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were all persuading him to go home, and not fling any more time away in prosecuting his dangerous passion for Lady Cowper; while the Grand Duke himself was his rival. I answered his application, poor fellow in the concluding verses of our "Florence Miscellany." They wanted it larger; so I said:

The book's imperfect you declare,
And Piozzi has not given her share;
What's to be done? some wits in vogue
Would quickly find an epilogue;

Composed of whim, and mirth, and satire,
Without one drop of true good nature;
But trust me; 'tis corrupted taste
To make so merry with the last:
When in that fatal word we find
Each foe to gayety combined.
Since parting then-on Arno's shore
We part—perhaps to meet no more;
Let these last lines some truth contain,

More clear than bright, less sweet than plain.

Thou first; to sooth whose feeling heart

The Muse bestowed her lenient art;
Accept her counsel, quit this coast
With only one short lustrum lost:
Nor longer let the tuneful strain
On foreign ears be poured in vain;
The wreath which on thy brow should live,
Britannia's hand alone can give.

Meanwhile for Bertie Fate prepares
A mingled wreath of joys and cares;
When politics and party-rage

Shall strive such talents to engage,
And call him to controul the great,
And fix the nicely balanced state:
Till charming Anna's gentler mind,
For storms of faction ne'er designed,
Shall think with pleasure on the times
When Arno listened to his rhymes;
And reckon among Heav'n's best mercies,
Our Piozzi's voice, and Parsons' verses.

Thou toot; who oft has strung the lyre
To liveliest notes of gay desire;
No longer seek these scorching flames,
And trifle with Italian dames;

But haste to Britain's chaster isle,
Receive some fair one's virgin smile,
Accept her vows, regard her truth,
And guard from ills her artless youth.
Keep her from knowledge of the crimes
That taint the sweets of warmer climes;

But let her weaker bloom disclose

The beauties of a hot-house rose:

Mr. Greatheed. She describes him as completely under the influence of his wife, the charming Anna. In the “Baviad and Mæviad "he is called the Rubens of the Della Cruscan school. His tragedy, "The Regent," was acted in 1788.

† Parsons.

Whose leaves no insects ever haunted,
Whose perfume but to one is granted;
Pleased with her partner to retire
And cheer the safe domestic fire.

While I who, half-amphibious grown,
Now scarce call any place my own —
Will learn to view with eye serene
Life's empty plot, and shifting scene:
And trusting still to Heav'n's high care,
firm habitation there :

Fix my

"Twas thus the Grecian sage of old,

As by Herodotus we 're told*,
Accused by them who sate above,

As wanting in his country's love:

""Tis that," cried he, " which most I prize,"
And pointing upwards, shewed the skies.

* An obvious anachronism. There is something like the thought towards the conclusion of the Ninth Book of Plato's Republic.



SOCIETY! gregarious dame!

Who knows thy favour'd haunts to name?
Whether at Paris you prepare

The supper and the chat to share,
While fix'd in artificial row,

Laughter displays its teeth of snow :
Grimace with raillery rejoices,
And song of many mingled voices,
Till young coquetry's artful wile
Some foreign novice shall beguile,
Who home return'd, still prates of thee,

Light, flippant, French Society.


Or whether, with your zone unbound,
You ramble gaudy Venice round,
Resolv'd the inviting sweets to prove,
Of friendship warm, and willing love ;
Where softly roll th' obedient seas,
Sacred to luxury and ease,

* This ode was probably suggested by Grainger's "Ode to Solitude." The copy in "Thraliana" is not quite the same, and she adds: "These verses were written in a state of complete solitude, for I never saw a place so secluded from the busy hum of men as our little habitation at the Bagni di Pisa."

In coffee-house or casino gay
Till the too quick return of day,
Th' enchanted votary who sighs
For sentiments without disguise,
Clear, unaffected, fond, and free,
In Venice finds Society.


Or if to wiser Britain led,

Your vagrant feet desire to tread,
With measur'd step and anxious care,
The precincts pure of Portman-square;
While wit with elegance combin'd,
And polish'd manners there you'll find;
The taste correct and fertile mind:
Remember vigilance lurks near,
And silence with unnotic'd sneer,
Who watches but to tell again
Your foibles with to-morrow's pen;
Till titt'ring malice smiles to see


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Far from your busy crowded court,
Tranquillity makes her resort;

Where 'mid cold Staffa's columns rude,

Resides majestic Solitude;

Or where in some sad Brachman's cell,

Meek Innocence delights to dwell,

Weeping with unexperienc'd eye,

The death of a departed fly:

*The residence of her old rival, Mrs. Montagu.

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