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" No, Sir," says Johnson, " 'tis not so,
That's your mistake, and I can shew,
6. An instance if

you

doubt it ; " You Sir, who are near forty-eight, “ May much improve, 'tis not too late,

“ I wish you'd set about it."

Encourag'd thus to mend my faults,
I turn'd his coun.el in my thoughts,
Which

way

I should apply it ; Learning and wit seem'd past my reach, For who can learn when none will teach ?

And wit I could not buy it.

Then come my friends, and try your skill, You can inform me if you will,

(My books are at a diftance) With

you

I'll live and learn, and then, Instead of books, I shall read men,

So lend me your'assistance,

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 say'st, not only skill is gain'd,
But

genius too may be attain's,

By studious imitation;
Thy temper mild, thy genius finc,

till I make thee mine,
By conftant application.

l'll copy

Sir Joshua Reynolds.

The art of pleafing, teach me Garrick,
Thou *, who revereft odes Pindaric,

A second time read o'er ;
Oh! cou'd we read thee backwards too,
Last thirty years thou should'It review,

And charm us thirty more.

If I have thoughts, and can't express 'em
Gibbons fhall teach me how to dress 'em

In terms select and terse;
Jones teach me modesty and Greek,
Smith how to think, Burke how to speak,

And Beauclerc to converse.

grace ?

Let Johnson teach me how to place,
In faireft light each borrow'd

From him I'll learn to write ;
Copy his clear familiar style,
And from the roughness of his file,

Grow like himself-polite.

* Mr Garrick being asked to read Mr Cumberland's Odes, laughed immoderately, and affirmed, that such ftuff might as well be read backwards as forwards ; and the witty Roscius accordingly read them in that manner, and wonderful to relate ! produced the same good sense and poetry as the sentimental author ever had genius to write.

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D O R I N D

A,

TOWN ECLOG U E.

By Mr.

FITZPATRIC K.

I

:

N that fad feason when the hapless belle

With steps reluctant bids the town farewell :
When surly husbands doom th' unwilling fair
To quit St. James's for a purer air,
And, deaf to pity, from their much lov'd town
Relentless bear the beauteous exiles down
To dismal shades, through lonely groves to tray,
And figh the summer live-long months away ;
With all the bloom of youth and beauty grac'd,
One morn Dorinda, at her toilet plac'd,
With looks intent and pensive air furvey'd
The various charms her faithful glass display'd;
Eyes, that might warm the frozen breast of

age,
Or melt to tenderness the tyrant's rage;
Smiles, that enchanting with refilles art,
Stole unperceiv'd the heedless gazer's heart ;

Dimples, where dove conceal'd in ambulh lay,
To aim his arrows at the destin'd prey ;
And lips that promis'd in each balmy kiss
Luxurious harvest of ambrosial bliss.
Musing she fat, and watch'd each rising grace
That shed its lustre o'er her heav'nly face,
Till lab'ring grief her anxious filence broke,
And fighing thus the lovely mourner spoke :
Were charms like these by erring nature meant
For sober solitude and calm content?
Must

eyes so bright be. doom'd to waste their fires
On hungry parsons and unfeeling squires;
Heav'n whose decrees (if true what priests have taught)
Are fram'd by justice and with wifdom fraught,
Sure ne'er created fuch a form as this
For the dull purpose of domestic bliss.
Ah! no, these eyes were giv'n in courts to shine ,
Shall impious man then thwart the wise design?
A short-liv'd sway of some few years at most
Is all, alas! the brightest belle can boast
Ere yet the hand of all-devouring time
Lay waste her graces, and destroy her prime :
By flow degrees the feels her pow'r decay,
And younger beauties bear the palm away.
Whilft envious fate thus hastens to destroy
The fleeting period of all female joy,
Shall barb'rous husbands (whose tyrannic rage
Nor pray’rs can mitigate, nor tears assuage)
E’en in those years while youth and beauty bloom,
To exile half her precious moments doom?
She goes like some neglected flow'r to fade,
And waste her sweetness in the lonely shade,
Till winter (so the pitying gods decree)
Returning sets th' impatient captive free:
Then swift emerging from the dull retreat,
To town she flies, admiring crowds to meet :
Her happy hours glide on from morn to night,
One ceaseless round of exquisite delight :
Balls, op'ras, concerts, Almacks, and Soho,
By turns attended, various joys beltow :

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