TO MRS. THRALE,
ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR. 
AN IMPROMPTU.

Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five! 
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O’er the bounds of thirty-five. 
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five. 
Ladies, stock and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe’er we boast and strive. 
Life declines from thirty-five. 
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five;
And all, who wisely wish to wive,
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.

IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION
OF AN AIR IN THE CLEMENZA DI TITO OF
METASTASIO,
BEGINNING “DEH SE PIACERMI VUOI.”

Would you hope to gain my heart,
Bid your teasing doubts depart;
He, who blindly trusts, will find
Faith from ev’ry gen’rous mind: 
He, who still expects deceit,
Only teaches how to cheat.

TRANSLATION
OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO, IN THE ADRIANO OF METASTASIO,
BEGINNING “TU CHE IN CORTE INVECCHIASTI[a].”

Grown old in courts, thou surely art not one
Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour;
Well skill’d to sooth a foe with looks of kindness,
To sink the fatal precipice before him,
And then lament his fall, with seeming friendship: 
Open to all, true only to thyself,
Thou know’st those arts, which blast with envious praise,
Which aggravate a fault, with feign’d excuses,
And drive discountenanc’d virtue from the throne;
That leave the blame of rigour to the prince,
And of his ev’ry gift usurp the merit;
That hide, in seeming zeal, a wicked purpose,
And only build upon another’s ruin.

[a] The character of Cali, in Irene, is a masterly sketch of the old and
    practised dissembler of a despotic court,—­ED.

BURLESQUE
OF THE MODERN VERSIFICATIONS OF ANCIENT
LEGENDARY TALES.  AN IMPROMPTU.

The tender infant, meek and mild,
  Fell down upon the stone: 
The nurse took up the squealing child,
  But still the child squeal’d on.

FRIENDSHIP;
AN ODE[a].

Friendship, peculiar boon of heaven,
  The noble mind’s delight and pride,
To men and angels only given,
  To all the lower world deny’d.

While love, unknown among the blest,
  Parent of thousand wild desires[b],
The savage and the human breast
  Torments alike with raging fires[c];

With bright, but oft destructive, gleam,
  Alike, o’er all his lightnings fly;
Thy lambent glories only beam
  Around the fav’rites of the sky.

Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys
  On fools and villains ne’er descend;
In vain for thee the tyrant sighs[d],
  And hugs a flatt’rer for a friend.

Directress of the brave and just[e],
  O! guide us through life’s darksome way! 
And let the tortures of mistrust
  On selfish bosoms only prey.