Encourag'd thus to mend my faults, Then come, my friends, and try your skill, You can inform me if you will, (My books are at a distance.) With you I'll live and learn, and then Dear Knight of Plympton,* teach me how To suffer with unruffled brow, And smile serene like thine; The jest uncouth, or truth severe, To such I'll turn my deafest ear, And calmly drink my wine. Thou sayest, not only skill is gain'd, By studious imitation; Thy temper mild, thy genius fine, * Sir Joshua Reynolds. Thy art of pleasing teach me Garrick, Oh! cou'd we read thee backwards too, If I have thoughts and can't express 'em, Jones teach me modesty and Greek, Let Johnson teach me how to place, * Garrick being asked to read Cumberland's Odes, laughed immoderately, and affirmed that such stuff might as well be read backwards as forwards, and the witty Roscius accordingly read them in that manner, and produced the same good sense and poetry as the senti mental author had ever genius to write. Freeman's Journal. 'TIS TO A LADY. Is not the liquid brightness of those eyes, 'Tis not that lovely range of teeth, as white 'Tis not the living colours over each, By Nature's finest pencil wrought, To shame the fresh-blown rose, and blooming peach, And mock the happiest painter's thought: But, 'tis that gentle mind, that ardent love, So kindly answering my desire; That grace with which you look, and speak, and move, That thus have set my soul on fire. Vocal Magazine. VERSES TO A LADY ON HER BIRTH-DAY. OH, be thou blest with all that Heav'n can send, Let joy and ease, let affluence and content, And oh! since death must that dear frame destroy, In some soft dream, may thy mild soul remove, Freeman's Journal. BEAUTY AND MUSIC. MUSIC has pow'r to melt the soul; By Beauty nature's sway'd; Each can the universe control, Without the other's aid. But here together both appear, Music enchants the list'ning ear, What cruelty these pow'rs to join! Vocal Magazine. SONG. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, Though art's hid causes are not found, Give me a look, give me a face, They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. Ben Johnson. |