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SAMUEL BISHOP.

London1791–1795.

Bishop, was Master of Merchant Taylor's school ; and

imagination need not be put upon the stretch, to form an idea of his life. It is pleasant, howevcr, to see one of his profession tying up the birch twigs with ribbon couleur de rose, and gathering the flowers of Parnassus as he drove his flock along the road.

TO THE

REV. GEORGE STEPNEY TOWNLEY, On the Birth of his daughter, September 18, 1779.

WEAT, shall the father hope, the mother pray, When their girl's eyes first open to the day?

That ductile Spirit, simple Truth,

And pregnant Sensibility, May lead up infancy to youth! —

And every prank of playful glee Still seem to say, “This babe was born, • A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn!

That year by year, new female grace

To manlier judgment may be join'd! Her genius animate her face !

Her manner indicate her mind! A face, a mind, that show her born,.. A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn!

That her full form, and perfect powers,

The worthy and the wise may strike; And Love, to bless her married hours,

Conduct and match her to her like! One, who shall know, and boast her born A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn!

That her capricious heart may take

Grateful, the share of good decreed ! And comfortable candour make

All she enjoys, be joy indeed! Joy, whose pure glow may prove her born A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn!

That never insults, loss, or pain,

May work an heavier weight of care,
Than conscious honour can disdain,

Or provident discretion bear!
While meek complacence, speaks her born!
A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn!

That age insensibly may creep!

And her last look may see survive
An offspring of her own to keep

Her likeness, and her name alive!
Then may she die, as she was born,
A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn!

THE BRAMBLE. WHILE Wits thro'. Fiction's regions ramble, While Bards for fame or profit scramble:While Pegasus can trot, or amble; — Come, what may come,- I'll sing the Bramble.

• How now!'-methinks I hear you say :-
• Why? What is Rhyme run mad to-day?'
-No, Sirs, mine's but a sudden gambol ;
My Muse hung hamper'd in a Bramble.

But soft ! no more of this wild stuff!
Once for a frolick is enough; —
So help us Rhyme, at future need,
As we in soberer style proceed.
All subjects of nice disquisition,
Admit two modes of definition :
For every thing two sides has got - .
What is it?--and what is it not?

Both methods, for exactness sake,
We with our Bramble mean to take:
And by your leave, will first discuss
It's negative good parts,-as thus. -

A Bramble will not, like a Rose,
To prick your fingers, tempt your nose,
Whene'er it wounds, the fault's your own,
Let that, and that lets you, alone.

You shut your Myrtles for a time up ;
Your Jasmine wants a wall to climę up;
But Bramble, in its humbler station,
Nor weather heeds, nor situation;
No season is too wet, or dry for't,
No ditch too low, no hedge too high for't.
Some praise, and that with reason too,
The Honey-suckle's scent and hue ;
But sudden storms, or sure decay,
Sweep, with it's bloom, it's charms away:
The sturdy. Bramble's coarser flower '
Maintains it's post, come blast, come shower;
And when time crops it, time subdues
No charms;---for it has none to lose.

Spite of your skill, and care and cost,
Your nobler shrubs are often lost;
But Brambles, where they once get footing,
From age to age continue shooting;
Ask no attention, nor forecasting ;
Not ever-green; but ever-lasting.

Some shrubs intestine hatred cherish,
And plac'd too near each other, perish;
Bramble indulges no such whim;
All neighbours are alike to him;
No stump so scrubby, but he'll grace it;
No crab so sour but he'll embrace it.

Such, and so various negative merits,
The Bramble from it's birth inherits i sommes

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