Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,

So Phyllis the trophy despise;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,

So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a ftranger to Paridel's tongue,

-Yet may she beware of his art,

Or fure I must envy the fong.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

YE shepherds give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair-and my paffion begun;
She fmil'd and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,

That a nymph fo complete would be fought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire:
It banishes wisdom the while;

And the lip of the nymph we admire

Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

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DISAPPOINT MEN T.

She is faithlefs, and I am undone;

Ye that witnefs the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot inftruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair and how fickle they be.

Alas! from the day that we met,

What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain:

The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree;
Which I rear'd for her pleasure, in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-fprinkled rose,
The found of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from folitude flows,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shewn to the fight,
But we are not to find them our own:

Fate never beftow'd fuch delight,

As I with my Phyllis had known.

O ye woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepeft receffes I fly;

I would hide with the beafts of the chace;

I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall refound thro' the grove
With the fame fad complaint it begun;
How she fmil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithlefs, and I am undone!

L

OF

Mr. GARRICK.

SHERIDAN.

IF

F dying excellence deserves a tear,

If fond remembrance ftill is cherish'd here,

Can we perfift to bid our forrows flow

For fabled fufferers and delufive woe?

Or with quaint fmiles difmifs the plaintive ftrain,
Point the quick jeft-indulge the comic vein---
Ere yet to buried Roscius we assign

One kind regret—one tributary line!

His fame requires we act a tenderer part:
His memory claims the tear you gave his art!
The general voice, the meed of mournful verfe,
The fplendid forrows that adorn'd his hearse,
The throng that mourn'd as their dead fav'rite pass'd,
The grac'd respect that claim'd him to the last,
While Shakespeare's image, 'from its hallow'd base,
Seem'd to prescribe the grave, and point the place,
Nor thefe, nor all the fad regrets that flow
From fond fidelity's domeftic woe,

So much are Garrick's praife-fo much his due,
As on this fpot-one tear bestow'd by you,

TO THE

MEMORY OF Mr. GARRICK.

Amid the arts which feek ingenuous fame,
Our toil attempts the most precarious claim!
To him, whose mimic pencil wins the prize;
Obedient fame immortal wreaths fupplies:
Whate'er of wonder Reynolds now may raise;
Raphael still boafts cotemporary praise :
Each dazzling light and gaudier bloom fubdu'd,
With undiminish'd awe his works are view'd:
E'en beauty's portrait wears a fofter prime,
Touch'd by the tender hand of mellowing time.
The patient fculptor owns an humbler part,
A ruder toil, and more mechanic art:

47

Content with flow and timorous ftroke to trace
The lingering line, and mould the tardy grace:
But once atchiev'd, tho' barbarous wreck o'erthrow
The facret fane, and lay its glories low,
Yet shall the sculptur'd ruin rise to day,
Grac'd by defect; and worshipp'd in decay;
Th' enduring record bears the artist's name,
Demands his honours, and afferts his fame.
Superior hopes the poet's bosom fire,

O proud distinction of the facred lyre!
Wide as th' inspiring Phœbus darts his ray;
Diffusive fplendor gilds his votary's lay.
Whether the fong heroic woes rehearse,
With Epic grandeur, and the pomp of verse;