THA

Epitaph on James Quin‡, in Bath Cathedral. GARRICK. HAT tongue, which fet the table on a roar, And charm'd the public ear, is heard no more! Clos'd are thofe eyes, the harbingers of wit, Which spoke, before the tongue, what Shakipeare writ.

Cold are thofe hands, which living were ftretch'd forth,

At friendship's call, to fuccour modeft worth.
Here lies James Quin! déign, reader, to be taught
(Whate'er thy ftrength of body, force of thought,
In nature's happieft mould however caft)
To this complexion thou must come at last.

+ N

Epitaph on Mr. Beighton, who had been Vicar of
Fg bam forty-five Years. GARRICK.
EAR half an age, with every good man's praife,
Among his flock the shepherd pafs'd his days;
The friend, the comfort of the fick and poor,
Want never knock'd unheeded at his door;
Oft when his duty call'd, difcafe and pain
Strove to confine him, but they ftrove in vain.
All moan his death, his virtues long they tried,

They knew not how they lov'd him, till he died.
Peculiar bleffings did his life attend,

He had no foc, and Camden was his friend.

SO much this building entertains my fight,

Nought but the builders can give more delight: In them the mafter-piece of nature's thown, In this I fee art's mafter-piece in ftone. She charms the Sight alone, but you the heart. O! Nature, Nature, thou haft conquer'd art;

Lines written by the celebrated THOMSON to his
AMANDA; with a Copy of the SEASONS.
ACCEPT, dear Nymph! a tribute duc
To facred friendship, and to you :
But with it take, what breath'd the whole,
O! take to thine the Peet's foul!

+ He died October 26, 1764.

Mr. Quin died January, 1766.

lf

TWO Lawyers, when a knotty cafe was o'er,

With talents each distinct, and each Mark'd by peculiar powers of speech; With tempers too, as much the fame, As milk and verjuice, froft and flame; Their parts by properly sustaining, May all prove highly entertaining.

A Defcription of London. HOUSES, churches, mixt together, Streets unpleasant, in all weather; Prifons, palaces contiguous,

Gates, a bridge, the Thames irriguous;
Gaudy things enough to tempt ye,
Showy outfides, infides empty,
Bubbles, trades, mechanic arts,
Coaches, wheelbarrows, and carts;
Warrants, bailiffs, bills unpaid,
Lords of laundreffes afraid;

fore;

"Zounds!" fays the lofing client, "How come yaw To be fuch friends, who were fuch foes just "naw?"

Thou fool, fays one, we Lawyers, tho' fo keen, Like thears, ne'er cut ourfelves, but what's be

tween.

Hangmen, aldermen, and footmen;
Noble, fimple, all conditions;
Lawyers, poets, priefts, phyficians,
Worth-beneath a threadbare cover,
Villany-bedaub'd all over;
Women, black, red, fair, and grey,
Prudes, and fuch as never pray;
Handfome, ugly, noify ftill,
Some that will not, fome that will;

John Temple, of Malton, Surgeon.

By Mr. GENTLEMAN.

HERE, in juft hope above the stars to rife,

The mortal part of ELLEN TEMPLE lies, In whom thofe beauties of a fpotlefs mind, Faith and good works, were happily combin'd; A patient, careful, conftant, loving wife, The foe of fcandal, and domeftic ftrife; The tender mother, undiffembling friend, Who grac'd thofe virtues with a pious end; Who, ftill preferving an unblemish'd name, Ne'er meanly ftrove to taint a neighbour's fame; Who play'd-as, reader, thou fhouldit do-her With inward peace and rectitude of heart; [part, Who, chriftian-like, refign'd her final breath, And, dying free from cenfure-finil'd at death.

Epigram.

SAYS a beau to a lady, Pray name if you can, Of all your acquaintance, the handfomeft man. The lady replied, If you'd have me fpeak true, He's the handfomeft man that's the most unlike

you.

On a Borul of Punch.

WHENE'ER a bowl of punch we make,
Four ftriking oppofites we take;
The ftrong, the finall, the fharp, the sweet,
Together mix'd, moft kindly meet;
And when they happily unite,

The bowl" is pregnant with deligt, |

In converfation thus we find,

That, four men differently inclin'd

Many a widow not unwilling;
Many a bargain if you strike it,

This is London:-How d' ye like it?

FOUR people fat down in one evening to play, They play'd all that eve, and parted next day; Cou'd you think, when you're told, as thus they all fat,

No other play'd with them, nor was there one bet;
Yet, when they rofe up, each gained a guinea,
Tho' none of 'em loft to th' amount of a penny,
Aufwer.

Four merry fidlers play'd all night,
To many a dancing ninny;
And the next morning went away,
And each receiv'd a guinea.

Therefore, take care of fires and candle-light: 'Tis a cold frofty morn, and fo good-night.

Epitaph on a Lawyer. NTOMB'D within this vault, a lawyer lies, Who, faine affureth us, was juft and wife; An able advocate, and honest too !

That's wondrous ftrange indeed !-if it be true.

Reflections over a Pipe of Tobacco, and a Pinch of Snuff.

WHILST fmoke arifes from my pipe,

Thus to myself I fav:

Why fhould I anxious be for life,
Which vanishes away?

Our focial fnuff-boxes convey
The fame ideas juft;

As if they filently would fay,
Let's mingle duft to duft.

