Since Fortune veers with every wind,
Enjoy the prefent happy hours;
Lo! the great Father of mankind

Was banifh'd Eden's blissful bowers.
Drink then, nor dread the approach of age,
Nor let fad cares your mirth destroy;
For on this tranfitory stage

Think not to tafte perpetual joy.
The spring of youth now difappears,
Why pluck you not life's only rofe?
With virtue mark your future years,

This earthly fcene with honour close.
With generous wine then fill the bowl,
Swift, fwift to Jami, Zephyr, fly,
Tell him that friendship's flow of foul,
While Hafez lives, fhall never die.

Spacious empire! glorious pow'r !
Mine of inexhausted store !

Let the wretched love to roam,
Joy and I can live at home.

Open, open, balmy Breaft,
Into raptures waken reft.

TE

On GOOD HUMOUR.

By the late Lord LYTTELTON.

ELL me, ye fons of Phoebus, what is this
Which all admire, but few, too few poffefs?
A virtue 'tis to ancient maids unknown,

And prudes, who fpy all faults except their own;
Lov'd and defended by the brave and wife,
Tho' knaves abuse it, and like fools defpife.
Say, Wyndham, if 'tis poffible to tell
What is the thing in which you moft excel?
Hard is the question-for in all you please;
Yet fure good-nature is your noblest praise.
Secur'd by this, your parts no envy move;
For none can envy him whom all must love.
This magic pow'r can make e'en folly please:
This to Pitt's genius adds a brighter grace,
And sweetens ev'ry charm in Cælia's face.

}

VERSES copied from the WINDOW of an obfcure LODGING-HOUSE

STR

in the Neighbourhood of LONDON.

TRANGER, whate'er thou art, whofe reftlefs mind,
Like me, within thefe walls is cribb'd, confin'd,*
Learn, how each want, that heaves our mutual figh,
A woman's foft folicitudes fupply!

From her white breaft retreat all rude alarms,
Or fly the circle of her magic arms;
While fouls exchang'd alternate grace acquire,
And paffions catch from paffions glorious fire.

What tho' to deck this roof no arts combine,
Such forms as rival ev'ry fair but mine;
No nodding plumes, our humble couch above,
Proclaim each triumph of unbounded love;
No filver lamp, with fculptur'd Cupids gay,
O'er yielding Beauty pours its midnight ray:

• Macbeth.

Yet Fanny's charms could Time's flow flight beguile,
Soothe every care, and make each dungeon fmile;
In her, what Kings, what faints have wish'd, is given;
Her heart is Empire, and her love is Heaven!

EPITAPH on Dr. GOLDSMITH.

By W. WOTY.

ADIEU, fiveet Bard! to each fine feeling true,

Thy virtues many, and thy foibles few;

Those form'd to charm e'en vicious minds-and Thefe
With harmless mirth the focial foul to please.
Another's woe thy heart could always melt,
None gave more free-for none more deeply felt.
Sweet Bard, adieu! thy own harmonious lays
Have fculptur'd out thy monument of praise;
Yes-Thefe furvive to Time's remoteft day,
While drops the buft, and boaftful tombs decay.
Reader! if number'd in the Mufes' train,
Go tune the lyre, and imitate his strain;
But if no Poet thou, reverse the plan,
Depart in peace, and imitate the Man.

LINES written by Mr. GARRIGK on the Back of his own Picture, which was fent lately to a Gentleman of the Univerfity of Oxford.

"HE mimic form on t'other fide,

That you accepted, is my pride;
Resembles one so prompt to change,
Through every mortal whim to range;
You'd wear the lute fo like the cafe,
The mind as various as the face:
Yet to his friends be this his fame,
His heart's eternally the fame.

An EPIGRAM on MODERN MARRIAGES.

W

HEN Phoebus was am'rous, and long'd to be rude,
Mifs Daphne cry'd Pish! and ran fwift to the wood;

And, rather than do fuch a naughty affair,

She became a fine laurel to deck the god's hair.
The nymph was, no doubt, of a cold conftitution;
For, fure, to turn tree, was an odd refolution!
Yet in this fhe behav'd like a Coterie fpoule,

As fhe fled from his arms to diftinguish his brows.

On VIEWING the CONCLUSION of the ancient RHINE, at CATWYK, near LEYDEN.

Vifendus ater flumine languido.

HORACE.

NSTRUCTIVE Rhine! from whose mean exit springs
A lively type of fublunary things.

IN

What, tho' renown'd in Cafar's claffic page,
Thro' many a past, and many a future age,
Thy copious urn is pour'd from Alpine hills;
What, tho' with all its tributary rills,

Thy winding ftream the laughing Naiads lead
Thro' many a blooming dale and fertile mead,
Where golden harvests on thy margin fhine,
And ripen'd vineyards burft in floods of wine;
What tho' thy waters, in one ftately train,
Once flow'd majestic to the western main!

Here cease thine honours-here thy ftream, no more
A filver current, cleaves the Belgic fhore;
But dark and ftagnant as the filent Styx,
With Ocean's wave all impotent to mix,
Sleeps indolent, unreach'd its ancient strand,
And finks ingulph'd in fedge obfcene, and fand.
The patriot philofophic mind obtains

A moral hence, that pleases while it pains.
"Tis this those kings, whom heroes we mifcall,
Who think heav'n form'd them lawless lords of all;
Whom venial priefts, array'd in cloak or gown,
Extol as prodigies of fair renown;

Who, wretched vot'ries at ambition's fhrine,
To rule as dæmons claim a right divine;
When long, to charms of public virtue blind,
They've robb'd, enflav'd, and ruin'd half mankind,
Like thee, O Rhine! (tho' like in this alone),
By time their pompous honours all o'erthrown,
They fink at laft, without a friend to fave,
And close their courfe in an ignoble grave:
There, once for all, the harafs'd world befriend,
Where, in a fix feet space, their triumphs end.

Rotterdam, July 12, 1774.

B. S.

Q4

Account

Account of Books for 1774.