Infcription in an objcure Part of the Garden of the late Mrs. CLIVE at STRAWBERRY-HILL, on a Pedeftal Supporting a beautiful Urn.

BY THE HON. HORACE WALPOLE, (Now EARL or ORFORD,)

YE fmiles and jefts still hover round,

This is Mirth's confecrated ground!

Mere

Here liv'd the laughter-loving Dame,
A matchless Actress, CLIVE her name,
The Comic Mufe with her retir'd,

And shed a tear when she expir'd,

H. W.

To MR. HORACE WALPOLE,

On his Infeription on an Urn dedicated to Mrs. CLIVE. BY PETER PINDAR, ESQ.

HORACE! of STRAWBERRY-HILL, I mean not

ROME

Lot all thy geefe are swans, I do prefume--

Truth and thy trumpet seem not to agree:
Know, Comedy is hearty---all alive---

The sprightly-lafs no more expir'd with CLIVE,
Than Dame HUMILITY will die with thee.

Verfes addressed to Mrs. TICKELL, at Hampton-Court Palace, by her Brother THOMAS TICKELL, Efq. on receiving her Print from Cosway's Picture.

DESERTED Hampton! now no longer moura
Thy fam'd Cartoons, to happier Windfor borne:
No more lament thy flighted Beauties' fate,
Condemn'd, unfeen, to fade in lonely state:

Не

Cofavay

Cofway, the happy Zeuxis of our Ifle,
Restores thee all, in lovely Sarah's smile;
That smile, whofe charms a power to Cofway lend,
Like her, each varied excellence to blend;
And in one bright original, combine
All Lely's grace, all Rafaelle's art divine.
12th March, 1792.

WESTMINSTER THEATRICALS.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY MR. BUNBURY, IN THE CHARACTER OF
EUDOCIA, IN THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.

GRAY, mournful Bard, devoted once his pen,
To tell poor thoughtless school-boys they were men.
But not our boys of Weftminfter he chofe---
He pitch'd on Eton, for his neft of woes;
Sorrow bestow'd on them, and faded Care,
And fad, grim-vifag'd, comfortless Despair---
And kindly fent---first having quite undone 'em,
The family of Pain---to wait upon 'em.
But Westminster! the wholesome and the fair!
He knew---could never be the feat of Care---

He knew what domes the Bowling-alley yields---
What groves, Dean's-yard-- what verdure, Tothill-fields---
The ball and school---of Wisdom what perfection!

And O! what Patriot Virtue---the Election!

Too

Too bleft indeed were fuch without alloy,
And some small rubs controul our stream of joy;
In which there steps, if we too faft are jogging---
A gentle impofition-or-a flogging-

But young ambition still with rubs must meet
In camps and courts, as well as Barton-ftreet.

Did you but know what wayward ills await
The boy who wants a bead, and wears a tête-
In heels, and hoops, and petticoats array'd➡
And all the apparatus of―a maid-

You'd feel compaffion for my cafe, and fhew it-
Why, Caled's pangs of Death were paftime to it.
If, when you felt for fad Eudgcia's woes,
Nature had fummon'd me-to blow my nose;
And for my handkerchief, I'd made a ftoop-
Taking improper freedoms---with my hoop
What female eye fo brave, but I must shock it...
Hunting fo unpolitely---for my pocket!
You for my feelings had not car'd a pin,
But damn'd Eudocia with a general grin.
Or, if it fo had pleas'd malignant Fate,
That I had quite forgot I wore a tête ;

And anxious, with Papa, to join the groupe in,

Had rush'd through fome low door-way without stooping; Off it had gone---I had your prefence fled--

And loft my reputation---with my head.

Such ills to guard against---it rests with me.,

To steer with care---my chignon and toupee.

And left my grief fhould interrupt your forrow,
I'll have a pocket-hole cut here to-morrow.
If, fhock'd to-night by no extreme faux pas,
You blefs our little troop with dear applause---
If Phocya's torments did not quite congeal ye----
If Caled (for a Welchman) died---genteelly ;
The dead themfelves commiffion me to say,
They'll live--to fight again---another day.

VERSES

ON A

SHEET OF BLANK PAPER.

BY THE LATÉ GEORGE THICKNESSE, ESQ

Head Mafter of St. Paul's School.

FAIR, fpotlefs leaf (thou emblem pure

Of innocence) beware:

Nor think thy beauty lives fecure;
'Tis dang❜rous to be fair.

To wit obfcene, and impious jeft,
Thou lieft too much expos'd:
Give truth poffeffion of thy breaft,
Or be for ever clos'd.

I

Some