TH

A Country Quarter Seffions.
HREE or four parfons full of October;
Three or four 'fquires between drunk and
fober;

Three or four lawyers, three or four lyars;
Three or four conftables, three or four cryers;
Three or four parishes bringing appeals,
Three or four writings, and three or four feals;
Three or four baftards, three or four whores,
Tag, rag, and bob-tail, three or four scores;
Three or four ftatutes, mifunderstood,
Three or four paupers, all praying for food;
Three or four roads that never were mended,
Three or four fcolds--and the feffion is ended.

D

On Quadrille. To a young Lady.
EIGN, lovely nymph, to hear the leaft of bards,
Who draws inftruction from a game of cards;
What tho' Quadrille perplex you, here is shown
How hard the tafk for her who plays alone.
But, wou'd you then confent to be a wife?
Think first, O think! you play your cards for
life!

Should fordid friendscontrou! your right good will,
Beware the wretched itate of forc'd Spadille.
Should man, by grandeur, ftrive your heart to fire,
A cross fifh well denotes a purfe-proud 'Squire;
Then pafs by wealth and power, for better fure
It is, with fome kind fwain to play fecure;
And he, dear giri, who does your charms adore,
Now afks you leave; O! let him foon fay more.

To-marrow. An Epigram. TO-MORROW you will live, you always cry In what far country does to-morrow lie, That 'tis fo mighty long ere it arrive? Beyond the Indies doth this morrow live? 'Tis fo far fetch'd, this morrow, that I fear "Twill be both very old, and very dear. To-morrow I will live, the fool does fay, To-day's too late: the wife liv'd yesterday.

Spoken Extempore by the Earl of Rochefer to
Parish Clerk.
TERNHOLD and Hopkins had great qualms,
STER
When they tranflated David's Palms,
To make the heart full glad :
But had it been poor David's fate,
To hear thee fing, and them tranflate,

By Jove, 'twould have made him mad.

Rhyme to Lisbon. By the Same.
HERE's a health to Kate,
Our Sovereign's mate,

Of the Royal House of Lisbon;
But the Devil take Hyde,
And the Bishop befide,
That made her bone of his bone.

On

Similies. To Molly.

MY paffion is as mustard strong;

I fit all fober fad;

Drunk as a piper all day long,

Or like a March hare mad. Round as a hoop the bumpers flow,

I drink, yet can't forget her; For tho' as drunk as David's fow, I love her fill the better. Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,

If Molly were but kind; Cool as a cucumber could fee The reft of womankind. Like a ftuck pig I gaping ftare,

And eye her o'er and o'er; Lean as a rake with fighs and care,

Sleek as a moufe before.

Plump as a partridge was I known,
And foft as filk my fkin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown ;
But as a groat now thin!
I, melancholy as a cat,

Am kept awake to weep;
But the, infenfible of that,

Sound as a top can fleep.
Hard is her heart as flint or ftons,
She laughs to see me pale;
And merry as a grig is grown,
And brifk as bottled ale.
The God of love at her approach
Is bufy as a bee;

Hearts found as any bell or roach
Are fimit, and figh like me.
Av me! as thick as hops or

hail

The fine men crowd about her; But foon as dead as a door-nail

Shall I be, if without her.
Straight as my leg her shape appears;
O! were we join'd together,
My heart would be fcot-free from cares,
And lighter than a feather.
As fine as five-pence is her mien,
No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as a razor keen,
And not the fun is brighter.
As foft as pap her kifles are,

Methinks I tafte them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair,
Her
eyes as black as jet.

As fimooth as glafs, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites ;

Sharp as a needle are her words,
Her wit like pepper bites.
Brifk as a body-loufe fhe trips,
Clean as a penny dreit;
Sweet as a role her breath and lips,
Round as a globe her breast.
Full as an egg was I with glee,
And happy as a king!

Good Lord! how all men envied me!
She lov'd like any thing:

But falfe as hell, fhe like the wind
Chang'd, as her fex must do;
Tho' feeming as the turtle kind,
And like the gospel true.
If I and Molly could agree,

Let who would take Peru;
Great as an emp'ror fhould I be,
And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick,
I'm dull as any post;
Let us like burrs together flick,
And warm as any toast.
You'll find me truer than a die,
And with me better fped,
Flat as a flounder when I lie,
And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun fhe'll drop a tear,
And figh perhaps, and wish,
When I am rotten as a pear,
And mute as any fish.

On the Word REPRESENTATIVE. TO reprefent is but to personate,

Which should be truly done at any rate; Thus they who're fairly chofe without a fee, Should give their votes, no doubt, with liberty; But when a feat is fold by th' venal tribe, He reprefents them beft-who takes a bribe.

On the Shortness of Human Life.
LIKE as a damask 1ofe you fee,

Or like the bloffom on the tree:
Or like the dainty flower in May,
Or like the morning to the day;
Or like the fun, or like the fhade,
Or like the gourd which Jonas had :
E'en fuch is man, whofe thread is fpun
Drawn out and cut, and fo is done;
Withers the rofe, the bloffom blatts,
The flower fades, the morning haftes;
The fun doth fet, the fhadows fly,
The gourd confumes, and mortals die.
Like to the grafs that's newly fprung,
Or like a tale that's new begun;
Or like a bird that's here to-day,
Or like the pearled dew of May;
Or like an hour, or like a fpan,
Or like the finging of a swan :
E'en fuch is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death;
The grafs decays, the tale doth end,
The bird is flown, the dews afcend;
The hour is fhòrt, the fpan not long,
The fwan's near death, man's life is done.

Like to the bubble in the brook,
Or in a glafs much like a look;
Or like the fhuttle in the hand,
Or like the writing in the fand;
Or like a thought, or like a dream,
Or like the gliding of the ftream:
E'en fuch is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death;

The