« AnteriorContinuar »
Under leaves to hide one's head,
LINES written in ridicule of certain Poems
published in 1777
All is strange, yet nothing new;
PARODY of a TRANSLATION from the
MEDEA of EURIPIDES.
E*Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes ;
And, scanning right the practices of
yore, Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. They to the dome where Smoke with curling play
Announc'd the dinner to the regions round, Summon'd the finger blythe, and harper gay,
And aided wine with dulcet-streaming found. The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,
By quiv'ring string or modulated wind; Trumpet or lyre-to their harsh bosoms chill
Admission ne'er had fought, or could nor find. Oh! send them to the fullen mansions dun,
Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the
wound. When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,
And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish,
Can yield no room to mufick's soothing pow'r.
TRANSLATION of the Two First Stanzas of
the Song “ Rio verde, Rio verde," printed in Bishop Percy's Reliques of ancient English Poetry. An IMPROMPTU.
LASSY water, glasfy water,
Down whose current clear and strong, Chiefs confus’d in mutual Naughter,
Moor and Christian roll along.
IMITATION of the Style of ****
ERMIT hoar, in folemn cell
Wearing out life's evening grey Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell
What is bliss, and which the way. Thus I spoke, and speaking figh’d,
Scarce repress’d the starting tear, When the hoary sage reply'd,
Come, my lad, and drink some beer,
BURLESQUE of the following lines of Lopez DE VEGA.
TRANSLATION of the following Lines at the
End of BARETTI'S EASY PHRASEOLOGY.
IVA viva la padrona!
Tutta bella, e tutta buona,
my lovely Hetty!
IMPROVISO TRANSLATION of the fol..
lowing Diftich on the Duke of Modena's running away from the Comet in 1742 or 1743. E al venir vostro i principi se n' vanno
IF at your coming princes disappear,
IMPROVISO TRANSLATION of the fol.
lowing Lines of Monf. BENSERADE à fon Lit.
Lit! où je nais, et où je meurs,
IN bed we laugh, in bed we cry,
EPITAPH for Mr. HOGARTH.
The hand of him here torpid lies,
That drew th' essential form of grace ; Here clos'd in death th' attentive eyes, That saw the manners in the face.