BURLESQUE

ON THE MODERN VERSIFICATION OF ANCIENT LEGENDARY TALES: AN IMPROMPTU.

THE tender infant, meek and mild,

Fell down upon the stone;
The nurse took up the squealing child,
But still the child squeal'd on.

EPITAPH FOR MR HOGARTH.

THE hand of him here torpid lies,

That drew the essential form of grace;
Here closed in death the attentive eyes,
That saw the manners in the face.

TRANSLATION

OF THE TWO FIRST STANZAS OF THE SONG RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE,' PRINTED IN BISHOP PERCY'S 'RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY:' AN IMPROMPTU.

GLASSY water, glassy water,

Down whose current, clear and strong,

Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter,

Moor and Christian, roll along.

TO MRS THRALE,

ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR.
AN IMPROMPTU.

OFT in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,

Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five.
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five;
Ladies, stock and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five ;

For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five;
He that ever hopes to thrive,
Must begin by thirty-five;
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.

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IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION

OF AN AIR IN THE CLEMENZA DE TITO OF METASTASIO,

WOULD you hope to gain my heart,
Bid your teasing doubts depart.

E

He who blindly trusts will find,
Faith from every generous mind;
He who still expects deceit,
Only teaches how to cheat.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS SKAITING.

O'ER crackling ice, o'er gulfs profound,
With nimble glide the skaiters play;
O'er treacherous Pleasure's flowery ground
Thus lightly skim, and haste away.

TRANSLATION

OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO IN THE 'ADRIANO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, TU CHE IN CORTE INVECCHIASTI.'

GROWN old in courts, thou art not surely one

Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour :
Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness,

To sink the fatal precipice before him,

And then lament his fall with seeming friendship:

Open to all, true only to thyself,

Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise, Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses,

And drive discountenanced Virtue from the throne

That leave the blame of rigour to the prince,

And of his every gift usurp the merit ;
That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose,
And only build upon each other's ruin.

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IMPROMPTU

ON HEARING MISS THRALE CONSULTING WITH A FRIEND ABOUT A GOWN AND HAT SHE WAS INCLINED TO WEAR.

WEAR the gown, and wear the hat,

Snatch thy pleasures while they last;

Hadst thou nine lives, like a cat,

Soon those nine lives would be past.

TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL.

PASTORAL I.

Milebæus. Now, Tityrus, you supine and careless laid,
Play on your pipe beneath yon beechen shade;
While wretched we about the world must roam,
And leave our pleasing fields, and native home;
Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame,
And the wood rings with Amaryllis' name.

Tityrus. Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd,
For I shall never think him less than god;
Oft on his altars shall my firstlings lie,
Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye :
He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads,
And me to tune at ease the unequal reeds.

Milebaus. My admiration only I express'd,
(No spark of envy harbours in my breast),
That when confusion o'er the country reigns,
To you alone this happy state remains.
Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats,
Far from their ancient fields and humble cots.

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This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock
Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock.
Had we not been perverse and careless grown,
This dire event by omens was foreshown;
Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke,
And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak,
Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak.

TRANSLATION OF HORACE.

BOOK I. ODE XXII.

1 THE man, my friend, whose conscious heart
With virtue's sacred ardour glows,

Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart,
Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows:

2 Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads,
Or horrid Afric's faithless sands;
Or where the famed Hydaspes spreads
His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands.

3 For while, by Chlöe's image charm'd,
Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd;
Me singing, careless and unarm'd,
A grisly wolf surprised, and fled.

4 No savage more portentous stain'd
Apulia's spacious wilds with gore;
None fiercer Juba's thirsty land,
Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.

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