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Written, at the request of Miss Speed, to an old air of Gemi

niani :-the thought from the French.

THYRSIS, when we parted, swore

Ere the spring he would return-
Ah! what means yon violet flower!

And the bud that decks the thorn;
'Twas the lark that upward sprung!
'Twas the nightingale that sung!

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Idle notes! untimely green!

Why this unavailing haste ?
Western gales and skies serene

Speak not always winter past.
Cease, my doubts, my fears to move,
Spare the honour of my loye.

ТОРНЕ Т.

AN EPIGRAM.

Mr. Etough, of Cambridge University, the

person

satirized, was as remarkable for the eccentricities of his character as for his personal appearance. Mr. Tyson, of Benet College, made an etching of his head, and presented it to Mr. Gray, who embellished it with the following lines. Mr. Etough was rector of Therfield, Herts, and of Colmworth, Bedfordshire.

Thus Tophet look’d; so grinn’d the brawling fiend,
Whilst frighted prelates bow'd and call’d him friend.
Our mother-church, with half averted sight,
Blush'd as she bless’d her grisly proselyte :

rụng through hell's tremendous borders, And Satan's self had thoughts of taking orders.

Hosannas

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IMPROMPTU.

Suggested by a view of the Seat and Ruins of a deceased No

bleman, at Kingsgate, Kent, in 1766. (The house was built as a correct imitation of Cicero's Formian Villa, at Baiæ.)

OLD, and abandon’d by each venal friend,

Here Holland form’d the pious resolution To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend

A broken character and constitution. On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice;

Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighbouring sand ; Here seagulls scream, and cormorants rejoice,

And mariners, though shipwreck’d, dread to land. Here reign the blustering North and blighting East,

No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing; Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast,

Art he invokes new horrors still to bring. Here mouldering fanes and battlements arise,

Turrets and arches nodding to their fall, Unpeopled monasteries delude our eyes,

And mimic desolation covers all. " Ah!” said the sighing peer,

“ had Bute been true, Nor M—'s, R—'s, B—'s friendship vain, Far better scenes than these had bless'd our view,

And realized the beauties which we feign : · Purged by the sword, and purified by fire,

Then had we seen proud London's hated walls ; Owls would have hooted in St. Peter's choir,

And foxes stunk and litter'd in St. Paul's.”

THE CANDIDATE;

fa deceased his

house was bel Villa, at Baia

OR,

THE CAMBRIDGE COURTSHIP.

d, Etion end

This tart lampoon was written a short time previous to the

election of a high steward of the University of Cambridge, for which office the noble lord alluded to made an active

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joice,

ead to land. hting East

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When sly Jemmy Twitcher had smugg’d up his face,
With a lick of court whitewash, and pious grimace,
A wooing he went, where three sisters of old
In harmless society guttle and scold.

“Lord! sister,” says Physic to Law,“ I declare,
Such a sheep-biting look, such a pick-pocket air !
Not I for the Indies :-You know I'm no prude,
But his name is a shame, and his eyes are so lewd!
Then he shambles and straddles so oddly—I fear-
Nomat our time of life 'twould be silly my dear.”
I don't know," says Law, “but methinks for his

look,
'Tis just like the picture in Rochester's book;
Then his character, Phyzzy,--his morals,—his life-
When she died, I can't tell, but he once had a wife.
They say he's no Christian, loves drinking and w-

-g, And all the town rings of his swearing and roaring !

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His lying and filching, and Newgatebird tricks ;Not I-for a coronet, chariot and six.”

Divinity heard, between waking and dozing, Her sisters denying, and Jemmy proposing: From table she rose, and with bumper in hand, She stroked up her belly, and stroked down her band“What a pother is here about wenching and roaring ? Why, David loved catches, and Solomon w -g: Did not Israel filch from the’ Egyptians of old Their jewels of silver and jewels of gold ? The prophet of Bethel, we read, told a lie: He drinks—so did Noah ;-he swears—so do I: To reject him for such peccadillos, were odd; Besides he repents—for he talks about G**

[To Jemmy] Never hang down your head you poor penitent elf, Come buss me- I'll be Mrs. Twitcher myself.”

*

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