VERSES, WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE*. WHAT hopes, what terrors, does this gift create? * These verses were first printed in a Magazine for 1768, but were written between forty and fifty years ago. Elegant as they are, they were composed in the short space of five minutes. TO LADY FIREBRACE*, AT BURY ASSIZES. Ar length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, TO LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY. YE nymphs whom starry rays invest, Engross not all the beams on high, Which gild a lover's lays, But, as your sister of the sky, Let Lyce share the praise. * This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, Esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, Esq. of that town. She became the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the last Baronet of that name (to whom she brought a fortune of 25,000l.), July 26, 1737. Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Esq. uncle to the present Duke of Argyll; and died July 3, 1782. Her silver locks display the moon, Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen, Her teeth the night with darkness dyes, But some Zelinda, while I sing, Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye, ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET, A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC. CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine,' Well tried through many a varying year, Of ev'ry friendless name the friend. Yet still he fills Affection's eye, Thy praise to merit unrefin'd. When fainting nature call'd for aid, The pow'r of art without the show. In misery's darkest cavern known, No summons mock'd by chill delay, His virtues walk'd their narrow round, The busy day-the peaceful night, Then with no fiery throbbing pain, And freed his soul the nearest way. EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS, AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN*. PHILLIPS! whose touch harmonious could remove EPITAPHIUM IN THOMAM HANMER, BARONETTUM. Honorabilis admodum THOMAS HANMER, Wilhelmi Hanmer armigeri, è Peregrinâ, Henrici North De Mildenhal in Com. Suffolcia Baronetti sorore et hærede, Johannis Hanmer de Hanmer Baronetti * These lines are among Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies: they are nevertheless recognised as Johnson's in a memorandum of his hand-writing, and were probably written at her request. Phillips was a travelling fiddler up and down Wales, and was greatly celebrated for his performance. |