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The ocean, when calm, may delight you;
But should a bold tempest arise,
Loud objects of awful surprise.
Its beams o'er the face of the fair; With rapture his heart a man loses,
While frowns turn love to despair.
TO MR. H
Yes, Colin, 'tis granted, you flutter in lace,
You whisper and dance with the fair ;
Stand off, and at distance revere:
By her side as you saunter along; Your taste-your complexion—your this—and
Nor lisp out the end of your song.
(If sense ever fell to your share), 'Tis enough you could pert petit maître commence,
Laugh-loiter—and lie with an air. No end
you can answer; affections you've none; Made only for prattle and play: Like a butterfly, bask'd for a while in the sun,
You'll die undistinguish'd away,
AUTHOR OF POEMS,
WRITTEN BY NOBODY'.
ADVANCE to Fame-advance reveald!
Let conscious worth be bold :
And hid Peruvian gold?
Your genius brought to light;
From Nobody to write.
TO THE COMPANY AT HARROWGATE.
From my critical court, at a quarterly meeting; To my Harrowgate subjects this embassy greeting :
Whereas, from the veteran poets complaint isTheir works are no longer consider'd as dainties; And Shakspeare and Congreve, Farquhar and
others, The tragical - comical—farcical brothers, Petition us oft for some gents and some ladies [is). (Our subjects, no doubt, since dramatic their trade
We govern their stational stage by direction, And send them to you for your friendly protection;
Robertson, an actor belonging to the York company.
"Tis Apollo invites, with some ladies (the Muses), We denounce him immensely ill bred that refuses. Be it known, by the by, from our Helicon
fountain, Enrich'd by the soil of Parnassus's mountain, Your Harrowgate water directly proceeding, Produces fine sense, with true taste and good breeding
[question : Talk of taste-none but heathens will call it in Yet some insolent wits might advance a sug
gestion, While our deputies daily invite all the neighbours, But find no Mæcenas to smile on their labours. Thus far we've proceeded your favour to curry, And could tell
much more, but we write in a hurry,
The silver moon's enamour'd beam
Steals softly through the night,
And kiss reflected light.
(Tis where you've seldom been), May's vigil while the shepherds keep
With Kate of Aberdeen.
In rosy chaplets gay,
And give the promised May.
The promised May, when seen, Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen. Strike
the tabor's boldest notes, We'll rouse the nodding grove; The nested birds shall raise their throats,
And bail the maid I love:
He quits the tufted green:
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.
Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight fairies rove,
Or tune the reed to love:
She claims a virgin queen;
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.
The courtly bard, in verse sublime,
May praise the toasted belle;
I sing-my Kitty Fell!
And love's sweet numbers swell,
In praise of Kitty Fell.
And noontide beams repel, I'll rest me on the tufted mead,
And sing of Kitty Fell. When moonbeams dance among the boughs
That lodge sweet Philomel, I'll pour with her
The sage forsakes his cell :
And sighs for Kitty Fell.