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ART. XXV. POEMS. By **** 8vo. 3s. DodЛley.

N advertisement prefixed to this volume, informs the

A public, that mon of the following pieces having been

published at different times, feparately, haftily, and fome of them incorrectly; it is now thought proper to collect them together, revifed and amended, with the addition of feveral others, by the fame hand.

The greateft part of these poems are to be found in the the third volume of Dodfley's miscellanies; where they are faid to be written by S. 7. efq; Among the principal of the pieces is, The art of dancing, an excellent poem, in two cantos; written in the year 1730. An effay on virtue; to the hon. Philip Yorke, efq; The first epistle of the seventh book of Horace imitated; written in 1748, and addrefs'd to the lord chancellor. Some humorous verfes, entitled, The Squire and the Parfon, (see Review, vol. 2. p. 112.) are likewise in this collection. Mr. J is alfo the author of a fatyrical piece, entitled, The modern fine Lady; publifhed separate laft winter, and now here join'd to another performance of the fame kind, called, The modern fine Gentleman.

The public is already fo well acquainted with the poetical abilities of this very ingenious gentleman, that it cannot be thought neceffary for us to give any other than a fhort fpecimen of the prefent collection; and that only for the fake of fuch of our readers as have not feen Mr. DodЛley's three volumes. The fingle piece we shall select for this purpose, is a tranflation of fome Latin verses on the camera obfcura ; which we do not remember to have seen before.

The various powers of blended fhade and light,
The skilful ZEUXIS of the dufky night;
The lovely forms that paint the fnowy plain
Free from the pencil's violating ftain;
In tuneful lines, harmonious PнOBUS fing,
At once of light, and verfe, celeftial king.
Divine APOLLO, let thy facred fire
Thy youthful bard's unfkilful breast inspire,
Like the fair empty fheet he hangs to view,
Void, and unfurnifh'd till infpir'd by you:
O let one beam, one kind enlight'ning ray
At once upon his mind and paper play!
Hence num'rous forms the filver field fhall ftrew,
Hence shall his breast with bright ideas glow.
But now the mufe's useful precepts view,
And with juft care the pleafing work pursue.
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Firft chufe a window that convenient lies,
And to the north directs the wand'ring eyes,
Dark be the room, nor let a ftraggling ray
Intrude, to chafe the fhadowy forms away.
Except one bright, refulgent blaze, convey'd,
Thro' a ftrait paffage in the fhutter made,
In which the ingenious artist first must place
A little convex round transparent glass,
And juft behind the extended paper lay,
On which his art fhall all its power display:
There rays reflected from all parts fhall meet,
And paint their objects on the filver sheet;
A thoufand forms fhall in a moment rife,

And magic landskips charm our wand'ring eyes:
'Tis thus from ev'ry object that we view,
If EPICURUS' doctrine teaches true,
The fubtile parts upon our organs play,
And to our minds the external forms convey.
But from what causes all these wonders flow,
'Tis not permitted idle bards to know,
How thro' the center of the convex glass,
The piercing rays together twisted pass,
Or why revers'd the lovely scenes appear,
Or why the fun's approaching light they fear,
Let grave philofophers the caufe enquire,
Enough for us to fee and to admire.

See then what forms with various colours ftain
The painted furface of the paper plain !

Now bright and gay, as fhines the heavenly bow,
So late a wide unpeopled waste of snow:
Here verdant groves, their golden crops of corn
The new uncultivated fields adorn;

Here gardens deckt with flowers of various dies,
There flender tow'rs and little cities rife :
But all with tops inverted downward bend;

Earth mounts aloft, and skies and clouds descend :
Thus the wife vulgar on a pendant land
Imagine our antipodes to stand,

And wonder much how they securely go,
And not fall headlong on the heavens below.
The charms of motion here exalt each part
Above the reach of great APELLES' art;
Zephyrs the waving harveft gently blow,
The waters curl, and brooks inceffant flow;
Men, beaft, and birds in fair confufion ftray,
Some rife to fight, whilft others pass away.


On all we feize that comes within our reach,
The rolling coach we ftop, the horseman catch;
Compel the pofting traveller to ftay;

But the short vifit caufes no delay.

Again behold what lovely profpects rise!
Now with the lovelieft feaft your longing eyes.
Nor let strict modefty be here afraid


To view upon her head a beauteous maid:
See in fmall folds her waving garments flow,
And all her flender limbs still flenderer
Contracted in one little orb is found
The fpacious hoop, once five vaft ells around;
But think not to embrace the flying fair,
Soon will fhe quit your arms unseen as air,
In this resembling too a tender maid,

Coy to the lover's touch, and of his hard afraid.
Enough we've seen, now let the intruding day
Chace all the lovely magic fcenes away;
Again the unpeopled fnowy wafte returns,
And the lone plain its faded glories mourns.
The bright creation in a moment flies,
And all the pigmy generation dies.

Thus when still night her gloomy mantle spreads,
The fairies dance around the flow'ry meads;
But when the day returns they wing their flight
To diftant lands, and fhun the unwelcome light.

