'Tis that beauty alone but imperfectly charms,

For, tho' brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness that warms:
As on funs in the winter with pleafure we gaze,

But feel not their warmth, tho' their fplendor we praise;

So beauty our just admiration may claim,

But love, and love only, the heart can inflame,

VERSES to the LADIES. By Lady CHUDLEIGH, Grandmother to the prefent Dutchess of KINGSTON.

IFE and fervant are the fame,

W They only differ in the name:

For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nought but death can e'er divide:
When the the word obey has faid,
And man by law fupreme is made,
Then all that's kind is laid afide,
And nothing's left but ftate and pride.
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour fhows.
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes the figns alone muft make,
And never any freedom take:
But ftill be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as her god.
Him ftill must ferve, him ftill obey,
And nothing act, and nothing fay,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the pow'r has all the wit.
Then fhun, oh! fhun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate.
Value yourselves, and men defpife,

You must be proud, if you'll be wife.

An OLD BACHELOR's Reflections on MATRIMONY.

D

OWN to the vale of life I tend,
Where hoary age creeps flowly on :
And with the burd'ning thought I bend,
That youth and all its joys are gone!

Succeffive years have roll'd away

In fancied views of future bliss:
But 'twere the phantoms of a day-
And all that future dies in this.
P 4

Now,

Now, with a retrospective eye,
I look far back to early life,
When Hymen promis'd to fupply
My highest wishes in-a wife.
I waited, hop'd, and trufted ftill
That time would bring th' expected day:
But never, happ'ly, to my will,

Did fortune throw it in my way.

Too nice, too wife, too proud was I,
To wed as taught by nature's rule;
The world was ftill to chufe for me-
And I the condescending fool.
Hence are my days a barren round
Of trifling hopes, and idle fears:
For life, true life, is only found
In focial joys, and focial tears.
Let moping monks, and rambling rakes,
The joys of wedded love deride:
Their manners rife from grofs mistakes,
Unbridled luft, or gloomy pride.
Thy facred fweets, connubial love,
Flow from affections more refin'd;
Affections facred to the dove,

Heroic, conftant, warm, and kind.
Hail, holy flame! hail, facred tye!
That binds two gentle fouls in one!-
On equal wings their troubles fly,

In equal ftreams their pleasures run.
Their duties ftill their pleafures bring;
Hence joys in fwift fucceffion come:
A queen is fhe, and he's a king,

And their dominion is-their home.
Happy the youth who finds a bride
In fprightly days of health and ease:
Whofe temper, to his own allied,

No knowledge feeks but how to please.
A thousand sweets their days attend!
A thousand comforts rife around!
Here husband, parent, wife, and friend,
In ev'ry dearest fenfe is found.
Yet think not, man, 'midft fcenes fo gay,
That clouds and forms will never rife ;
A cloud may dim the brightest day,
And ftorms difturb the calmeft fkies.

But

But ftill their blifs fhall ftand its ground;
Nor fhall their comforts hence remove:
Bitters are oft falubrious found,

And lovers quarrels heighten love.

The lights, and fhades, and goods, and ills,
Thus finely blended in their fate,

To fweet fubmiffion bow their wills,
And make them happy in their state.
Marfbfield.

W. O.

The TOMB S. From the French of Monf. LE FRANC.

HE other day unheedful wand'ring,
To a folitude i ftray'd,

TH,

Where the lucid ftream meand'ring,
Curling, with fweet zephyr play'd:
Cool'd by the wave, the gentle breezes
With refreshing foftnefs blow;
And all around the profpect pleafes,
Hills, and woods, and meadows glow.

Onward I ftray'd, the fcene enjoying,
When to a ruin'd pile I came,
Which, the rude tooth of time destroying,
Scarce deferv'd an Abbey's name.

Where once had fhone the fpiry towers
In the golden eye of day,
Now the lone fcreech-owl nightly fcowers-
Undiftinguish'd mortals lay-

Save those whofe monumental glory

Rofe the ruin'd arch above;

Who with an epitaph or story
'Gainst annihilation ftrove.

The Conqueror's firft, rever'd in battle,
Monarch of a vast domain;
His high delight the cannon's rattle,
Or the blood-imbrued plain.

Round the tomb were fpears and lances,
Tales of thirty battles won,

Whilft by the fculptor's living fancies
Kings and princes are undone.

Beneath a cypress branch luxurious
Was of marble white a tomb;
Its ornaments attract the curious,
Who from diftant cities come.

There

There were the rofe and lily twining,
Flowrets bloom, and lambkins breathe;
The lute, the lyre, the trumpet fhining,
Hung around with laurel wreath:

Who then can fuch a tomb inherit ?
Who but the Poet, king of lays,
He was; and round the world his merit
Swept with inexpreffive praise.

Near this, with nought of decoration,
Save an humble net entwin'd,
Appear'd a tomb of lowly ftation-
Here the Fisherman reclin'd.

"Ah me!" faid I, this wretched neighbour,
"Knew of nought but care and ftrife;
Endless his hardships, toils and labour,
"His, I ween, was not a life."

"And why," replied a paffing ftranger,
"Call it not a life, I pray?

"Say, does the field of death and danger
"Give a nobler form of clay?

"Each of these men in life's short minute

Dialogue between a Nobleman, in a Dream in which he fancied himself dead,
and a dead Beggar, buried by the Side of him. From the FRENCH.

Dreamt that, buried in my fellow clay,
Clofe by a common beggar's fide I lay';

And, as fo mean a neighbour fhock'd my pride,
Thus (like a corpfe of quai.ty) I cry'd,

Away! thou scoundrel; henceforth touch me not;

More manners learn, and at a distance rot.'

Thou scoundrel!' in a louder tone, cry'd he,

Proud lump of dirt, I fcorn thy words and thee:
We're equal now, I'll not an inch refign,
This is my dunghill, as the next is thine.'

An ELEGY on Mrs. Bow Es*. By Lady M. W. MONTAGUE.

H

AIL happy Bride! for thou art truly bleft,

Three months of pleasure crown'd with endless rest!
Merit like yours was Heaven's peculiar care;

You lov'd-yet tafted happiness fincere :
The sweets of love to you were only fhewn,
The fure, fucceeding, bitter dregs unknown.
You had not yet the fatal change deplor'd,
The tender lover for the imperious Lord;
Nor felt the pangs that jealous fondness brings,
Nor wept the coldness from poffeffion springs:
Above your fex, diftinguifh'd in your fate,
You trufted, yet experienc'd no deceit.

Swift were your hours, and wing'd with pleasure flew ;
No vain repentance gave a figh to you:
And, if fuperior bliss Heav'n can bestow,
With fellow Angels you enjoy it now.

H

EPITAPH in Halifax Church.

ERE lies interr'd a zealous divine,
grave
Meek, loving, lov'd, only with fin at ftrife;
Who heard him, faw life in his doctrine shine,
Who faw him, heard found doctrine in his life;
And in the fame cold bed here refts his wife:

Nor are they dead, but fleep; for he ne'er dies
That waits for his fweet Saviour's word, Arife.

EPIGRAM.

By Dr. DODDRIDGE, on bis Motto, Dum vivimus, vivamus.

L

IVE while you live, the Epicure will fay,

And take the pleasure of the present day:

Live while you live, the facred preacher cries,
And give to God each moment as it flies.-
Lord, in my view let both united be!

I live in pleasure when I live to Thee.

First wife to Mr. Bowes, father to the present Lady Strathmore.

IN