To Chloe. believ'd, I SWORE I lov'd, and I lov'd one gen'rous, good, and kind, And thought that form was you. I curse my fond enduring heart, To hate myself, and burn for thee. On Shakspeare's Monument at Stratford upon GREAT Homer's birth seven rival cities claim, On one who first abused, and then made Love Yet not to birth alone did Homer owe to a Lady. FOUL True sung the bard well-known to fame*, His wondrous worth; what Egypt could be stow, With all the schools of Greece and Asia join'd, With incontested laurels deck thy brow: To a Lady who drew her Pins from her Bonnet More than all Egypt, Greece, or Asia, taught. in a Thunder Storm. CEASE, Eliza, thy locks to despoil, Nor remove the bright steel from thy hair; For fruitless and fond is the toil, Since Nature has made thee so fair. Thy endeavour must still be in vain, SHE who in secret yields her heart, Can ne'er her squander'd fanie recover. We thought you without titles great, Toм thought a wild profusion great, To Clarissa. WHY like a tyrant wilt thou reign, Can the poor pride of giving pain • Mr. Pope. Not Homer's self such matchless honors won; On Captain Grenville. LORD LYTTELTON. Designed for the Monument of Sir Isaac Newton. MORE than his name were less-'twould seem to fear He who increased Heaven's fame, could want it here. Yes-when the sun he lighted up shall fade, Upon a young Gentleman refusing to walk with the Author in the Park, because he was not dressed well. GARRICK. FRIEND Col and I, both full of whim, To shun each other oft agree; When screech-owls screek, their note por- Then let us from each other fly, tends To foolish mortals death of friends: But when Corvina strains her throat, Even screech-owls sicken at the note. UPON some hasty errand Tom was sent, And met his parish-curate as he went; But, just like what he was, a sorry clown, It seems he pass'd him with a cover'd crown. And arm in arm no more appear; That I may ne'er offend your eye, That you may ne'er offend my ear. Extempore, on hearing a certain impertinent | To the Author of the Farmer's Letters, which were written in Ireland in the year of the Rebellion, by Henry Brooke, Esq. 1745. GARRICK. O THOU, whose artless, free-born genius Whose rustic zeal each patriot bosom warms; On Britain's liberty ingraft thy name, Upon a Lady's Embroidery. GARRICK, A goddess at her art defied; Be prudent, Chloe, and submit: To Dr. Hill, upon his Petition of the Letter I Death and the Doctor. Occasioned by a Phy to Mr. Garrick. GARRICK. Ir 'tis true, as you say, that I've injur'd a Colloquial Epigram. GARRICK. Wilmot. You should call at his house, or should send him a card; Can Garrick alone be so cold? Garrick. Shall I, a poor player, and still poorer bard, sician's lampooning a Friend of the Author. GARRICK. Soon after the promotion of Lord Camden to the Seals, Mr. Wilmot, his Lordship's pursebearer, called at Hampton; where learning that Mr. Garrick had not yet paid his congratulatory compliments, the conversation between the two gentlemen furnished Mr. Garrick with the subject of the Epigram; in which with admirable address our English Roscius has turned an imputed neglect into a very elegant panegyric on that truly patriotic nobleman. A bee within a damask rose Had crept, the nectar'd dew to sip; Upon a certain Lord's giving some Thousand Th' ungrateful spoiler left his sting, Pounds for a House. GARRICK. TELL me the meaning, you who can, Of "finely for a gentleman!" Is genius, rarest gift of Heaven, To the hired artist only given? Or, like the Catholic salvation, Paled in for any class or station? Is it bound prentice to the trade, Which works, and as it works is paid? Is there no skill to build, invent, Unless inspir'd by five per cent.? And shalt thou, Taylor, paint in vain, Unless impell'd by hopes of gain? Be wise, my friend, and take thy fee, That Claude Lorraine may yield to thee. Tom Fool to Mr. Hoskins, his Counsellor and Friend. GARRICK. On your care must depend the success of my suit, The possession I mean of the house in dispute; From the Spanish. GARRICK. FOR me my fair a wreath has wove, Where rival flow'rs in union meet; As oft she kiss'd the gift of love, Her breath gave sweetness to the sweet. And with the honey flew away. speare writ. Cold are those hands, which living were stretch'd forth, At friendship's call, to succour modest worth. Here lies James Quin! Deign, reader, to be taught, Whate'er thy strength of body, force of thought, Epitaph on Laurence Sterne §. GARRICK. SHALL pride a heap of sculptur'd marble raise, [praise, Some worthless, unmourn'd, titled fool to And shall we not by one poor grave-stone learn Where genius, wit, and humor, sleep with Sterne ? This Epitaph has been ascribed to Dr. Johnson, but was really written by Mr. Garrick. See European Magazine, January, 1785. + He died October 26, 1764. Mr. Quin died January, 1766. Mr. Sterne was born at Clonmel in Ireland, November 24, 1713, and died in London, March 18, 1768. his AMANDA; with a Copy of the SEASONS. Epitaph on Mr.Beighton, who had been Vicar | Lines written by the celebrated THOMSON, to of Egham forty-five Years. GARRICK. NEAR half an age, with every good man's praise, Among his flock the shepherd pass'd his days: Peculiar blessings did his life attend, Epitaph on Paul Whitehead, Esq. Nor quitted their distresses-till he died. A Tribute by Mr. Garrick, to the Memory of HAVARD, from sorrow rest beneath this stone; And heaven applauded when the curtain fell. ACCEPT, dear Nymph! a tribute due If fancy here her pow'r displays, Inscription on a Grotto of Shells, at Crux- Epitaph on Mrs. Ellen Temple, late Wife of Easton, the Work of Nine young Ladiest. РОРЕ. HERE, shunning idleness at once and praise, Verses occasioned by seeing a Grotto built by So much this building entertains my sight, Mr. John Temple, of Malton, Surgeon. By Mr. GENTLEMAN. Who play'd,—as, reader, thou shouldst do- With inward peace and rectitude of heart; He died 20th February, 1778. +In the county of Hants, the seat of Edward Lisle, Esq. |