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[To the Audience. ]
“ The richest soil, and most invig'rate seed,
“ Will here and there infected be with weed :
“ The gaudy poppy rears its broad bull head
Among the wheat, somniffrous dews to shed:
“ Then whersoe'er rank couch-grass, fern, or tares, are found,
“ 'Tis yours to hand-weed, horse-hoe, clear, and till the ground.”
Inscription in an obscure part of the garden of the late Mrs. Clive, at
Strawberry-hill, on a pedestal supporting a beautiful urn.
By the hon. Horace Walpole.
This is Mirth's consecrated ground!
Here liv'd the laughter-loving dame,--
A matchless actress, Clive her name.
The comic muse with her retir’d,
And shed a tear when she expir’d. H. W:
To Mr. Horace Walpole.
On his inscription on an urn, dedicated to Mrs. Clive.
By Peter Pindar, esq.
ORACE! of Strawberry-hill-I mean, not Rome.com
Lo! all thy geese are swans, I do presume
Truth and thy trumpet seem not to agree;
Know Comedy is hearty-all alive-
The sprightly lass no more expired with Clive
Than dame Humility will die with thee,
Theherald and the husbandman, a fable in the new edition of Smart's Poems.
-Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus. Juvenal.
With friend Juvenal agree,
Virtue's the true nobility;
Has of herself sufficient charms,
Although without a coat of arms.
Honestus does not know the rules,
Concerning Or, and Fez, and Gules.
Yet sets the wond'ring eye to gaze on
Such deeds as heralds ne'er could blazon.
Tawdry atchievements out of place,
Do but augment a fool's disgrace;
A coward is a double jest
Who has a lion for his crest;
And things have come to such a pass,
Two horses may support an ass ;
And on a gamester or buffoon,
A moral motto's a lampoon.
An honest rustic, having done
His master's work 'twixt sun and sun,
Retir'd to dress a little spot
Adjoining to his homely cot,
Where, pleased, in miniature he found
His landlord's culinary ground,
Some herbs that seed, and some that heal,
The winter's medicine or meal.
The sage, which in his garden seen,
No man need ever die,* I ween;
The marjoram, comely to behold,
With thyme and ruddiest marygold,
And mint, and penny-royal sweet,
To deck the cottage-windows meet ;
The baum, that yields a finer juice
Than all that China can produce ;
With carrots red, and turnips white,
And leeks, Cadwallader's delight;
And all the savory crop that vie
To please the palate and the eye,
Thus as, intent, he did survey
His plot, a herald came that way,
A man of great escutcheoned knowledge,
A member of the motley college.
Heedless the peasant pass'd he by,
Indulging this soliloquy ;
“ Ye gods! what an enormous space,
'Twixt man and man does nature place;
While some, by deeds of honour, rise
To such a height as far out-vies
The visible diurnal sphere;
While others like this rustic here,
Grope in the grovelling ground content,
Without or lineage or descent.-
Hail, heraldry ! nàysterious art,
Bright patroness of all desert,
Mankind would on a level lie,
And undistinguished live and die,
Depriv'd of thy illustrious aid !
Such! so momentous, is our trade.”
Cwr moriatur homo, cui salvia crescit in horto •
« Sir, says the clown why sure you joke,
(And kept on digging as he spoke)
And prate not to extort conviction,
But merrily by way of fiction.
Say, do your manuscripts attest,
What was old father Adam's crest;
Did he a nobler coat receive
In right of marrying Mrs. Eve;
Or had supporters when he kiss'd her,
On dexter side, and side sinister ;
Or was bis motto, prithee, speak,
English, French, Latin, Welsh, or Greek ;
Or was he not without a lie,
Just such a nobleman as I?”
Song of u Spirit ; from Mrs. Radcliffe's Romance of the Forest.
I No the
sightless air I dwell,
On the sloping sun-beams play ;
Delve the cavern's inmost cell,
Where never yet did day-light stray ;
Dive beneath the green-sea waves,
And gambol in the briny deeps;
Skim ev'ry shore that Neptune laves,
From Lapland's plains to India's steeps.
