ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.
WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED.

To the march in "Scipio."

But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout!

3. SHE.

"Well! now I protest it is charming;
How finely the weather improves !
That cloud, though, is rather alarming,
How slowly and stately it moves!"

HE.

"Pshaw! never mind,

'Tis not in the wind,

We are travelling south and shall leave it behind."

You'll not be the last that will set a foot there."

We never shall know, if we never should try."

7. SHE.

"But should we get there, how shall we get home?

What a terrible deal of bad road we have past

Slipping and sliding; and if we should come
To a difficult stile, I am ruined at last!

O this lane!

Now it is plain

That struggling and striving is labour in vain."

8. HE.

"Stick fast there while I go and look—”

SHE.

"Don't go away, for fear I should fall!"

HE.

I have examined it every nook,

And what you have here is a sample of all.
Come, wheel round,

The dirt we have found

Would be an estate at a farthing a pound."

!

9.

Now, sister Anne, the guitar you must take,
Set it, and sing it, and make it a song;
I have varied the verse for variety's sake,
And cut it off short-because it was long.
'Tis hobbling and lame,

Which critics won't blame,

For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the same.

IN BREVITATEM VITE SPATII HOMINIBUS

CONCESSI.

BY DR. JORTIN.

HEI mihi! Lege ratâ sol occidit atque resurgit,
Lunaque mutatæ reparat dispendia formæ,
Astraque, purpurei telis extincta diei,

Rursus nocte vigent. Humiles telluris alumni,
Graminis herba virens, et florum picta propago,
Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit,
Cum Zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereni
Temperies anni, fœcundo è cespite surgunt.
Nos domini rerum, nos, magna et pulchra minati,
Cum breve ver vitæ robustaque transiit ætas,
Deficimus; nec nos ordo revolubilis auras
Reddit in æthereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvit.

ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE.

Jan. 1784.

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.

SUNS that set, and moons that wane,
Rise and are restored again;

Stars that orient day subdues,

Night at her return renews.

Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth
Of the genial womb of earth,
Suffer but a transient death
From the winter's cruel breath.
Zephyr speaks; serener skies
Warm the glebe, and they arise.
We, alas! earth's haughty kings,
We, that promise mighty things,
Losing soon life's happy prime,
Droop, and fade, in little time.
Spring returns, but not our bloom;
Still 'tis winter in the tomb.

THE VALEDICTION.

FAREWELL, false hearts! whose best affections fail,
Like shallow brooks which summer suns exhale !
Forgetful of the man whom once ye chose,
Cold in his cause, and careless of his woes,

I bid you both a long and last adieu,

Cold in my turn, and unconcerned like you.

First, farewell Niger! whom, now duly proved,

I disregard as much as once I loved.

Your brain well furnished, and your tongue well taught
To press with energy your ardent thought,
Your senatorial dignity of face,

Sound sense, intrepid spirit, manly grace,
Have raised you high as talents can ascend,
Made you a peer, but spoilt you for a friend!
Pretend to all that parts have e'er acquired;
Be great, be feared, be envied, be admired;
To fame as lasting as the earth pretend,
But not, hereafter, to the name of friend!
I sent you verse, and, as your lordship knows,
Backed with a modest sheet of humble prose;
Not to recall a promise to your mind,
Fulfilled with ease had you been so inclined,
But to comply with feelings, and to give
Proof of an old affection still alive.

Your sullen silence serves at least to tell

Your altered heart; and so, my lord, farewell!
Next, busy actor on a meaner stage,
Amusement-monger of a trifling age,
Illustrious histrionic patentee,

Terentius, once my friend, farewell to thee!

In thee some virtuous qualities combine

To fit thee for a nobler part than thine,

Who, born a gentleman, hast stooped too low,
To live by buskin, sock, and raree-show.

Thy schoolfellow, and partner of thy plays,

Where Nichol swung the birch and twined the bays, And having known thee bearded, and full grown, The weekly censor of a laughing town,

I thought the volume I presumed to send,

Graced with the name of a long-absent friend,
Might prove a welcome gift, and touch thine heart,
Not hard by nature, in a feeling part.

But thou, it seems, (what cannot grandeur do,
Though but a dream!) art grown disdainful too;
And strutting in thy school of queens and kings,
Who fret their hour and are forgotten things,
Hast caught the cold distemper of the day,
And, like his lordship, cast thy friend away.