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Oh! bless’d with temper, whose unclouded ray
Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day;
She who can love a fifter's charms, or hear
Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear;
She who ne'er answers till a husband cools;
Or if she rules him, never shews she rules;
Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
Yet has her humour most, when she obeys;
Let fops or fortune fly which way they will,
Difdains all loss of tickets or codille;
Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all,
And mistress of herself, tho' china fall.
TO A FAVOURITE LADY ON HER BIRTH-DAY.
H be thou bless'd with all that Heav'n can send,
Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a
Not with those toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and vanities that tire.
With added years, if life bring nothing new,
But like a fieve let every blessing through ;
Some joy still loft, as each vain year runs o’er,
And all we gain, some sad reflection more :
Is that a birth-day? ’tis, alas! too clear,
'Tis but the fun’ral of the former year.
Let joy or ease, let afluence or content,
And the gay conscience of a life well spent,
Calm ev'ry thought, inspirit ev'ry grace,
Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear ;
Till death unfelt that tender frame destroys
In some soft dream, or ecstasy of joy,
Peaceful Neep out the fabbath of the tomb,
And wake.to raptures in a life to come.
KNOW the thing that's most uncommon,
(be I know a reasonable woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a friend. Not warp'd by passion, aw'd by rumour;
Not grave through pride, or gay through folly; An equal mixture of good humour,
And sensible foft melancholy,
« Has she no fault then (Envy says), Sir?”
Yes she has one; I muft aver;
When all the world confpires to praise her,
The woman's deaf and does not hear.
EPITAPH ON SIR WILLIAM TURNBULL, ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE TO
KING WILLIAM III.
Sincere, tho' prudent; constant, yet relign'd:
Honour unchang’d, a principle profest,
Fix'd to one side, but mod’rate to the rest;
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too;
Just to his prince, and to his country true;
Filld with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;
A gen'rous faith, from superstition free;
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny;
Such this man was; who now, from earth remov'd,
At length enjoys that liberty he lov'd.
ON MR. ROWE AND HIS DAUGHTER, MR. GAY, AND :
THY reliques, Rowe! to this fad fhrine we trust, And near thy Shakespeare place thy honour'd
bust. Oh, next him, kill'd to draw the tender tear, For never heart felt passion more sincere; To nobler sentiment to fire the brave, For never Briton more disdain'd a flave. 2
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless reft;
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And bleit, that timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy foul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.
To these so mourn'd in death, so lov'd in life,
The childless parent, and the widow'd wife,
With tears inscribe this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes, and expects her own,
Of manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit, a man; fimplicity, a child :
With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age ;
Above temptation in a low estate,
And uncorrupted ev'n among the great;
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblam'd through life, lamented in thy end.
These are thy honours ! not that here thy bust
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy duft ;
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bofoms-Here lies Gay.
Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night ;
GOD said, Let Newton be ! and all was light.
ON A LADY, WHO DIED OF A CANCER IN HER BREAST•
TERE rests a woman, good without pretence,
Bless’d with plain reason, and with sober sense.
No conquests she, but o'er herself defir'd;
No arts essay'd but not to be admir'd.
Paffion and Pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinc'd that Virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so compos'd a mind;
So firm, yet soft ; so strong, yet so refin'd;
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried !
The faint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
STRIKING FEATURES OF SOME POPULAR AND GREAT
NOT like Misanthropos I quit the Town,
Hating mankind, and loving self alone : Good heaven knows, and all my friends can tell, I love society, perhaps too well : I love society ;-but it must be From affectation and from folly free; Men that will speak the language of the heart, Nor wound decorum with licentious dart; Women with sense enough and charms to please, Whose native pride is loft in native ease. Sweet such society! and doubly bless'd are those Who from the weedy world can pluck so rich a rose !
But I, alas ! have search'd and search'd around, Till Patience has receiv'd her dying wound; Nothing like friendship in the world I trace, Though plagued with "greetings in the market-place.” 'Tis true, acquaintance, each for his own end, Squeezes my hand, and writes, “Your faithful friend." I