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"Tis CHLOE's eye, and cheek, and lip, and breast:
Friend HOWARD's genius fancy'd all the reft.

Moft of Mr. Prior's Epigrams are of this delicate caft, and have the thought, like thofe of Catullus, diffufed thro the whole. Of this kind is his addrefs

To CHLOE weeping.

See, whilft thou weep'ft, fair Chloe, fee
The world in fympathy with thee.
The chearful birds no longer fing,
Each drops his head, and hangs his wing.
The clouds have bent their bofom lower,
And fhed their forrow in a fhow'r.
The brooks beyond their limit flow,
And louder murmurs fpeak their woe:
The nymphs and fwains adopt thy cares:
They heave thy fighs, and weep thy tears.
Fantaftick nymph! that grief should move
Thy heart obdurate against love.

Strange tears! whofe pow'r can soften all,
But that dear breaft on which they fall.

The Epigram written on the leaves of a Fan by Dr. Atterbury, late bishop of Rochester, contains a pretty thought, exprefs'd with eafe and concifenefs, and clofed in a beautiful manner.

On a FA N.

Flavia the leaft and flighteft toy
Can with refiftless art employ.

This fan in meaner hands would prove
An engine of small force in love:
Yet fhe, with graceful air and mien,
Not to be told or fafely seen,

Directs its wanton motion fo,
That it wounds more than Cupid's bow,
Gives coolness to the matchlefs dame,
To ev'ry other breast a flame.

We fhall now felect fome Epigrams of the biting and fatirical kind, and fuch as turn upon the Pun or Equivoque, as the French call it in which fort the Point is more confpicuous than in those of the former character.

The following diftich, in my opinion, is an admirable Epigram, having all the neceffary qualities of one, especially Point and Brevity.

On a company of bad DANCERS to good Mufick.
How ill the motion with the mufic fuits!

So Orpheus fiddled, and fo danc'd the brutes.

This puts me in mind of another Epigram upon a bad fiddler, which I fhall venture to infert merely for the humour of it, and not for any real excellence it contains.

To a bad FIDDLER.

Old Orpheus play'd fo well, he mov'd Old Nick ;
But thou mov'ft nothing but thy fiddle-stick.

One of Martial's Epigrams, wherein he agreeably rallies the foolish vanity of a man who hired people to make verfes for him, and published them as his own, has been thus tranflated into English.

Paul fo fond of the name of a poet is grown,

With gold he buys verfes and calls them his own.
Go on, mafter Paul, nor mind what the world fays,
They are furely his own for which a man pays.

Another Epigram of the fame Latin poet is very prettily imitated in the following Tetraflic.

On an ugly WOMAN.

Whilft in the dark on thy foft hand I hung,
And heard the tempting Syren in thy tongue;
What flames, what darts, what anguifh I endur'd!
But when the candle enter'd I was cur'd.

We have a good Epigram by Mr. Cowley, on Prometheus ill painted; to understand which, we muft remember his ftory. Prometheus is feign'd by the ancient poets to have formed men of clay, and to have put life into them by fire ftolen from heaven, for which crime Jupiter caus'd him to. be chain'd to a rock, where a vulture was fet to gnaw his liver, which grew again as fast as it was devoured. On this fiction the Epigram is founded.

PROMETHEUS drawn by a bad Painter.
How wretched does Prometheus' state appear,
Whilft he his fecond mis'ry suffers here !
Draw him no more, left, as he tortur'd ftands,

He blame great Jove's lefs than the painter's hands..
It would the Vulture's cruelty out-g

-go,

If once again his liver thus fhould grow.

Pity him, Jove, and his bold theft allow ;

The flames he once stole from thee grant him now.

Some bad writer having taken the liberty to censure Mr. Prior, the poet very wittily lafh'd his impertinence in this. Epigram.

While fafter than his coftive brain indites,
Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes,.
His cafe appears to me like honeft Teague's,
When he was run away with by his legs.
Phabus, give Philo o'er himself command;
Quicken his fenfes, or reftrain his hand:
Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink;
So he may ceafe to write, and learn to think.

But perhaps there are none of Mr. Prior's little pieces that have more humour and pleasantry than the following.

A reafonable AFFLICTION.

