Oh! little lock of golden hue In gently waving ringlet curl'd, By the dear head on which you grew,
Since the refinement of this polish'd age Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit,
1. Montgomery! true, the common lot Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave;
"But if any old Lady, Knight, Priest, or Physician, Should condemn me for printing a second edition; If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse,
1. Doubtless, sweet girl, the hissing lead, Wafting destruction near thy charms,
[Greek: Mesonuktiois poth hopais, k.t.l.] [1] Ode 3. 'Twas now the hour when Night had driven
---- "Ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum Reddere qu' ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi." HOR. 'De Arte Poet'., II. 304 and 305.
"Away, away, - your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts; And you will smile at their believing,
1. Dear BECHER, you tell me to mix with mankind; I cannot deny such a precept is wise;
When the last sunshine of expiring Day In Summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Motto. On peut trouver des femmes qui n'ont jamais eu de galanterie, mais il est rare d'en trouver qui n'en aient jamais eu qu'une. - [R'flexions ... du Duc de la Rochefoucauld, No. lxxiii.] 1.
In this belov'd marble view Above the works and thoughts of Man, What Nature could but would not do,
"Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath: These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue,
Anne's Eye is liken'd to the Sun, From it such Beams of Beauty fall; And this can be denied by none,
1. Why, Pigot, complain Of this damsel's disdain,
A noble Lady of the Italian shore Lovely and young, herself a happy bride, Commands a verse, and will not be denied,
To be the father of the fatherless, To stretch the hand from the throne's height, and raise His offspring, who expired in other days
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater Felix! in imo qui scatentem
1. When I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe,
These locks, which fondly thus entwine, In firmer chains our hearts confine, Than all th' unmeaning protestations
1. When I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe;
1. Eliza! [1] what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who, to woman, deny the soul's future existence;
MARION! why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air;
1. Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who to woman deny the soul's future existence,
1. Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt: A devilish deal more sad than witty!
Tu semper amoris Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago. VAL. FLAC. 'Argonaut', iv. 36.