« PreviousContinue »
And bid him, this one day, at least,
But Hymen, fpeeding forward ftill,
But, though not much on this he reckon`d,
Though he will laugh with men of whim,
In due obfervance of the day,
Who can, but feldom cares to fhine,
And one fole virtue would arrive at
To keep his many virtues private.
Who tends, well pleas'd, yet as by stealth,
His lov'd companions ease and health :
Or in his garden, barring out
The noife of every neighbouring rout,
At penfive hour of eve and prime,
Marks how the various hand of time
Now feeds and rears, now ftarves and flaughters,
His vegetable fons and daughters.
* A. Mitchell, Efq; Minifter at the court of Pruffia,
While these are on their way, behold!
Dan Cupid, from his London-fold,
Firft feeks and fends his new Lord Warden
Of all the nymphs in Covent-Garden :
Brave as the fword he wears in fight;
On whom we boldly dare repofe,
To meet our friends, or meet our foes.
Still looks right on before his nose;
* The late General Skelton. He had just then purchased a houfe in Henrietta-street.
The late Col. Caroline Scott; who, though extremely corpulent, was uncommonly active; and who, to much skill, fpirit, and bravery, as an officer, joined the greatest gentlenefs of manners as a companion and friend. He died a facrifice to the public, in the fervice of the Eaft-India Company, at Bengal, in the year 1755.
Laft comes a virgin—pray admire her!
A welcome gueft! we much had mist her;
But, Cupid, let no knave or fool
Snap up this lamb, to fhear her wool;
No teague of that unblushing band,
Juft landed, or about to land;
Thieves from the womb, and train'd at nurse,
To steal an heiress or a purse.
No fcraping, faving, sawcy cit,
Sworn foe of breeding, worth, and wit;
No half-form'd infect of a Peer,
With neither land nor confcience clear;
Who if he can, 'tis all he can do,
Juft fpell the motto on his landau.
From all, from each of these defend her ;
And round the table cordial fet;
While in fair order, to their wish,
Plain Neatnefs fends up every dish,
And Pleasure at the fide-board stands,
A nectar'd goblet in his hands,
To pour libations, in due measure,
As Reason wills when join'd with Pleasure➡
Without one cloud of dim allay :
With that rich relish to each fenfe,
Written at TUNBRIDGE WELLS, 1760.
HEN Churchill led his legions on,
Succefs ftill follow'd where he shone,
And are those triumphs, with the dead,
All from his house, for ever fled ?
They yet furvive in beauty's charms;
Even now he triumphs in his race.
MASQUE OF ALFRED: Sung by a SHEPHERDESS who has loft her Lover in the Wars.
A Youth, adorn'd with every art,
To warm and win the coldest heart,
In fecret mine poffeft.
The morning bud that fairest blows,
The vernal oak that traitest
His face and shape exprest.
In moving founds he told his tale,
What wonder he could charm with ease,
At morn he left me-fought-and fell!
And faw the tears I shed:
No cries awake the dead!