3 The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,
      By quivering string or modulated wind,
    Trumpet or lyre—­to their harsh bosoms chill,
      Admission ne’er had sought, or could not find.

  4 Oh! send them to the sullen 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.

  5 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 music’s soothing power.

* * * * *

BURLESQUE

ON THE MODERN VERSIFICATION 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.

* * * * *

EPITAPH FOR MR HOGARTH.

The hand of him here torpid lies,
That drew the essential form of grace;
Here closed in death the attentive eyes,
That saw the manners in the face.

* * * * *

  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.

  Glassy water, glassy water,
    Down whose current, clear and strong,
  Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter,
    Moor and Christian, roll along.

* * * * *

  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; 10
  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 DE 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 every generous mind;
  He who still expects deceit,
  Only teaches how to cheat.

* * * * *

  LINES

  WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS SKAITING.