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Had thilke fame tale in other guife been tolde; Had they been young (pardie) and she been olde; That, by St. Kit, had wrought much forer trial; Full marvellous, I vote, were filk denyal.

A FLOWER PAINTED BY SIMON VARELST.

WHEN fam'd Varelft this little wonder drew,

Flora vouchfaf'd the growing work to view:

Finding the painter's fcience at a ftand,

The goddess fnatch'd the pencil from his hand;
And, finishing the piece, fhe fmiling faid,
Behold one work of mine, that ne'er fhall fade.

то THE

LADY ELIZABETH HARLEY,

AFTERWARDS MARCHIONESS OF CARMARTHEN.

ON A COLUMN OF HER DRAWING.

WHEN future ages fhall with wonder view These glorious lines, which Harley's daughter drew,

They fhall confefs, that Britain could not raise
A fairer column to the Father's praise.

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PROTOGENES AND APELLE S.

WHEN poets wrote, and painters drew,

As Nature pointed out the view;

Ere Gothick forms were known in Greece
To spoil the well-proportion'd piece;
And in our verse ere monkish rhymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes :
Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes
Thofe knights had fix'd their dull abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor car'd to pray, nor dar'd to fight:
Protogenes, hiftorians note,

Liv'd there, a burgefs, fcot and lot;
And, as old Pliny's writings fhow,
Apelles did the same at Co.

Agreed thefe points of time and place,
Proceed we in the prefent cafe.

Piqu'd by Protogenes's fame,
From Co to Rhodes Apelles came,
To fee a rival and a friend,
Prepar'd to cenfure, or commend;
Here to abfolve, and there object,
As art with candour might direct.
He fails, he lands, he comes, he rings;
His fervants follow with the things:
Appears the governante of th' house;
For fuch in Greece were much in ufe:

If young or handsome, yea or no,
Concerns not me or thee to know.
Does Squire Protogenes live here?
Yes, Sir, fays fhe, with gracious air,
And court'fey low, but juft call'd out
By lords peculiarly devout,

Who came on purpose, Sir, to borrow
Our Venus for the feaft to-morrow,
Το grace the church; 'tis Venus' day:
I hope, Sir, you intend to ftay,

To fee our Venus: 'tis the piece

way.

The most renown'd throughout all Greece;
So like th' original, they say:
But I have no great skill that
But, Sir, at fix ('tis now paft three)
Dromo must make my master's tea :
At fix, Sir, if you please to come,
You'll find my master, Sir, at home.

Tea, fays a critic big with laughter,
Was found fome twenty ages after;
Authors, before they write, fhould read.

'Tis

very true; but we'll proceed.

And, Sir, at prefent would you please
To leave your name-Fair maiden, yes.
Reach me that board. No fooner spoke
But done. With one judicious stroke,
On the plain ground Apelles drew
A circle regularly true:

And will you please, sweet-heart, said he,
To fhew your mafter this from me?

By it he prefently will know

How painters write their names at Co.
He gave the pannel to the maid.
Smiling and court'fying, Sir, fhe faid,
I fhall not fail to tell my master:
And, Sir, for fear of all disaster,
I'll keep it my ownfelf: fafe bind,
Says the old proverb, and safe find.
So, Sir, as fure as key or lock-
Your fervant, Sir,-at fix o'clock.
Again at fix Apelles came,
Found the same prating civil dame.
Sir, that my master has been here,
Will by the board itself appear.
If from the perfect line be found
He has prefum'd to fwell the round,
Or colours on the draught to lay,
'Tis thus (he order'd me to fay),
Thus write the painters of this ifle:
Let thofe of Co remark the ftyle.

She said; and to his hand restor'd
The rival pledge, the missive board.
Upon the happy line were laid
Such obvious light, and easy shade,
That Paris' apple stood confest,
Or Leda's egg, or Cloe's breast.
Apelles view'd the finish'd piece:
And live, faid he, the arts of Greece!
Howe'er Protogenes and I

May in our rival talents vie;

Howe'er

Howe'er our works may have exprefs'd
Who trueft drew, or colour'd beft,
When he beheld my flowing line,
He found at least I could defign:
And from his artful round, I grant
That he with perfect skill can paint.
The dullest genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my tale;
That the diftinguifh'd part of men,
With compafs, pencil, fword, or pen,
Should in life's vifit leave their name,
In characters which may proclaim
That they with ardour strove to raise
At once their arts, and country's praise ;
And in their working took great care,
That all was full, and round, and fair.

DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.

DEMOCRITUS, dear droll, revifit earth,

And with our follies glut thy heighten’d mirth : Sad Heraclitus, ferious wretch, return, In louder grief our greater crimes to mourn. Between you both I unconcern'd stand by : Hurt, can I laugh? and honeft, need I cry?

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