Helen was juft flipt into bed:

Her eye-brows on the toilet lay:
Away the kitten with them fled,

As fees belonging to her prey.

For this misfortune careless Jane,
Affure yourself, was loudly rated;
And madam getting up again,

With her own hand the mouse-trap baited.
On little things, as Sages write,

Depends our human joy, or forrow :
If we don't catch a moufe to-night,

Alas! no eye-brows for to-morrow.

Mr. Weftley has given us a pretty Epigram alluding to a well-known text of fcripture, on the fetting up a monument in Westminer Abbey, to the memory of the ingenious Mr. Butler, author of Hudibras.

While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive,
No generous patron would a dinner give.

See him when starv'd to death, and turn'd to duft,
Prefented with a monumental buft!

The poet's fate is here in emblem shown;

He afk'd for Bread, and he receiv'd a Stone. As thefe Compofitions are fhort, many of them have the reputation of being written extempore, though they are the effect of confideration and ftudy; the following Epigram, however, has that additional merit; for which reason, and for it's uncommon Thought, we shall prefent it to the Reader.

An EPIGRAM on an EPIGRAM.
One day in Chelsea gardens walking,
Of poetry and fuch things talking,
Says Ralph, a merry wag,
An Epigram, if fmart and good,
In all its circumftances fhould
Be like a Jelly-Bag.
The fimile, i'faith, is new;

But how can't make it out? fays Hugh.

Quoth Ralph, I tell thee, friend;

Make it at top both wide and fit

To hold a budget full of wit,

And point it at the End.

We fhall clofe this chapter with an Epigram written on the well-known ftory of Apollo and Daphne, by Mr. Smart: When Phoebus was am'rous and long'd to be rude, Mifs Daphne cry'd Pish! and ran swift to the wood; And rather than do fuch a naughty affair,

She became a fine laurel to deck the God's hair. The nymph was, no doubt, of a cold conftitution; For fure to turn tree was an odd resolution! Yet in this fhe behav'd like a true modern spouse, For the fled from his arms to distinguish his brows. **********************

ΤΗ

CHA P. IX.

Of the EPITAPH.

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HESE Compofitions generally contain fome Elogium of the virtues and good qualities of the deceased, and have a turn of seriousness and gravity adapted

to the nature of the fubject. Their elegance confists in a nervous and expreffive brevity; and fometimes, as we have elsewhere obferved, they are elofed with an epigrammatic point. In thefe compofitions, no mere Epithet (properly fo called) fhould be admitted; for here illuftration would impair the ftrength, and render the fentiment too diffuse and languid. Words that are fynonymous are also to be rejected.

Tho' the true characteristic of the Epitaph is seriousness and gravity, yet we find many that are jocofe and ludicrous; fome likewife have true metre and rhyme, while others are between profe and verse, without any certain measure, tho' the words are truly poetical; and the beauty of this laft fort is generally heighten'd by an apt and judicious Antithefis. We fhall give examples of each.

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There are in the Spectator feveral old Greek Epitaphs very beautifully tranflated into English verfe, one of which I fhall take the liberty of tranfcribing. It is written on Orpheus, a celebrated antient poet and mufician, whofe ftory is well known. He is faid to have been the fon of Apollo and Calliope, one of the Nine Mufes, the Goddess meant in the last line of the Epitaph.

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On ORPHEUS.

No longer, Orpheus, fhall thy facred strains
Lead ftones, and trees, and beafts along the plains;
No longer footh the boift'rous wind to fleep,

Or ftill the billows of the raging deep:

For thou art gone; the Mufes mourn'd thy fall

In folemn ftrains, thy mother most of all.

Ye mortals idly for your fons ye moan,

If thus a Goddess could not fave her own.

The ingenious tranflator obferves, that if we take the fable for truth, as it was believed to be in the age when this was written, the turn appears to have piety to the gods, and a refigning fpirit in the application; but, if we confider the Point with refpect to our prefent knowledge, it will be lefs esteem'd; though the author himself, because he believ'd it, may ftill be more valued than any one who should now write with a point of the fame nature.

The following Epitaph on Sir Philip Sidney's fifter, the Countess of Pembroke, faid to be written by the famous Ben Johnson, is remarkable for the noble thought with hich it concludes.

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