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Idle notes ! untimely green!

Why such unavailing haste ?
Gentle gales and sky serene

Prove not always Winter past.
Cease, my doubts, my fears to move.
Spare the honour of my love.

*With Beauty,with Pleasure surrounded, to languishTo weep without knowing the cause of my anguish; To start from short slumbers, and wish for the mornTo close my dull eyes when I see it returning ; [ingSighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejectedWords that steal from my tongue, by no meaning

connected! Ah, say, fellow-swains, how these symptoms befel me! They smile, but reply not-Sure Delia can tell me !

TOPHET:

An Epigram. [Mr. Etough,t of Cambridge University, was remarkable for

his eccentricities and personal appearance. A Mr. Tyson of Bene't College, made an etching of his head, and presented it

to Mr. Gray, who wrote under it the following lines.) Thus Tophet look'd ; so grinn'd the brawling fiend, Whilst frighted prelates bow'd, and call’d him friend. Our mother-church, with half-averted sight, Blush'd as she bless'd her grisly proselyte; Hosannas rung through Hell's tremendous borders, And Satan's self had thoughts of taking orders.

* These lines will be found in a note in the second volume of Warton's Edition of Pope's Works.

+ Gentleman's Magazine, Vol. LVI, p. 25. 281.

IMPROMPTU, Suggested by a View, in 1766, of the Seat and Ruins

of a deceased Nobleman, at Kingsgate, Kent. OLD, and abandon'd by each venal friend,

Here H-~d form’d the pious resolution
To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend

A broken character and constitution.
On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice ;

Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighb'ring sand; Here sea-gulls scream, and cormorants rejoice,

And mariners, though shipwreck’d, dread to land. Here reign the blust'ring North and blighting East,

No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing ; Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast,

Art he invokes new horrors still to bring. Here mould'ring fanes and battlements arise,

Turrets and arches nodding to their fall ; Unpeopled monast'ries delude our eyes,

And mimic desolation covers all. • Ah !' said the sighing peer, ' had B-te been true,

Nor MS, R-'s, B—'s friendship vain,
Far better scenes than these had blest our view,

And realized the beauties which we feign. • Purged by the sword, and purified by fire,

Then had we seen proud London's hated walls; Owls would have hooted in St. Peter's choir,

And foxes stunk and litter'd in St. Paul's.'

THE CANDIDATE;

OR, THE CAMBRIDGE COURTSHIP.
Written a short time previous to the election of a High

Steward.
When sly Jemmy Twitcher had smugg'd up his face,
With a lick of court white-wash, and pious grimace,
A wooing he went, where three sisters of old
In harmless society guttle and scold.

Lord ! sister,' says Physic to Law,' I declare, Such a sheep-biting look, such a pick-pocket air ! Not I for the Indies !-You know I'm no prude, But his name is a shame,-and his eyes are so lewd ! Then he shambles and straddles so oddly--I fearNomat our time of life 'twould be silly, my dear.' 'I don't know,' says Law,' but methinks for his look 'Tis just like the picture in Rochester's book ; Then his character, Phizzy,-his morals—his lifeWhen she died, I can't tell, but he once had a wife. They say he's no Christian, loves drinking and w--g, And all the town rings of his swearing and roaring ! His lying and filching, and Newgate-bird tricks ;Not 1—for a coronet, chariot and six.' Divinity heard, between waking and dozing, Her sisters denying, and Jemmy proposing: From table she rose, and with bumper in hand, She stroked up her belly, and stroked down her band• What a pother is here about wenching and roaring! Why, David loved catches, and Solomon w--g: Did not Israel filch from th' Egyptians of old Their jewels of silver and jewels of gold ? The prophet of Bethel, we read, told a lie: He drinks—so did Noah;—he swears—so do I: To reject him for such peccadillos, were odd ; Besides, he repents—for he talks about G** ;

(To Jemmy.] Never hang down your head, you poor penitent elf ; Come, buss me—I'll be Mrs. Twitcher myself.

SKETCH

OF HIS OWN CHARACTER.*

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to impórtune ;
He had not the method of making a fortune ;
Could love and could hate, so was thought somewhat
No very great Wit, he believed in a God.

[odd; A post or a pension he did he did not desire, But left church and state to Charles Townshend and

Squire + * Written in 1761, and found in one of his pocket-books.

+ Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge, and afterward Bishop of St. David's.

ADDRESSED TO, AND IN MEMORY OF,

MR. GRAY.

UPON HIS ODES.

By David Garrick, Esq.
REPINE not, Gray, that our weak dazzled eyes

Thy daring heights and brightness shun;
How few can trace the eagle to the skies,

Or, like him, gaze upon the sun !
Each gentle reader loves the gentle Muse,

That little dares and little means;
Who humbly sips her learning from Reviews,

Or flutters in the Magazines.
No longer now from Learning's sacred store

Our minds their health and vigour draw;
Homer and Pindar are revered no more,

No more the Stagyrite is law.
Though nursed by these, in vain thy Muse appears

To breathe her ardours in our souls ;
In vain to sightless eyes and deaden'd ears

The lightning gleams, the thunder rolls :
Yet droop not, Gray, nor quit thy heaven-born art;

Again thy wondrous powers reveal;
Wake slumb'ring Virtue in the Briton's heart,

And rouse us to reflect and feel !
With ancient deeds our long-chill'd bosoms fire,

Those deeds that mark Eliza's reign!
Make Britons Greeks again, then strike the lyre,

And Pindar shall not sing in vain.

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