To Lady Firebrace,[1]

AT BURY ASSIZES.

At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, So long renown'd in B--n's deathless strain? Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace! might inspire Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph! a Muse and Grace.

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TO LYCE,

AN ELDERLY LADY.

1 Ye Nymphs whom starry rays invest, By flattering poets given, Who shine, by lavish lovers dress'd, In all the pomp of Heaven.

2 Engross not all the beams on high, Which gild a lover's lays, But, as your sister of the sky, Let Lycè share the praise.

3 Her silver locks display the moon, Her brows a cloudy show, Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen, And showers from either flow.

4 Her teeth the night with darkness dyes; She's starr'd with pimples o'er; Her tongue like nimble lightning plies, And can with thunder roar,

5 But some Zelinda, while I sing, Denies my Lycè shines; And all the pens of Cupid's wing Attack my gentle lines.

6 Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye, And all her bards express, My Lycè makes as good a sky, And I but flatter less.

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ON THE DEATH OF MR ROBERT LEVETT,

A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC.

1 Condemned to Hope's delusive mine, As on we toil from day to day, By sudden blasts, or slow decline, Our social comforts drop away.

2 Well tried through many a varying year, See Levett to the grave descend; Officious, innocent, sincere, Of every friendless name the friend.

3 Yet still he fills Affection's eye, Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny Thy praise to merit unrefined.

4 When fainting Nature call'd for aid, And hovering Death prepared the blow, His vigorous remedy display'd The power of Art without the show.

5 In Misery's darkest cavern known, His useful care was ever nigh; Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan, And lonely Want retired to die.

6 No summons, mock'd by chill delay; No petty gain, disdain'd by pride; The modest wants of every day, The toil of every day supplied.

7 His virtues walk'd their narrow round, Nor made a pause, nor left a void; And sure the Eternal Master found The single talent well employ'd,

8 The busy day--the peaceful night, Unfelt, unclouded, glided by; His frame was firm--his powers were bright, Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

9 Then with no fiery, throbbing pain, No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain, And freed his soul the nearest way.

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