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LONG STOR Y.

E 3

MR. GRAY'S Elegy in the Country ChurchYard, before it appeared in print, was handed about in manuscript; and amongst other eminent perfonages who faw and admired it, was the Lady Cobham, who refided at the Manfion-house at StokePogeis. The performance induced her to wifh for the author's acquaintance; and Lady Schaub and Mifs Speed, then at her house, undertook to effect it. These two ladies waited upon the author at his aunt's folitary manfion, where he at that time refided; and not finding him at home, they left their names. Mr. Gray, furprised at fuch a compliment, returned the vifit. And as the beginning of this acquaintance wore a little of the face of romance, he foon after gave a fanciful and pleasant account of it in the following copy of verfes, which he entitled A LONG STORY.

ALTHOUGH this performance certainly poffeffes great humour, yet it is not immediately perceived; and has not been univerfally relifhed. The author perceived this himself, and owned it candidly."The verses," he writes to Dr. Wharton, "you "fo kindly try to keep in countenance, were writ"ten merely to divert Lady Cobham and her fa"mily, and fucceeded accordingly; but being "fhewed about in town, are not liked at all." This last confideration induced Mr. Gray to reject them in the Collection which he himfelf made of his poems.

MR. GRAY'S Executor having thought fit to reftore them, they are retained here.

A

LONG STORY.

'N Britain's ifle, no matter where,

IN

An ancient pile of building ftands: The Huntingdons and Hattons there Employed the power of Fairy hands

To raise the ceiling's fretted height,
Each pannel in atchievements clothing,
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And paffages, that lead to nothing.

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Full oft within the fpacious walls,

When he had fifty winters o'er him,
My grave Lord-Keeper led the Brawls:
The Seals and Maces danc'd before him.

His bufhy beard, and fhoe-ftrings green,
His high-crown'd hat, and fatin doublet,
Mov'd the ftout heart of England's Queen,
Tho' Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.

What, in the very first beginning!
Shame of the versifying tribe!

Your Hift'ry whither are you spinning?
Can you do nothing but defcribe?

A House there is, (and that's enough)
From whence one fatal morning iffues
A brace of warriors, not in buff,

But ruffling in their filks and tiffues.

The

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