I The Thief. TELL, with equal truth and grief, There's no repeating all her wiles: There were her infant fpoils; a store And then the beams that light the day; By SHAKSPEARE. Beauty's Value. BEAUTY is but a vain, a fleeting good, A fhining glofs that fadeth fuddenly; A flow'r that dies when almoft in the bud, A brittle glass that breaketh prefently. A fleeting good, a glofs, a glass, a flow'r, Loft, faded, broken, dead, within an hour. As goods when loft we know are seldom found, As fading glofs no rubbing can excite; As flow'rs when dead are trampled on the ground, As broken glafs no cement can unite; So beauty, blemish'd once, is ever loft, In fpite of phyfic, painting, pains, and coft. On the frequent Defeats of the French Army in the laft War. An Epigram. THE toaft of each Briton in war's dread alarms, O'er bottle or bowl, is fuccefs to our arms; Attack'd, put to flight, and foon forc'd from each trench, Succefs to our legs is the toast of the French. A Sailor having been fentenced to the Cat of Nine Tails, when tied ready for Punishment, spoke the following Lines to his Commander, who bad an Averfion to a Cat. BY your honour's command, an example I stand There is nothing you hate, I 'm inform'd, like a On a certain Lady's Study. TO Chloe's ftudy fhall we go, (For ladies have their ftudies now) O what a fplendid fight is there! 'Twould make the dulleft hermit ftare; There ftand, all rang'd in proud array, Each French romance, and modern play; Love's magazine of flames and darts, Whole hiftories of eyes and hearts! But, Oview well the outward fcene, You'll never need to look within; What Chloe loves the plainly fhews, For, lo! her very books are beaus. ftung, Whofe teeth are fharp arrows, a razor her tongue? The rattle of frakes with the fpittle of toads; On a Covetous old Parfon. CRIES Spintext, in fpleen, "This public dona tion Methinks favours much of vain oftentation; G-d blefs me! five pounds! Why the fum is immenfe ! And for pity, mere pity! 'tis fhow and pretence. Epigram to a pretended Friend, and real Enemy. Shew all thy kindness to be mere grimace. Throw off the mask; at once be foe or friend; 'Tis bafe to footh, when malice is the end; The rock that 's feen gives the poor failor dread, But double terror that which hides its head. On a Tombstone in Effex. HERE lies the man Richard, And Mary his wife; Their furname was Prichard; They liv'd without ftrife; And the reafon was plainThey abounded in riches; They nor care had nor pain, And the wife WORE THE BREECHES. To Lady Mary Wortley Montague. By Mr. POPE. IN beauty or wit, no mortal as yet To question your empire Kas dar'd; But men of difcerning have thought that in learning To yield to a Lady was hard. Left flocks fhould be wife as their guide. 'Twas a woman at firft (indeed the was curft) In knowledge that tafted delight; And fages agree, the laws fhould decree To the first of poffeffors the right. Then bravely, fair dame, refume the old claim, Which to your whole fex does belong; And let men receive from a fecond bright EVE The knowledge of right and of wrong. But if the first Eve hard doom did receive, When only one apple had the; What punishment new fhall be found out for you, Who, tafting, have robb'd the whole tree? Could I but guess, I do proteft, I fpeak it not to flatter; Of all the women in the world A handfome grave doth hide her; The Rofe. By Mr. PHILIPS. THE rofe's age is but a day, Its bloom the pledge of its decay; Imitated by Dr. SWIFT. Epitaph on Mr. Thomas Hammond, a Parish Clerk, a good Man, and an excellent Back-Gammon Player, who was fucceeded in bis Office by a Mr. Trice. AM monarch of all I furvey, My right there is none to difpute, From the centre all round to the fea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O folitude where are the charms That fages have feen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. am out of humanity's reach, I I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the fweet mufic of fpeech, I ftart at the found of my own. The beafts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference fee; They are fo unacquainted with man, Their tamenefs is fhocking to me. Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestow'd upon man, O had I the wings of a dove, How foon would 1 tafte you again! My forrows I then might affuage In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wifdom of age, And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth, Religion! what treasure untold Refides in that heavenly word! More precious than filver and gold, Or all that this earth can afford. But the found of the church-going bell Thefe valleys and rocks never heard, Ne'er figh'd at the found of a knell, Or fmil'd when a fabbath appear'd. Ye winds that have made me your fport, Convey to this defolate fhore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I thall vifit no more. M My friends do they now and then fend Though a friend I am never to fee. How fleet is a glance of the mind !-Compar'd with the speed of its flight, The tempeft itfelf lags behind, And the fwift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I feem to be there; But, alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. And I to my cabin repair. Ode to Peace. COWPER. COME, peace of mind, delightful gueft! We therefore need not part. Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, And pleasure's fatal wiles? To be a guest with them? For thee I panted, thee I priz'd, For thee I gladly facrific'd Whate'er I lov'd before; And fhall I fee thee ftart away, And helpless, hopeless, hear thee fay- 'Tis here the folly of the wife Through all his art we view; And dangers little known, But cars alone can ne'er prevail The breath of heaven muft fwell the fail, On obferving fowe Names of uttle Note recorded in So when a child, as playful children use, The Nightingale and Glow-Worm. CowPER. A Nightingale, that all day long Nor Had cheer'd the village with his song, yet at eve his note fufpended, Nor yet when even-tide was ended, Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appetite; When, looking eagerly around, He fpred far off, upon the ground, A fomething fhining in the dark, And knew the glow-worm by his spark ↑ So, ftooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop; The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent: Did you admire my lamp, quoth hẹ, As much as I your minstrelly, You would abhor to do me wrong, As much as I to spoil your fong; For 'twas the felf-fame Pow'r divine Taught you to fing, and me to thine, That you with mufic, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night, The fongfter heard his fhort oration, And, warbling out his approbation, Releas'd him, as my story tells, And found a fupper fomewhere else. Hence jarring fe&taries may learn Their real int'reft to difcern: That brother fhould not war with brother, And worry and devour each other, But fing and fhine by fweet confent, Till life's poor tranfient night is spent, Refpecting Refpecting in each other's cafe The gifts of nature and of grace. Thofe Chriftians beft delerve the name On a Goldfinch ftarved to Death in his Cage. TIME was when I was free as air, Cow PER. For caught and cag'd, and starv'd to death, In dying fighs my little breath Soon pais'd the wiry grate. Thanks, gentle fwain, for all my woes, And cure of ev'ry ili ! The Pine-apple and the Bee. Were basking hot and all in blow: The nymph between two chariot-glaffes, The maid who views with penfive air The fhow-glafs fraught with glitt'ring ware, Our dear delights are often fuch, The Poet, the Oyfter, and Senfitive Plant. AN Oyfter caft upon the fhore Was heard, though never neard before, Ah, hapless wretch condemn'd to dwell Ordain'd to move when others please, I envy that unfeeling shrub, The plant he meant grew not far off, When, cry the botanists, and ftare, And when I bend, retire, and fhrink, In being touch'd, and crying, Don't! Deferves not, if fo foon offended, You in your grotto-work inclos'd And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, Should droop and wither where they grow, |