Oft I mount with rapid force
Above the wide earth's shadowy zone;
Follow the day-star's flaming course
Through realms of space to thought unknown;
And listen to celestial sounds
That swell the air unheard of men,
As I watch my nightly rounds
O'er woody steep, and silent glen.
Under the shade of wasing trees,
On the green bank of fountain clear,
At pensive eve I sit at ease,
While dying music murmurs near.
And oft, on point of airy clift,
That hangs upon the western main,
I watch the gay tints passings swift,
And twilight veil the liquid plain.
Then, when the breeze has sunk away,
And ocean scarce is heard to lave,
For me the sea-nympbs softly play
Their dulcet shells beneath the wave.
Their dulcet shells! I hear them now,
Slow swells the strain upon mine ear ;
Now faintly falls-now warbles low,
Till rapture melts into a tear.
The ray that silvers o'er the dew,
And trembles through the leafy shade,
And tints the scene with softer hue,
Calls me to rove the lonely glade ;
Or hie me to some ruin'd tower,
Faintly shewn by moon-light gleam;
Where the lone wanderer owns my power,
In shadows dire that substance seem ;
In thrilling sounds that murmur woe,
And pausing silence makes more dread;
In music breathing from below
Sad solemn strains, that wake the dead.
Unseen I move-unknown am fear'd!
Fancy's wildest dreams I weave ;
And oft by bards my voice is heard
To die along the gales of eve.
Moody having invented the game of whist, to silence two old maids and his
moiker, lays down the laws of the game ; from Whist, a poem, by A. Thompson, esq.
UT though Confusion's voice was heard no more,
And silence reign’d where all was noise before;
Yet still at times occasions would arise,
Where each restraint the sisters could despise ;
And still disturb the youth's unlucky state
With all the violence of keen debate.
Perhaps the dealer might the cards confuse,
Nor yet her privilege could bear to lose :
Perbaps a card might on the table fall —
Its mistress never meant to play at all;
Who then her error might lament in vain,
And urge her right to take it up again :
Perhaps her haste a trick with trumps had gain'd,
While of the suit her hand a card retain'da
A sad mistake; which, when it once was found,
In endless strife embroil'd the table round:
Or, worse than all, perhaps Oblivion's pow'r
Had miss'd entirely scoring's proper hour;
And now too late those honours rose to mind,
Which to their tricks they might have justly join'd;
A loss which never pass'd from Mem'ry's sight,
But clouded still each after triumph bright,
And fill’d with murmur's voice the whole repining night.
All this young Moody with displeasure saw,
And vainly strove to keep the storm in awe:
From this he found, that, though so much was done,
He had not wholly yet the battle won;
From this he knew, that somewhat still remain’d,
Ere silence here a perfect triumph gain'd.
Oft had he read the tracks of fertile ground,
With lavish Nature's richest bounty crown'd,
In rude neglect and savage wildness lay,
To desolation and to waste a prey ;
From this one single but important cause,
The want of regular and wholesome laws.
And, since capricious fortune's blind control
Had thus already made his favour'd soul
The bold discov’rer of a region new,
Resolv'd to prove its legislator too.
Nor did the strength of his inventive mind
This second task an arduous duty find:
For two short hours of one tempestuous day
Suffic'd to range his laws in neat array;
And, lest his subjects might, perhaps, disdain
The recent offspring of his youthful brain,
His prudent art a cautious method chose,
And feign'd (for fiction well each lawyer knows)
That he these laws had in the pages found
Of one whose genius had been long renown'd.
Success, as usual, crown'd his artful plan,
And, leave of reading gain'd, he thus began:
The cards to shuffle long as may him suit,
Is ev'ry player's right, without dispute :
But when this right thro' all the hands has pass'd,
Still with the dealer it should rest at last ;
Who, ere he deals, should have the painted band
Cut by the person on his better hand;
As else th' unlawful deal will never stand.