ring death,
If thy sweet virtues from my soul depart,
Thy Christian love be foreign from my heart,
He best can tell, who all our thoughts surveys,
How vain the boast, the promise, and the praise.
"Tis thine the raging passions to controul,
To calm, to strengthen, and confirm the soul,
Teach slighted worth with patience to sustain
The powerful man's neglect, the fool's disdain,
Th' ungrateful friend's revolt, or keener pang
(Keen as the bearded steel, or serpent's fang,)
That waits, (too oft alas!) the perjur'd vow,
And lost affection's cold and scornful brow.
The silent eloquence of kindness meet

Beams from thine eye, and mantles on thy cheek,
From envy free, and pride's o'erbearing sway,
Thou tak'st thy mild and inoffensive way.
Grace in thy gestures, and thy look is seen,
Gentle thy mind, and courteous is thy mien.
Thou scorn'st to cast the proud indignant frown
On others' merits, or to boast thy own,
O'er anger, hatred, or revenge to brood,
Record the evil, and forget the good,

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