Could the refolve of love's neglect OF ENGLISH VERSE. POETS may boaft, as safely vain, Their works fhall with the world remain : Both bound together, live or die, The verses and the prophecy. But who can hope his line should long When architects have done their part, Poets, that lasting marble feek, Muft carve in Latin or in Greek: We write in fand; our language grows, And, like the tide, our work o'erflows. Chaucer his fenfe can only boaft, The glory of his numbers loft! The beauties which adorn'd that age, The shining objects of his page, Hoping they should immortal prove, Rewarded with fuccefs his love. This was the generous poet's scope, Verfe, thus defign'd, has no ill fate, SONG. WHILE I liften to thy voice, Chloris, I feel my life decay: That powerful noise Calls my fleeting soul away. Peace, Chloris! peace! or finging die, That together you and I To heav'n may go; For all we know Of what the bleffed do above, Is that they fing, and that they love. FLATMA N. This poet is a miferable imitator of Cowley. Of the three following extracts, the firft is in the beft ftyle of his poetry ; the fecond a fpecimen of his wit; and the third is remarkable from its having been imitated by Mr. Pope, in bis Ode of "The Dying Chriftian." SONG. REMOV'D from fair Urania's eyes, "Thy charms, Urania, I defpife; "Go, bid fome other fhepherd for thee die, Return'd at length, the amorous swain, Ador'd again and bow'd his knee, 1 SONG. How happy a thing were a wedding, If a man might purchase a wife, Till fhe grow as grey as a cat, Good faith, Mr. Parfon, I thank you for that. SONG. A THOUGHT ON DEATH. WHEN on my fick bed I languish, |