AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. Good people all, with one accord, The needy seldom pass'd her door, She strove the neighbourhood to please, At church, in silks and sattins new, Her love was sought, I do aver, But now her wealth and finery fled, The doctors found, when she was dead, Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent street well may say, ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH, STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING. Imitated from the Spanish. SURE 'twas by Providence design'd, THE GIFT. TO IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN. SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual offering shall I make Expressive of my duty? My heart, a victim to thine eyes, Say, would the angry fair one prize A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, I'll give them-when I get 'em. I'll give-but not the full-blown rose, I'll give thee something yet unpaid, STANZAS ON WOMAN. (FROM THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.) WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom―is, to die! * These verses appear to be imitated from the French of Gre court, a witty but grossly indecent writer. LINES ATTRIBUTED TO DR. GOLDSMITH, And inserted in the Morning Chronicle of April 3, 1800. E'EN have you seen, bath'd in the morning dew, The budding rose its infant bloom display; When first its virgin tints unfold to view, It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day. So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek; I gaz'd, I sigh'd, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang,and droop'd with passion weak. SONG, INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.' Au me! when shall I marry me? Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me. He, fond youth, that could carry me, Offers to love, but means to deceive me. But I will rally and combat the ruiner: Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover; She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover. SONG.* WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Yet why impair thy bright perfection! FROM THE ORATORIO OF THE CAPTIVITY. SONG. THE wretch condemn'd with life to part, And every pang that rends the heart, Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way, And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. * Closely copied from a madrigal by St. Pavier. |