BLEST

THE SEGAR.

A PARODY ON SAPPHO'S ODE

(TRANSLATED BY PHILLIPS.)

as old Homer's gods is he,

The man, at night from trouble free,
Who in the chimney-corner smokes,
Gaily talks, and blithly jokes.

'Tis this, that oft hath sooth'd my breast,,
And added sharpness to the jest.
Wit, beaming 'midst the smoking croud,
Appears like Sol behind a cloud.
Smoke solid pleasure can impart ;
'Tis this that oft has cheer'd my heart;
For, while I smoke, in fancy gay,
I nod, and smile, and puff away.

VERSES

ON THE CREW OF A CERTAIN VESSEL,

Several of whom happened to be of the same Name with · celebrated Clergymen.

(FRENEAU.)

IN life's unsettled, odd career,

What changes every day appear
To please or plague the !
A goodly brotherhood of priests

eye

Are here transform'd to swearing beasts,
That heaven and hell defy.

Here Bonner, bruis'd with many a knock,
Has changed his surplice for-a frock:
Old Erskine swabs the deck:

.

And Watts, that once such pleasure took,
In writing hymns, here grown a cook,
Sinners no longer vex.

Here Burnet, Tillotson, and Blair,
With Jemmy Hervey, curse, and swear:
Here Cudworth mixes grog;
Pearson the crew to dinner hails,
A graceless Sherlock trims the sails,
And Bunyan heaves the log.

ANNE-OR, THE GRACES.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

INSTRUCTED to hold up her head;

With grace to sing, with grace to tread-
With grace to talk on love-affairs-
With grace at church to say her prayers,
With grace her parents to confute,
With grace on morals to dispute,
At last fell ANNE (such oft the case is)
A sacrifice to all the graces.

A CATCH

TO A COMPANY OF BAD FIDDLE-SCRAPERS.

MAY

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

ye never play in tune,

In the morning, night, or noon:
May you ne'er at noon or night,
Know the wrong end from the right..

May the strings be ever breaking,
Pegs, I charge ye, ne'er unscrew;
May your heads be always aching,
Till the fiddle 's broke in two..

I

EPIGRAM.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

TELL thee, dear girl, and believe me, 'tis true, I never beheld such a creature as you.

Such wit! and such beauty!-such taste and such pride!

Thou ne'er hadst an equal since Jezabel died.
Fine shape, and fine face, with a simper so thievish!
Yet artful, deceitful, ill natur'd, and peevish.
God moulded thy face, but the devil thy heart;
What a pity that Satan should spoil the best part!

THE SUICIDE.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

Virginibus puerisq; canto. HoR. III. OD. 1.

SCENES of mirth and joy, farewel!
Sadly let the muse complain
Let her seek to move the tear,
Sympathetic and sincere;

Render not her efforts vain.

Ye, who tender passions know,
Listen, to this tale of woe;
Ye whose breasts with pity burn,
Drop a tear on Damon's urn,

And you, ye fair, example take
From this affecting story;
Nor still persist the hearts to break,
Of lovers who adore ye.

Who to your charms shall make pretence,
And with addresses teaze you,

If virtue, beauty, wit, and sense

In vain combine to please you?

THE CARPENTER AND THE COFFINS.

Let Damon's fate your pity share;

Long sought he Chloe's heart to gain; But Chloe, cruel, cruel fair,

Return'd his passion with disdain.

Lo! at her feet he sues for grace;

Sighs, more than words, his flame discover; Whilst, trickling down his beauteous face, The big round drops confess the lover!

In vain his tears, in vain his sighs-
For Chloe, frowning, bids him leave her:
"Yes, I'll obey her," Damon cries,
"And rather die than grieve her."

He draws his sword in wild despair;
(Poor Chloe trembled, wept, and blabber'd)
Three times he flourish'd it in air,
Then plung'd it in-the scabbard !

57

THE FLYMOUTH CARPENTER, AND THE

COFFINS.

(PINDAR.)

IN the last war, French pris'ners often dy'd,
Of fevers, colds, and more good things beside-
Presents for valour, from damp walls and chinks,
And nakedness, that seldom sees a shirt;

And vermin, and all sorts of dirt;

And multitudes of motley stinks,

That might with smells of any clime compare,
That ever sought the nose, or fields of air.

As coffins are deem'd necessary things,
Forming a pretty sort of wooden wings,

For wafting men to graves, for t' other world;

I

EPIGRAM.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

TELL thee, dear girl, and believe me, 'tis true, I never beheld such a creature as you.

Such wit! and such beauty!-such taste and such pride!

Thou ne'er hadst an equal since Jezabel died.
Fine shape, and fine face, with a simper so thievish!
Yet artful, deceitful, ill natur'd, and peevish.
God moulded thy face, but the devil thy heart;
What a pity that Satan should spoil the best part!

THE SUICIDE.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

Virginibus puerisq; canto. HOR. III. OD. 1.

SCENES of mirth and joy, farewel!
Sadly let the muse complain:
Let her seek to move the tear,
Sympathetic and sincere;

Render not her efforts vain.

Ye, who tender passions know,
Listen, to this tale of woe;
Ye whose breasts with pity burn,
Drop a tear on Damon's urn,

And you, ye fair, example take
From this affecting story;

Nor still persist the hearts to break,
Of lovers who adore ye.

Who to your charms shall make pretence,
And with addresses teaze you,

If virtue, beauty, wit, and sense

In vain combine to please you?