Labour, like this, our want supplies; While thus he wittingly harangu'd, By jeering made it ten times worse. "I recollect. But 'tis no matter. "Twill tell Another time, sir, just as well." Was ever such a dismal day? The bailiff seiz'd him quick as thought "Ho, Mr. Scoundrel! are you caught i Sir, you are witness to th' arrest.' “Aye marry, sir, I'll do my best." ADDRESSED) TO MISS ON READING THE PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE. [1762.*] AND dwells there in a female heart, Dwells there a wish in such a breast Its nature to forego To smother in ignoble rest At once both bliss and wo! Far be the thought, and far the strain, Come then, fair maid, (in nature wise) In justice to the various pow'rs For Mrs. Greville's Ode, see Annual Register, vol. v p 202. With lenient balm, may Ob'ron hence To fairy land be driv'n; With ev'ry herb that blunts the sense Mankind receiv'd from heav'n. "Oh! if my sov'reign Author please, Far be it from my fate, To live, unblest, in torpid ease, Each tender tie of life defied Whence social pleasures spring, Unmov'd with all the world beside, A solitary thing-" Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow, Thus braves the whirling blast, Eternal winter doom'd to know, No genial spring to taste. In vain warm suns their influence shed, The zephyrs sport in vain, He rears, unchang'd, his barren head, Whilst beauty decks the plain. What tho' in scaly armour drest, The shafts of wo-in such a breast "Tis woven in the world's great plan, 'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws Our self-approving bosom draws Thus grief itself has comforts dear, An ecstasy attends the tear, When virtue bids it flow. For, when it streams from that pure source To check, or alter from its course Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves, Let no low thought suggest the pray'r, Sweet Sensibility. Where'er the heavenly nymph is seen, With lustre-beaming eye, A train, attendant on their queen, The jocund Loves in Hymen's band, And gen'rous Friendship hand in hand With Pity's wat'ry sight. The gentler virtues too are join'd, The soft relations, which, combin'd, The arts come smiling in the close, And lend celestial fire, The marble breathes, the canvass glows, "Still may my melting bosom cleave Sɔ Pity shall take Virtue's part, And fashioning my soften'd heart, This artless vow may heav'n receive, So may the rosy-finger'd hours And suns to come, as round they wheel THUS Italy was moved-nor did the chief, On every side his anxious thought he turns, |