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assemblage of beauties, it is difficult to select ; and if I followed the dictates of my own taste, the mere catalogue would fill a page. I will however mention Thomson's "For ever Fortune," Littleton's "Heavy Hours," Percy's "O Nancy," and the well-known ballad of "Old Darby and Joan," as extremely beauti ful.

Our witty songs form a class not less numerous than the preceding. The following is exquisitely witty—

"The women all tell me I'm false to my lass, "That I quit my dear Chloe, and stick to my glass: "But to you men of reason, my reasons I'll own; "And if you don't like them, why, let them alone.

"Altho' I have left her, the truth I'll declare,
"I believe she was good, and I'm sure she is fair;
"But goodness and charms in a bumper I see,
"That make it as good and as charming as she.

"My Chloe had dimples and smiles I must own, "But tho' she could smile, yet in truth she could frown. "Now tell me, ye lovers of liquor divine, "Did you e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine?

"Her lilies and roses were just in their prime,
"Yet lilies and roses are conquer'd by time;
"But in wine from its age such a benefit flows,
"That we like it the better the older it grows.`

"They tell me my love would in time have been cloy'd,

"And that beauty's insipid when once 'tis enjoy'd;
"But in wine I both time and enjoyment defy,
"For the longer I drink, the more thirsty am I.

"Let murders, and battles, and history prove "The mischiefs that wait upon rivals in love: "But in drinking, thank heaven, no rival contends, "For the more we love liquor, the more we are friends.

"She too might have poison'd the joy of my life, "With nurses, and babies, and squalling and strife: "But my wine neither nurses nor babies can bring, "And a big-belly'd bottle's a mighty good thing.

"We shorten our days when with love we engage ; "It brings on diseases, and hastens old age: "But wine from grim death can its votaries save, "And keep t'other leg out, when there's one in the grave.

"Perhaps, like her sex, ever false to their word, "She had left me—to get an estate, or a lord: "But my bumper, regarding nor title, nor pelf, "Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.

"Then let my dear Chloe no longer complain;' "She's rid of her lover, and I of my pain; "For in wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy: "Should you doubt what I say,—take a bumper and try,"

"When Orpheus went down to the regions

below" is also full of wit, but it is almost a translation from Quevedo. "Celia altogether,' by Whitehead, is sprightly and pleasing. "Love and folly" is either a pretty song or a pretty epigram. It may be proper to notice here that though all epigrammatic points are judiciously proscribed in the serious lyric, they are yet very admissible in the lighter kinds. Lord Chesterfield's little song beginning "Mistaken fair," &c. has much wit; and there is a vein of odd humour in a song not very new— "Vain are the charms of white and red," &c. Of modern song-writers, George Alexander Stephens, Mr. Sheridan, and Captain Morris have excelled most of their contemporaries in the facetious and witty.

As in prose, so the epistolary form will apply to any subject, and almost to any style of poetical composition. It suits best, however, with the moral, the familiar and the gay. Mr. Prior's Epistle to Fleetwood Shepherd is a happy specimen of the familiar epistle in verse. Mr. Pope's Epistle to Mr. Addison, occasioned by his Dialogues on Medals, is excellent in its kind; and Mr. Addison's Letter from Italy

contains some fine description, and some good poetry, though the style of his heroic verse is never equal to that of Mr. Pope.

Tales and fables may also be adopted into almost any species of poetry. An heroic poem is indeed only an extended tale; and Dryden's Alexander's Feast is a kind of story. Tales and fables are often happily introduced as illustrations in moral poetry. There are some very lively and interesting in the satires and epistles of Horace; and I have already remarked the excellence of Pope's Sir Balaam.

For nature, interest, and useful tendency, the best tale in our language is that of my friend Mr. M'Neil, "Scotland's Scaith." Of a different description, but extremely beautiful, is Parnel's Hermit. Dr. Goldsmith's beautiful tale of "Edwin and Angelina" has seemingly furnished the hint for the story of Dr. Percy's "Friar of Orders Gray," in which the author has ingeniously contrived to weave several detached fragments of antient composition. Both are beautiful, but they want the moral of the two former pieces.

Phædrus was the first who composed fables

in verse; but he is little more than a mere translator of Æsop, and has lost much of the simplicity and beauty of the original. The best poetical fables in any language are those of Mr. Gay.

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