ART. XXVI. MISCELLANIES in Profe and Verfe. By Mary Jones. 8vo. 5 s. Dodfley.

To O the applauded names of the ingenious Molly Leapor, and the truly admirable Mrs. Cockburn, (See Review, the preceding volumes) we have now the pleasure to add that of Mrs. Jones; whofe name will not be less an honour to her country, and to the republic of letters, than her amiable life and manners are to her own sex: to that sex whose natural charms alone are found fufficient to attract our tendereft regards; but which, when joined to thofe unconimon accomplishments and virtues this lady is mistress of, fo juftly command our highest admiration, and most ardent efteem.

An advertisement introduces this volume to the reader with a modeft apology for its publication; intimating that the pieces it contains being the produce of pure nature only, and most of them wrote at a very early age, ftand fo much

in need of apology for their appearance in the world, that the author affures her readers, they would scarce have been troubled with them upon any confideration of her own Her friends had often defired her to collect fomething of this fort for the prefs; but the difficulties, or more properly, the dread of fuch an undertaking, together with the respect she had for them, the world, and herfelf, always kept fuch a thought at the greateft diftance imaginable. Nor had the at length prevailed with herself to fet about fo difagreeable a tafk, but for the fake of a relation, grown old and helpless, thro' a series of misfortunes; and whom fhe had no other method of effectually affifting. This, her numerous and generous fubfcribers, have put it in her power to do; and therefore fhe took this public opportunity of giving them their fhare of the fatisfaction; as well as of acknowledging the favour done to herself.

The author does not feem to be at all vain of her own performances. Her poetry fhe mentions with a very flight regard, as the meerly accidental ramblings of her thoughts into rhyme. As to the letters, fays fhe, the ladies to whom they are addressed having thought proper to preserve them, is the best apology I can make for them.'-We must however do this lady's poetical abilities the juftice to observe, that her compofitions in verfe are fuperior to those of any other female writer fince the days of Mrs. Catherine Phillips. She feems to have read Mr. Pope clofely, to have peculiarly followed his manner, and indeed often to have prefer'd the ufing his very words and fentiments, to her own. In fine, fhe has evidently made great ufe of her reading, without appearing to have been under the leaft neceffity of borrowing from others, from any infertility of genius in herself. Whether this is to be attributed to her difregard of fame, or to an averfion to ftudious and laborious writing, or to whatever caufe, we leave thofe to determine who have the happinefs of a more intimate acquaintance with our author than we can boast,

Mrs. Jones's profe writings, particularly her letters, are perhaps fuperior to any pieces of the kind that our own country has produced, from the pen of a woman. She is mistress of a perpetual fund of wit, which the always expreffes with a freedom and negligence peculiar to herfelf; ever fprightly, good humoured, gay, yet never trifling, affected, nor injudicious; her reflections are senfible, folid, and truly moral; her ftile clear, natural, animated and flowing; and her language enriched by an


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extensive reading, from whence it borrows the graces of learning, at the fame time that the preferves all the freedom of her native humour, and eafy elegance of expreffion.

Among this lady's poetical Works, the most confiderable in point of length, is an ethic epiftle on PATIENCE; addreffed to Lord Mafham; which abounds with juft and ftriking obfervations, and excellent moral conclufions: the reft of her pieces, of which the number is not fmall, are more confiderable for their goodness than their length. It is remarkable that among them all, there is but one fong; and that is the well known Lafs of the hill: the only fpecimen fhe has given us of her genius for paftoral poetry. Her epistle to lady Bowyer is an attempt in the Horatian ftile, and exhibits fuch a lively picture of the author's difpofition and turn of fentiments, as cannot fail of entertaining fuch of our readers as are yet unacquainted with this lady's works.


How much of paper's fpoil'd! what floods of ink!
And yet how few, how very few can think!
The knack of writing is an eafy trade;

But to think well requires

at leaft a Head.

Once in an age, one Genius may arife,

With wit well cultur'd, and with learning wife.
Like fome tall oak, behold his branches shoot!
No tender scions fpringing at the root.
Whilft lofty Pope erects his laurell'd head,
No lays, like mine, can live beneath his fhade.
Nothing but weeds, and mofs, and fhrubs are found.
Cut, cut them down, why cumber they the ground?
And yet you'd have me write!-for what? for whom?
To curl a Fav'rite in a dreffing-room?

To mend a candle when the fnuff's too fhort?
Or fave rappee for chamber-maids at Court?
Glorious ambition; noble thirst of fame!
No, but you'd have me write to get a name.
Alas! I'd live unknown, unenvy'd too;
'Tis more than Pope, with all his wit can do.
'Tis more than You, with wit and beauty join'd,
A pleafing form, and a difcerning mind.
The world and I are no fuch cordial friends;
I have my purpose, they their various ends.
I fay my prayers, and lead a fober life,
Nor laugh at Cornus, or at Cornus' wife.

What's fame to me, who pray, and pay my rent?
If my friends know me honeft, I'm content.

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