My wearied limbs, can fcarce fuftain,
The heavy ftrokes of lingering pain,
Life's ready to depart.

Sickness, to thy fubduing Sway,
I yield, quite faint and worn away,
With anguifh and despair;

The Lark's melodious matin fong,
Serves but my forrow to prolong,
And call to mind my care.

I've tried each

fculapian Art,

To footh my anguish, eate my fmart,
But find my labour vain;

Ye Gods, be kind some pity fend,
And with your aid a youth befriend,
And rid me of my pain.

COTHERSTONE.

J. NICHOLSON!

VERSES

On the much-lamented Death of Mr. R-

R———, of DARLINGTON.

OH! ceafe to murmar a: the will divine,

And wipe, ye Friends, the moisture from your eyes; Why fhould you at his happy fare repine,

He reigns in glory now above the Skies.

Oh! think ye mourners on his actions just,
And let remembrance foothing comfort give;
For tho' he mingles with his kindred dust,
His gen'rous actions will forever live.
His foul difdain'd to ac a double part,
In all bis worldly dealings he was juit;
His actions thew'd the goodness of his heart,
His love of virtue, and of vice difguft.

H:

He fluded mankind, read the human breast,
Knew both the ftrength and weakness of the heart;
Could make allowance when the weak tranfgrefs'd,
And praise when frength o'er came the weaker part.

His manners she'd fimplicity and truth,
Not that he knew no ill but practic'd none;
In learning's paths he walk'd from early youth,
In every part of literature he shone.

He Arove to feather happiness around,
He fung, he jok'd, and told the merry tale ;
The fame of friend, or foe, he would not wound,
Nor at their faults and foibles would be rail..
The tender Father, and the friend fincere,
Of every moral excellence poffeft;
His virtues, diftant ages will revere,
His facred mem'ry will be ever bleft.
DARLINGTON.

EUPHEMIA,

IN

DEAR SIR,

N the grea eft despair now my Ipirits are drown'd,
And to flow runs may blood; it can hardly Bow sounds
Which lately did gallop and my fpirits were light;
But, now things a le alter'd, a id day turned to night.
With the Arrows of Cupid I'm wounded full fore;
By the fmart, the e's a dozen ftruck in me or more :
And nought but the smile; of MY2TILLA cân cuie
The pains which for her, yet, for her, I endure;
But, alas! my dear fir, as the does not “ado e" me,
I need not expe e to health will retore me;
So tell me, I pray, in your next friendly letter,

you know of what means I can ule, to forget ber.

E

EDWARD

EDWARD and MARIA.

DEEP in the covert of a gloomy wood,

Where filence, folitude, and love all reign, The rural Cottage of Ma ia tood

And there the mourn'd the abfence of her fwain. "Forc'd by my cruel Father's hand away,

"My Edward's lofs I muft for ever mourn 1 "Ye verdant Fields, in all your bright array, "Be gay no more, till Edward fhall return. "Tempted by a varice, and love of gold,

"Soon as my Father of our paffion knew, "He fernly faid, I should no more behold "The charming youth, whom I had lov'd fo true. "My Edward to perfuade, I ftrove in vain, ** i could not change the purport of his mind; "With eager hopes he went across the main, "To feek for riches which he ne'er will find. • Perhaps, t'en while I fpeak, feme savage hand, "With barba.cus heart thy mangled limbs may tear; "Perhaps, thou wand'ieft in fome foreign land, "Where dwelleth nought but Mifery and Fear. "Ab hapless youth 1 Why didft thou go sit ay f "With thee, I poverty could well have borne; In fearch of riches thou has fiet away, "Aad left me fighing, deftiture, forlorn." While thus Ma ja in fad anguish mourn'd The lofs of Edward, that teloved yourn ;He 'crofe the waves with eager hafte return'd; With riches to reward her love and truth. His fortune gain'd her Father's with'd consent, And now they live belov'd by all around; Bleft with each other's love in fweet content,

With health and peace their happy dwelling's crown'd. DARLINGTON.

EVELINA.

Horac

Horace, Ode 10, Book iv. imitated.

Addreffed to the beautiful

AH! ceafe, vain nymph, thy beauty to display:

of Y.

No longer strive to whund young STREPHON's breast ;
For Time, eve long, excl. charm will chafe away,-
Of every grace the beauteous form divest.

Tho' now thy rafy checks, thy jetty hair,

And fparkling eyes, the hea is of all engage;
Yer, mark!-the bloom of youth muf disappear,
And fall a prey to Time, and ruthiefs Age.
Then wilt thou figh (when, in thy looking-glass,
Fach alter'd grace thou fees) then wilt thou fay,
"Ah! where are now my wonted charms! —alas ! ·
"Alas! where's now my boafted beauty's (way ?
N. SHIELDS

W. C

ADVICE to MYRTILLA.
Ruft not MYRTILLA, the young bard,
Who tries your heart to gain;

For ne will never you reward,
But give your bofom pain,

To every fair one of the grove,
He wears he will be trus,
But when poffeffed of their love
He frowning bids adieu.

Believe not his intriguing lays
For flatter you he will,

He only fings your matchlefs praife,

His meature for to fill.

For poets know the fair are weak,
With free and eafy minds;

And!

And if one mile fhould grace the cheek,

He then great pleasure finds.

What true fincerity has penn'd

Do with attention view;

For it's the produce of a friend,
So, charming maid, adieu.

H

The CURATE.

OW happy is a Curate's life,

Not plagu'd with wealth, orteaz'd with
Wife;

His pious Vicar at the day,

Remits him punctually his pay:

His Quart'ridge jutt five pounds, not more,
Alas! the living s but Eight-fcore.-
And then how ipruce and how genteel
He's furbith'd up, from head to heel!
His Coat new-turn'd; with fpan-new lining,
For one Year more he's wond'rous fine in;
His hoary curls in order stand;

(A Pen'worth bought at fecond-'hand):
What heart-felt joy his brain bewitches,
To view his Everlasting Breeches!
No frets, no rents at pretent ail 'em,
They afk no friendly gown to veil 'em :
For be it known, a Curate can
Repair at times his Outward man;
His Inward, furely, has no need,
On fpiritual meat 'tis taught to feed:

What!