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Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune;
He had not the method of making a fortune:
Could love, and could hate, so was thought some-

what odd;
No very great wit, he believ'd in a God:
A post or a pension he did not desire,
But left church and state to Charles Townshend

and Squire*

* Squire] At that time Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge, and afterwards Bishop of St. David's.


This jeu d'esprit first appeared in Warton's Edition of Pope.

With beauty, with pleasure surrounded, to lan

guishTo weep without knowing the cause of my anguish: To start from short slumbers, and wish for the morn

ingTo close my dull eyes when I see it returning ; Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejectedWords that steal from my tongue, by no meaning

connected! Ah, say, fellow-swains, how these symptoms befell

me ?

They smile, but reply not-Sure Delia will tell me! SONG.

Written, at the request of Miss Speed, to an old air of Gemini

ani :- the thought from the French.

THYRSIS, when we parted, swore

Ere the spring he would return-
Ah! what means yon violet flower!

And the bud that decks the thorn!
"Twas the lark that upward sprung!
"T'was the nightingale that sung!


Idle notes !- untimely green!

Why this unavailing haste ?
Western gales and skies serene

Speak not always winter past,
Cease, my doubts, my fears to movt,
Spare the honour of my love.



Mr. Etough, of Cambridge University, the person satirized, was

as remarkable for the eccentricities of his character, as for his personal appearance. Mr. Tyson, of Bene't College, made an etching of his head, and presented it to Mr. Gray, who embellished it with the following lines. Mr. Etough was rector of Therfield, Herts, and of Colmworth, Bedfordshire.

Thus Tophet look'd; so grinn'd the brawling fiend,
Whilst frighted prelates bow'd and calld him friend.
Our mother-church, with half-averted sight,
Blush'd as she bless'd her grisly proselyte;
Hosannas rung through hell's tremendous borders,
And Satan's self had thoughts of taking orders.


Suggested by a view of the Seat and Ruins of a deceased noble

man, at Kingsgate, Kent, in 1766. (The house was built as a correct imitation of Cicero's Formian Villa, at Baiæ.)

OLD, and abandon’d by each venal friend,

Here Holland form’d the pious resolution To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend

A broken character and constitution. On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice;

Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighbouring sand; Here sea-gulls scream, and cormorants rejoice,

And mariners, though shipwreck’d, dread to land. Ilere reign the blustering North and blighting East,

No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing ; Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast,

Art he invokes netv horrors still to bring. Here mouldering fanes and battlements arise,

Turrets and arches nodding to their fall, Unpeopled monast'ries delude our eyes,

And mimic desolation covers all. Ah!” said the sighing peer, “had Bute been true,

Nor M—'s, R--'s, B~'s friendship vain,
Far better scenes than these bad bless'd our view,

And realiz'd the beauties which we feign:
Purg'd by the sword, and purified by fire,

Then had we seen proud London's hated walls; Owls would have hooted in St. Peter's choir,

And foxes stunk and litter'd in St. Paul's."

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