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The rites that taught us to combine
And bade the feast, and song, and bowl
But ne'er the flute or lyre applied
Το cheer despair, or soften pride ;
Nor deign the festive dome to cloy
Ah! little needs the minstrel's power
The board, with varied plenty crown'd,
OF THE FIRST TWO STANZAS OF THE SONG
VERDE, RIO VERDE," PRINTED IN BISHOP PERCY'S RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
GLASSY water, glassy water,
Down whose current, clear and strong,
Moor and christian roll along.
IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF ****.
HERMIT hoar, in solemn cell
Wearing out life's ev'ning grey,
Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell
Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd,
When the hoary sage reply'd,
Come, my lad, and drink some beer.
This translation was written by Johnson for his friend Dr. Burney, and was inserted, as the work of "a learned friend," in that gentleman's History of Musick, vol. ii. p. 340. It has always been ascribed to Johnson; but, to put the matter beyond a doubt, Mr. Malone ascertained the fact by applying to Dr. Burney himself. J. B.
OF THE FOLLOWING LINES OF LOPEZ DE VEGA.
SE a quien los leones vence
O el de flaco avergonze,
O ella di ser mas furiosa.
IF the man who turnips cries,
OF THE FOLLOWING LINES AT THE END OF BARETTI'S
VIVA, viva la padrona!
LONG may live my lovely Hetty!
OF THE FOLLOWING DISTICH ON THE DUKE OF MODENA'S RUNNING AWAY FROM THE COMET IN 1742 OR 1743.
SE al venir vostro i principi sen' vanno
IF at your coming princes disappear,
OF THE FOLLOWING LINES OF M. BENSERADE
A SON LIT.
THEATRE des ris, et des pleurs,
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;
That saw the manners in the face.
OF THE FOLLOWING LINES, WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT
SUR un mince cristal l'hiver conduit leurs pas,
Telle est de nos plaisirs la légère surface :
O'ER ice the rapid skater flies,
With sport above, and death below;
IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION OF THE SAME.
O'ER crackling ice, o'er gulfs profound,
TO MRS. THRALE,
ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR.
OFT in danger, yet alive,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five.
High to soar, and deep to dive,