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FLOWERS.

By ANTHONY WHISTLER, Efq;

L

· Ego apis matina

More modoque,

Grata carpentis thyma.

I.

ET fages, with fuperfluous pains,

The learned page devour;

While Florio better knowledge drains

From each inftru&tive flow't.

II.

His fav'rite Rofe his fear alarms,

All opening to the fun;

Like vain coquettes, who spread their charms,

And fhine, to be undone.

The Snow-drop first but peeps to light,

And fearful fhews its head;

Thus modeft merit fhines more bright,

By felf-diftruft misled.

V.

Th' Auric'la, which thro' labour rofe,
Yet fhines compleat by art,

The force of education fhows;

How much it can impart.

VI.

He marks the Senfitive's nice fit;
Nor fears he to proclaim,

If each man's darling vice were hit,

That he would act the fame.

VII.

Beneath each common hedge, he views

The Violet, with care;

Hinting we should not worth refufe,

Altho' we find it there.

VIII.

The Tuberofe that lofty springs,
Nor can fupport its height,
Well represents imperious kings;
Grown impotent by might.

IX.

Fragrant, tho' pale, the Lily blows;
To teach the female breast,
How virtue can its fweets disclose

In all complexions drest.

VOL. IV.

X

X. Te

X.

To every bloom that crowns the year,
Nature fome charm decrees;

Learn hence, ye nymphs, her face to wear,
Ye cannot fail to please.

25 25 25 U

SON G. By the Same.

WH

HILE, Strephon, thus you teize one,
To say, what won my heart;~

It cannot fure be treason,

If I the truth impart.

'Twas not your smile, tho' charming;
'Twas not your eyes, tho' bright;
'Twas not your bloom, tho' warming;
Nor beauty's daz'ling light.

'Twas not your drefs, tho' fhining;
Nor fhape, that made me figh:
'Twas not your tongue, combining,
For that I knew-might lye.

No-'twas your generous nature;
Bold, foft; fincere, and gay:
It shone in every feature,

And stole my heart away.

The

The CABINET.

Or, Verses on Roman Medals. To Mr. W.

L

By Mr. GRAVES.

I.

O! the rich Cafket's mimic dome!
Where cells in graceful rows

The triumphs of imperial Rome

In miniature disclose.

II.

Lefs facred far those tinfel shrines,
In which the fainted bones,

And relicks, modern Rome confines,
Of legendary drones.

III.

In figur'd brafs we here behold

From time's wide waste retriev'd,
What patriot's firm or heroes bold
In peace or war atchiev’d.

IV.

Or filver orbs, in feries fair,

With titles deck'd around,

Prefent each Cæfar's face and air

With rays or laurels crown'd.

X 2

V. Ages

V.

Ages to come shall hence be taught,
In lafting lines exprefs'd,

How mighty Julius fpoke or fought,
Or Cleopatra drefs'd.

VI.

Auguftus here with placid mien,
Bids raging difcord cease;

The

gates of War clofe-barr'd are seen,

And all the world is

peace.

VII.

A race of tyrants then fucceeds,

Who frown with brow fevere; Yet tho' we fhudder at their deeds, Ev'n Nero charms us here.

VIII.

Thus did the blooming Titus look,

Delight of human kind;

Great Hadrian thus, whose death bespoke

His firm yet gentle mind.

IX.

Aurelius too! thy ftoic face.

Indignant we compare

With young Fauftina's wanton grace,

And meretricious air.

.X.

Each paffion here and virtue fhines

In livelieft emblems drefs'd:

Lefs ftrong in Tully's ethic lines,

Or Plato's flights express'd.

XI. With