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Ingruit imber trux

Jam sub tecto pellitur Is quem crastina lux

Referet hùc fideliter.

Semel tantum dic
Eris nostra LALAGE”;

Ne recuses sic,
Dulcis Julia CALLAGE'.

'Tis just beginning to rain,

So I'll get under cover ;
To-morrow I'll come again,

And be your constant lover.

Only say
You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan :

Don't say nay,
Charming Judy Callaghan,

TO THE HOT WELLS OF CLIFTON.

PINDAR.

IN PRAISE OF RUM-PUNCH.

A Triglot Ode, viz.
1ο Πινδαρου περι ρευματος φδη. .
2. Horatii in fontem Bristolii carmen.
3. A Relick (unpublished) of sihe unfortunate Chatterton.

HORACE.

CHATTERTON. Πηγη Βριστολιας O fons Bristolii I ken your worth, Μαλλον εν υαλω Hoc magis in vitro “ Hot wells" of Bristol Λαμπουσ' ανθεσι συν Dulci digne mero

That bubble forth Νεκταρος αξιη

Non sine floribus As clear as crystal ;.. Σ' αντλω

Vas impleveris

En parlour snug Ρευματι πολλα

Undâ

JE'D wish no hotter Μίσγων

Mel solvente

To mir a sug Και μελιτος πολυ. . Caloribus.

Of Rum and water. Ανηρ καν τις εραν

Si quis vel venerem Doth Love, young chiel, βουλεται η μαχη'

Aut prælia cogitat, One's bogom rutie?
Σοι Βακχου καθαρον Is Bacchi calidos odiould any feel
Σοι διαχρωννυσει Inficiet tibi

Ripe for a scute ?
Φοινω

Rubro sanguine The simplest plan Θ' αιματι νάμα Rivos,

Is just to take a Προθυμος τε

Fiet protinus

duell stiffened can Ταχ' εσσεται.

Impiger!

Of old Jamaica. Σε φλεγμ' αιθαλοεν Te flagrante bibax Bencath the zone Σειριου αστερος

Ore caniculâ

Grog in a pail or Αρμοζει πλωτορί: : Sugit navita : tu Rum-best alone, Συ κρυος ηδυν εν Frigus amabile Delights the sailor. Νησοις

Fessis vomere

The can he swills Αντιλεσαισι

Mauris

Alone gives vigour Ποιεις

Præbes ac

In the Antilles Κ' άιθιοπων φυλφ.

Homini nigro.

To white or nigger
* Allusio ad distichon Maronianum,
“Nocte pluit tota redeunt spectacula usane." Prout.

K, T.

Κρηναις εν τε καλαις Fies nobilium Thy claims, O fount,
Εσσεαι αγλαη

Tu
quoque

fontium Deserve attention. Σ' εν κοιλη κυλακι Me dicente; cavum Henceforward count Ενθεμενην εως

Dum calicem reples On classic mention. Tuvnow,

Urnamque

Kight pleasant stuff Λαλον εξ ου

Unde loquaces

Thine to the lip is.... Σον δε ρευμα καθαλλεται. Lymphe

die 've had enough Desiliunt tuæ.

Of Aganippe's.

MOLLY CAREW.

TO THE HARD-HEARTED MOLLY

CAREW, THE LAMENT OF HER
IRISH LOVER

AD MOLLISSIMAM PUELLAM E GE

TICÀ CARUARUM FAMILIA OVI.
DIUS NASO LAMENTATUR.

Och hone!

Oh! what will I do? Sure my love is all crost, Like a bud in the frost.

And there's no use at all In my going to bed ; For 'tis dhrames, and not sleep, That comes into my head ..

And 'tis all about you, My sweet Molly Carew, And indeed 'tis a sin And a shame.

You're complater than nature
In every feature;
The snow can't compare
To your forehead so fair;
And I rather would spy
Just one blink of your eye
Than the purtiest star
That shines out of the sky ;
Tho'-by this and by that!
For the matter o'that-
You're more distant by far
Than that same.

Och hone, wierasthrew !
I am alone
In this world without you!
Och hone!

But why should I speak
Of your forehead and eyes,
When your nose it defies

Heu! heu !

Me tædet, me piget o ! Cor mihi riget o ! Ut flos sub frigido ...

Et nox ipsa mî tum Cuin vado dormitùm. Infausta, insomnis, Transcurritur omnis ..

Hoc culpâ fit tua Mî, mollis Carùa, Sic mihi illudens, Nec pudens.

Prodigium tu, re Es, verâ, naturæ, Candidior lacte ;Plus fronte cum hâc te, Cum istis ocellis, Plus omnibus stellis Mehercule vellem. Sed heu, me imbellem ! A me, qui sum fidus, Vel ultimum sidus Non distat te magis ... Quid agis !

Heu! heu ! nisi tu

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Prætereo pontem ? ..,

Ast hic ego minùs Quàm ipse LONGINUS In verbis exprimem Hunc nasum sublimem...

De floridå genâ
Vulgaris camæna
Cantaret in vanum
Per annum.-

Tum, tibi puella !
Sic tument labella
Ut nil plus jucundum
Sit, aut rubicundum ;
Si primitùs homo
Collapsus est pomo,
Si dolor et luctus
Venerunt per fructus,
Proh! ætas nunc serior.
Ne cadat, vereor,
Icta tam bello
Labello !

Heu! heu! nisi tu

Me ames,

Pereo! pillaleu!

Paddy Blake the schoolmaster

To put it in rhyme ?Though there's one Burke,

He says,

Who would call it Snublime ...

