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Rais'd the Fat Knight by his creative brain,
And warm'd the Mummy into life again.

B. Thou vie with Shakespeare? Thou Supreme of Fools!

Thou Prince of Coxcombs! Maker of Brafs Rules! Whofe mind no Science lights, no Muse inspires, But Hunger whets, Pride bloats, and Envy fires: Hence rumbling, grumbling, made of filth and noise Thou scar'ft Old Women, Bookfellers, and Boys: Senfe ftops the nose, Wit winks, and Fools admire, While-crack, fiz, bounce!-You in a ftink expire. On Settle, Dennis, Durfey, graft thy Fame,

But blend not with thine own great Shakespeare's Name!

Trouble the Ghost of honeft Jack no further, Whom Shakespeare kill'd to ftop his future murther!

K. What, if these glories tamely I refign, Think, Ifaac B-ff, the fate of thine! When good Queen Anna rul'd the British land, Genius and B-ff went hand in hand : Swift, Steele, and Addison, then wore the name, And made it known to Humour and to Fame. But Time and Chance that William threw on me, Have blafted Ifaac Bff in Thee!

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On what base wretches names may fall at last!
Oh how unlike the present and the past!
Still brewing thy Rhetorical Small-Beer,
Thou ferv'ft the Town a Kilderkin each year;
Feed'ft, like a Hog, upon Dramatick Grains;
And draw'ft the taplash of another's brains.
Charles Johnson, Parfon Miller, with a train
Of Playwrights long forgot in Drury Lane ;
See their laft dregs into the Mash-tub caft,
To work up Village Loves, and ftrengthen Dr. Last.

More and much more the warring Poets faid, When Griffin iffued forth from Garrick's Head. End, end your Strife, he cried; come in, and dine! Mince-pyes invite, plump Turkey, and fat Chine. On Johnson, Goldsmith, Reynolds, vent your rage; Attack the Arts, Church, Army, Bar or Stage! Join in the Cheer a merry Christmas fends, Write Grub-street Chronicles, and live good Friends!

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AN

EXTEMPORE,

ON SETTING OUT FOR BATH.

WH

Dec. 31, 1785.

HAT! Palfy and Gout both at once on my back?

Alas, on a Dwarf what a Giant Attack!

Even comforts themselves as new plagues I endure,
When the Palfy's my ill, and the Gout is my cure.
Richmond, Dec. 19, 1785.
G. C.

A FRENCH MAXIM IN PROSE. February 11, 1786.

LA Marriage eft une chofe tres ferieuse; on ne peut pas trop penfer. Heureux celui qui pense toute

fa vie!

IMITATED IN ENGLISH VERSE. "Wife, or No Wife?"-A ferious doubt indeed! We cannot pause too long ere we proceed : Thrice happy He, that ponders on a Wife, Who paufes long, and paufes all his Life!

EPIGRAM

EPIGRAM FROM MARTIA L.

NOSSES

March 9, 1786.

SSES jocofa dulce cum facrum Flora,
Gur in theatrum, Cato fevere, venifti?

An ideo tantnm veneras, ut exires?

TRANSLATION.

Knowing the Farce on Flora's Festal Day, Why, rigid Cato, cam'ft thou to the Play? Foe to the Drama, cam'ft thou to perplex it, Or but to make thy Entrance and thy Exit?

THE

THE

LAUREAT.

AN ODE.

April 11, 1786.

I.

WAR

ARTON, I know you'll ne'er repine
That Witlings carp at ev'ry line,

And with your Lyricks quarrel.

Alas! from Party, Spite, or Whim,
Such ever is the fate of Him

Who boasts the Royal Laurel.

II.

That Laurel, once by Dryden worn!
But fince by many Dunces borne,
Each rival Dunce cry'd fie on!
The boafted Laurel was they faid,
No more than a poor Pfs-a-bed,
At Court call'd DAUN-DE-LION

III.

For fcenes of Comedy renown'd,
And justly for his Acting crown'd,

The Prince of Fops and Folly;

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