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An equal femblance ftill to keep,
Alike too both conduce to fleep.
This diff'rence only as the God
Drove fouls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goofequill the fcribbling elf
Instead of others, damns himself.

And here my fimile almost tript,
Yet grant a word by way of poftfcript.
Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing:

Well! what of that? out with it-stealing;
In which all modern bards agree,

Being each as great a thief as he :
But ev'n this deity's existence,

Shall lend my fimile affistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox
Are they but senseless stones and blocks.

B

DESCRIPTION

OF AN

AUTHOR's BED CHAMBER.

WHERE the Red Lion staring o'er the way,

Invites each paffing stranger that can pay;
Where Culvert's butt, and Parfon's black champaign,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ;
There in a lonely room, from bailiffs fnug;
The Mufe found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly fhew'd the state in which he lay;
The fanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread:
The royal game of goofe was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
The seasons, fram'd with lifting, found a place,
And brave prince William shew'd his lamp black face:
The morn was cold, he views with keen defire
The rufty grate unconscious of a fire:

With beer and milk arrears, the frieze was fcor'd,
And five crack'd tea cups drefs'd the chimney board;
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night-a ftocking all the day!

THE HERMIT.

LETTER.

To the Printer of the St. James's Chronicle.

SIR,

June, 1767.

As there is nothing I diflike so much as news

paper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concife as poffible in informing a correfpondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good and I think fo fill. I faid, I was told by the bookfeller that it was then first published; but in that, it feems, I was mifinformed, and my reading was not extenfive enough to fet me right.

one;

Another correfpondent of yours accufes me of having taken a ballad, I published fome time ago, from one by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great refemblance between the two pieces in queftion.-If there be any, his bailad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, fome years ago; and he (as we both confidered thefe things as trifles at beft) told me, with his usual

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*The Friar of Orders Gray." Reliq. of Anc. Poetry," vol. I p. 243.

good humour, the next time I faw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may fo call it, and I highly approved it.-Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing: and, were it not for the bufy difpofition of fome of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more important nature.

I am, Sir,

Yours, &c.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

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THE HERMIT.

A BALLAD.

TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,

"And guide my lonely way,

"To where yon taper cheers the vale,
"With hofpitable ray.

"For here forlorn and loft I tread,
"With fainting steps and flow:
"Where wilds immeafurably fpread,
"Seem length'ning as I go."

"Forbear, my fon," the Herinit cries,
"To tempt the dang’rous gloom;
"For yonder faithlefs phantom flies
"To lure thee to thy doom.

"Here to the houseless child of want,

My door is open still;

"And tho' my portion is but scant,

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I give it with good will.

"Then turn to night, and freely fhare "Whate'er my cell beftows;

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My rufhy couch and frugal fare, "My bieffing and repofe.

"No

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