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THE PARTING KISS.
ONE kind kiss before we part,
Drop a tear and bid adieu : Though we sever, my fond heart
Till we meet shall pant for you.
Yet, yet weep not so, my love,
Let me kiss that falling tear,
soul will still be here.
All my soul, and all my heart,
And every wish shall pant for you; One kind kiss then ere we part,
Drop a tear and bid adieu.
ROBERT LLO Y D.
BORN 1733.-DIED 1764.
Robert LLOYD was the son of one of the masters of Westminster school. He studied at Cambridge, and was for some time usher at Westminster, but forsook that employment for the life of an author and the habits of a man of pleasure. His first publication that attracted any notice was the Actor, the reputation of which stimulated Churchill to his Rosciad. He contributed to several periodical works; but was unable by his literary efforts to support the dissipated life which he led with Coleman, Thornton, and other gay associates. His debts brought him to the Fleet, and those companions left him to moralize on the instability of convivial friendships. Churchill however adhered to him, and gave him pecuniary relief to prevent him from starving in prison. During his confinement he published a volume of his poems; wrote a comic opera, “ The Capricious Lovers ;" and took a share in translating the Contes Moraux of Marmontel. When the death of Churchill was announced to him, he exclaimed, “ Poor Charles ! I shall follow him soon," fell into despondency, and died within a few weeks. Churchill's sister, to whom he was attached, died of a broken heart for his loss.
AN IMITATION OF THEOCRITUS.
IDYLL. XV. Ev 80. lpaživoa, &c.
Mrs. B. Is Mistress Scot at home, my dear?
Sero. Ma'm, is it you? I'm glad you're here. My missess, though resolv'd to wait, Is quite unpatient—'tis so late. She fancy'd you would not come down, But pray
walk in, ma'm—Mrs. Brown.
Lard! my dear,
Mrs. S. Lard ! ma'm, I left it all to him,
He took this house. This house! this den.
Hist! lower, pray,
Jacky, come here,
Mrs. B. See how the urchin holds his hands.
There's a sweet child, come, kiss me, come,
Mrs. S. This person, madam, (call him so
Mrs. B. My good man, too-Lord bless us ! wives Are born to lead unhappy lives,
Although his profits bring him clear
Ay, ay, you know,
Mrs. B. Lard! we've no time for talking now, Hark!--one-two--three-'tis twelve I vow.
Mrs. S. Kitty, my things,-l'll soon have done, It's time enough, you know, at one. -Why, girl! see how the creature stands! Some water here to wash my hands.
-Be quick-why sure the gipsy sleeps ! -Look how the drawling daudle creeps. That bason there-why don't you pour ?
say-stop, stopno more Lud! I could beat the hussy down, She's pour'd it all upon my gown.