And then for your cheek,
Throth, 'twould take him a week
Its beauties to tell
As he'd rather:-

Then your lips, O machree!
In their beautiful glow
They a pattern might be
For the cherries to grow. -
'Twas an apple that tempted
Our mother, we know;
For apples were scarce
I suppose long ago :
But at this time o’day,
'Pon my conscience I'll say,
Such cherries might tempt
A man's father!

Och hone, wierasthrew !
I'm alone
In this world without you !

Och hone!

By the man in the moon !
You teaze me all ways
That a woman can plaze;

For you dance twice as ligh
With that thief Pat Macghee
As when you take share
Of a jig, dear, with me;

Though the piper I bate,
For fear the ould chate
Wouldn't play you your
Favourite tune.

And when you're at Mass
My devotion you crass,
For 'tis thinking of you
I

am, Molly Carew;
While you wear on purpose
A bonnet so deep,
That I can't at

your

sweet
Pretty face get a peep.
Oh! lave off that bonnet,
Or else I'll lave on it
The loss of my wandering
Sowl!

Heu ! heu!

Per cornua hunæ
Perpetuò tu ne
Me vexes impunè ? ..

I nunc choro salta
(Mac-gnius nam tecùm)
Plantà magis altâ
Quàm sueveris mecùm!...

Tibicinem quando
Cogo fustigando
Ne falsum det melos,
Anhelus.

A te in sacello
Vix mentem revello,
Heu! miserè scissam
Te inter et Missam ;
Tu latitas vero
Tam stricto galero
Ut cernere vultum
Desiderem multùm.
Et dubites jam, nùm
(Ob animæ damnuin)
Sit fas hunc deberi
Auferri ?

Och hone! like an owl,
Day is night,
Dear, to me without you !

Heu! heu! nisi tu
Coràm sis
Cæcus sim : eleleu !

Och hone!

Don't provoke me to do it :
For there's girls by the score
That loves me, and more.

And you'd look very queer,
If some morning you'd meet
My wedding all marching
In pride down the street.

Throth you'd open your eyes,
And you'd die of surprise
To think 'twasn't you
Was come to it.

And faith! Katty Naile
And her cow,

I
Would jump if I'd say,
“Katty Naile, name the day.”
And though you're fair and fresh
As the blossoms of May,
And she's short and dark
Like a cowld winter's day,
Yet, if you don't repent
Before Easter,—when Lent
Is over—I'll marry
For spite.

Och hone! and when I

go bail,

Heu! heu!

Non me provocato,
Nam virginum sat, o!
Stant mihi amato

Et stuperes planè,
Si aliquo manè
Me sponsum videres ;
Hoc quomodo ferres ?

Quid diceres, si cum
Triumpho per vicum,
Maritus it ibi,
Non tibi!

Et pol! Catharina
Cui vacca, (tu, sine)
Si proferem hymen
Grande esset discrimen ;
Tu quamvis, hìc aio,
Sis blandior Maio,
Et hæc calet rariùs
Quàm Januarius;
Si non mutas brevi,
Hanc mihi decrevi
(Ut sic ultus forem)
Uxorem ;

Tum posthac diù
Me spectrum
Verebere tu ...

Eleleu !

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THE PAINTER, BARRY.

Rome, 1769. "Nothing could have made me more really happy than your very kind letter. It came most opportunely to support my spirits at a time when I was ill of a fever, which I believe was occasioned by a cold caught while working in the Vatican.”

James Barry (R.A.) to (Sir) Joshua Reynolds. “ Apparet domus intus et atria longa patescunt,

Apparent Priami et veterum penetralia regum.”— Æneid II.
His magic wand Prout waves again, and opes
Those hallowed halls inhabited by Popes ;
Where (through an odd rencontre that befell) he
Enjoys some “table talk” with Ganganelli.-0. Y.

The historian on whom will devolve the task of tracing, “à la Gibbon," the decline and fall of English literature, must devote an ample chapter to writers of romance. This class has obtained an undue predominance. A motley ano undisciplined horde, emerging from their native haunts on the remote boundary of the literary domain, have rushed down with a simultaneous war-whoop on the empire of learning, and threaten not to leave a vestige of sober knowledge or classic taste throughout the range of their Vandal incursions ; no memorable transaction of bygone centuries is held sacred from the rude inroad and destructive battle-axe of the “HISTORICAL" novelist. The ghost of Froissart revisits nightly the glimpses of the moon to complain of those who molest and torture his simple spirit; Rapin, Matthew Paris, Hollinshed, De Thou, Hume, Clarendon, and Robertson, undergo a post mortem persecution, which those chroniclers scarce anticipated as the fruit of their learned labours. The sisterhood of the sacred valley have taken the affair sadly to heart; and each Muse in her turn sheds a tear of condolence over the disfigured page of Clio.

Nor has individual biography been exempt from devastation. Richelieu, Cromwell, Will. Wallace, Henri Quatre, Cardinal Borromeo, Queen Elizabeth, Brinsley Sheridan, and a host of victims, have been immolated with barbarous rites on the shrine of Colburn and Bentley: After disinterring by dozens the memorable dead who fain would sleep in Westminster Abbey, these goules have traversed the continent, with vampire voracity, in quest of prey ; few are the characters of European celebrity that have not fed their indiscriminate insatiate maw. Nay, as if modern history did not afford scope for the exercise of their propensities, they have invaded the privacy of Roman life, to insult the “lares," to desecrate the household gods of ancient Italy; and in the Last Days of Pompeii, an attempt is made to impute modern foppery, with all its concomitant peculiarities, to the masters of the world.

“Et, sous des noms Romains, faisant notre portrait-
Peindre Caton galant, et Brutus dameret.”

BOILEAU, A. P. chant iii.
All this is done for the purpose of being read by sentimental

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