You smile, now my stars a bright aspect assume,
I pant for my charmer's decree;

Then come, dear astrologer, tell me my doom,
And I'll give you my heart for a fee.

GALLANTRY IN THE EXTREME.

A romantic story is related of an unknown individual, who sought the hand of a very charming Lady, with whom he was passionately in love, but who constantly refused him.. As he had reason to believe she loved him, he entreated to know the cause why she refused consent to their union. The Lady, subdued by his constancy, told him that her only motive for refusing him, was, that having, by an accident, lost a leg, it had been replaced by a wooden one; and she feared that this circumstance, sooner or later, would chill his affection for her. This she declared to be her only motive. The lover protested that this would never make him change his love but still she persisted in her refusal to marry him. Fired with love, and determined that nothing should obstruct his design, he, under the pretext of going a distant voyage, left the Lady, and went to Paris, where he had one of his legs amputated by a dexterous Surgeon. When he had recovered, he returned to London, went to the Lady, and told her, that there was now no obstacle to their

1

union, for that he was equally mutilated.

The

Lady, conquered by such a proof of affection, kindly consented to marry him.

EXTEMPORE.

On observing a dent in a Lady's forehead.

When nature had blended fair Montague's clay,

And was adding fresh charms to her face,
By dimples and eye-brows, that raptures convey,
And strike every heart with amaze;

Sly Venus being nigh-said, "those features bespeak, That a rival in beauty is meant ;"

By envy sore stung, jogg'd the hånd from the cheek, And her forehead received the sweet dent.

ON A YOUNG LADY WITH GREY HAIRS. Mark'd by extremes, Susannah, beauty bears Life's opposites, youth's blossoms, and grey hairs: Meet signs for one, in whom, combin'd, are seen Wisdom's ripe fruit, and roses of fifteen.

ORIENTAL COMPLIMENT.

Lady C. was one day rallying the Turkish ambassador concerning its being permitted in the Alcoran, to each Mussulman, to have many wives.

""Tis true, Madam,” replied the Turk; "and it permits it, that the husband may, in several, find the various accomplishments which many English women, like your Ladyship, singly possess.”

LINES

Written in a Lady's Prayer Book.
In vain, Clarinda, night and day,
For mercy, unto God you pray;
What arrogance on Heaven to call
For that which you deny to all!

THE STING.

Po heal a wound, a bee had made
Upon my Delia's face,

Its honey to the wound she laid,
And bade me kiss the place.

Pleas'd, I obey'd, and, from the wound,
Imbibed both sweet and smart;

The honey on my lip I found,

The sting within my heart.

IMPROMPTU.

By Lord Erskine to Lady Payne, on being taken ill at her house.

'Tis true, I am ill; but I need not complain,

For he never knew pleasure, who never knew Payne.

TO A LADY.

From the French of Vergier.

Love's in tears; ah! know ye why?

And swears we've robb'd him, you and I!
Too true he swears, that he can spy

His fire within my heart, his sweetness in thine eye.

THE PARLIAMENT OF ROSES,

To Julia.

BY HERRICK.

I dreamt the Roses one time went
To meet and sit in Parliament:
The place for these, and for the rest
Of Flowers, was thy spotless breast:
Over which in state was drawn
Of tiffanie, or cob-web lawn;
Then, in that Parly, all those powers
Voted the rose the Queen of flowers:
But so, as that herself should be

The Maid, of Honour unto thee.

MRS. ARMSTEAD.

The following lines were addressed by the celebrated C. J. Fox to this Lady, (afterwards Mrs. Fox,) on his birth-day, 24th January, 1799, when he had attained his fiftieth year.

Of years I have now half a century past,
And none of the fifty so blest as the last;

How it happens my troubles thus daily should cease, And my happiness thus with my years should increase, This defiance of nature's more general laws,

You alone can explain, who alone are the cause.

LINES ON A BUTTERFLY,

Which came from its chrysalis in a Lady's Hand.

Born in Aspasia's fost'ring hand,
My finish'd form I first display'd,

And felt my plumy wings expand

While gazing on the beauteous maid.

No sunshine glow'd upon the scene,
With kindly warmth those wings to dry;
Yet fair each painted pinion grew,
Beneath the lustre of her eye.

No Zephyr rose with gentle gale,
To fan my infant frame with air,
But fann'd by fair Aspasia's breath,
The Zephyr's gale I well might spare.

No rose or lily near me grew,

On which my downy limbs might rest;
But these in brighter tints I found,
Upon the Virgin's cheek and breast.

Thus Nature, with indulgent care,
Propitious grac'd my natal hour;