He drives His dazzling diligence on high,
In verse, as constantly as in the sky;

And cheap as blackberries our sonnets show
The Moon, Heaven's huntress, with HER silver bow;
By which they'd teach us, if I guess aright,
Man rules the day, and woman rules the night.
In Germany they just reverse the thing;
The Sun becomes a queen, the Moon a king.
Now, that the Sun should represent the women,
The Moon the men, to me seem'd mighty humming;
And when I first read German, made me stare.
Surely it is not that the wives are there

As common as the Sun to lord and loon,
And all their husbands horned as the Moon.

SPOTS IN THE SUN.

MY father confessor is strict and holy,
Mi Fili, still he cries, peccare noli.

And yet how oft I find the pious man
At Annette's door, the lovely courtesan !
Her soul's deformity the good man wins

And not her charms! he comes to hear her sins!
Good father! I would fain not do thee wrong;

But ah! I fear that they who oft and long
Stand gazing at the sun, to count each spot,
Must sometimes find the sun itself too hot.

WHEN Surface talks of other people's worth

He has the weakest memory on earth!

And when his own good deeds he deigns to

mention,

His memory still is no whit better grown ;
But then he makes up for it, all will own,
By a prodigious talent of invention.

TO MY CANDLE.—THE FAREWELL
EPIGRAM.

GOOD Candle, thou that with thy brother, Fire,
Art my best friend and comforter at night,
Just snuff'd, thou look'st as if thou didst desire
That I on thee an epigram should write.
Dear Candle, burnt down to a finger-joint,
Thy own flame is an epigram of sight;
'Tis short, and pointed, and all over light,
Yet gives most light and burns the keenest at
the point.
Valete et Plaudite.

AN excellent adage commands that we should
Relate of the dead that alone which is good;

But of the great Lord who here lies in lead
We know nothing good but that he is dead.*

* The Friend, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809 (where five of the above Epigrams are reprinted).

SIBYLLINE LEAVES.

181

SIBYLLINE LEAVES.

LINES TO W. L., ESQ.,

WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC." *

WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues,

And I have many friends who hold me dear,

L -! methinks, I would not often hear Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose All memory of the wrongs and sore distress For which my miserable brethren weep! But should uncomforted misfortunes steep My daily bread in tears and bitterness; And if at death's dread moment I should lie With no beloved face at my bed-side, To fix the last glance of my closing eye, [guide, Methinks such strains, breathed by my angelWould make me pass the cup of anguish by, Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN
AT THE THEATRE.t

MAIDEN, that with sullen brow

Sitt'st behind those virgins gay,

* Printed in the second volume of The Annual Anthology,

Bristol, 1800.

† Annual Anthology, Bristol, 1800.

Sufferer-1800.