This certainly will admit of Dr. Johnson's explanation, adders with their fangs or teeth undrawn; but I rather think it means with their poisonous teeth extracted, according to the custom which the Doctor himself adverts to of mountebanks. The Prince would trust them only when they were rendered harmless. Thus Hotspur says to his inquisitive wife :

"I well believe

"Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
"And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate."

ACT V.

362. "He should the bearers put to sudden death,

"Not shriving time allow'd."

Another proof, exclaims Mr. Steevens, of Hamlet's Christian-like disposition; the injunction indeed is not conformable to the principles professed by Christians; but Hamlet is exhibited, not as a pattern of Christian orthodoxy, but as a young man, frail and passionate; and though in defending the general reprobation with which the ingenious commentator had laboured to brand the character of Hamlet, he is certainly warranted in rejecting any contra evidence unconnected with the drama itself; yet a jury of candid poets, I believe, would acquit the hero of this play, at least in the present instance, upon his own words and conduct. He shews in his first interview with these men, that he considers them as inere spies; and since they do nothing to obviate that imputation, and are at length the convicted agents of the most atrocious treachery, I believe a generous critic would not scruple to give full credit to the Prince's ve racity, when he tells his friend, that he knew these men were not only privy to the King's design, but eager and active in promoting it; and consequently would not violently condemn the stratagem adopted for their destruction.

485. "The king hath laid," &c.

Dr. Johnson says, he does not understand this wager; and Mr. Steevens chuses to consign the terms of it to the acuteness and sagacity of the Jockey Club: but surely there is no necessity for intrud-\ ing on the serious and important avocations of those gentlemen in the present case.

"The King hath laid, that in a dozen passes between yourself and Laertes, he shall not exceed you three hits; he shall not hit you three times oftener than you will hit him; if in the dozen passes Hamlet shall be hit seven times, and Laertes only three, the King will lose the wager."

[To be continued.]

G-VOL. XIII.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

SONNET XV.

By the young Lady, Author of the preceding Series.
Calm and serene is Infancy's Repose,

When on the earth its form insensate lies:
When the last sleep falls on its willing eyes,
And death benign anticipates its woes,

II.

For there has Trial ne'er assum'd its sway
To mar the progress of concentred views :
There Sorrow never shed her baleful dews
To frustrate Hope's exhilarating ray.
III.

Nor Envy there has prov'd her cruel Art,

To stab, with treacherous hand, another's Fame;
Nor Prejudice o'erlook'd the fairest claim,

Perverting all the feelings of the Heart.

But free of every stain, nor by our Ills opprest,
In pure primeval Innocence, it sinks to rest.
9th Sept. 1801.

SONNET.

To the Author of the preceding Sonnets.
WHAT notes were those I heard in yonder glade,
So sweet, so pensive, and so simply wild?
Who tunes that lyre? I ween some lovely maid,
Whom Genius calls her fond, her favourite child.

What heavenly pathos! ah at every swell

How sinks the soul with many a tender thought!
Delicious notes! fond Freedom's lonely knell !
For love is mingled with each varying note.
To muse on sounds so wafted by the gale,

Ah! how delicious! when the grey-eyed Eve
Pours o'er the scene her lov'd, her genial veil-

More sweet than that this songstress loves to weave!

Then say! what forest or what glen contains

That nymph who warbles such enrapturing strains.

O. 8th, 1801.

SONNET, FROM CAMOENS.

WITHIN a grove, the haunt of Nymph and Fay,
Sibella, fairest maid! once chanc'd to stray,
And mounting high a tree that shady grew,
She cull'd its od'rous flowers of yellow hue.

There Cupid came, who long a rule had made
To come and take his Sesta* in the shade;
Upon a bough his shafts and bow unstrung,
Before he sunk to sleep, with care he hung.

The maid who watch'd the time with eager eyes,
Delay'd not now to seize the dang❜rous prize,
The arms obtain'd, to careless me she hied,
And in her eyes+ the ardent shafts I spied.
O! Shepherds, fly what all to death will give,
Save me alone! who still, tho' dying, live!

The Sesta is very common in Portugal, and signifies the repose usually taken in the afternoon by the natives of that warm climate.

+ As séttas traz nos olhos :-literally-" She brings the arrows in her eyes." Nonnus calls the eyes the archers of love, ακοντιςηρες εξωτων. This sonnet which in the conclusion differs a little from the original, is the 20th in the edition of Camoens alluded to in our last.

SONNET TO FRIENDSHIP.

O Friendship! source of every heartfelt joy,
Thou, who can'st ward us from the shafts of fate,
Who can'st the mind's despairing hopes elate,
And bid stern anger from the breast to fly!
Who oft-when tears stream from the sorrowing eye,
Dost in the face the placid smiles create,
Dry'st the moist cheek-and calm'st the rising sigh,
And bid'st the soul's discordant thoughts abate';

Celestial maid! oh come, and with thy hand,

Guide my frail bark o'er life's tempestuous sea;

And let thy mild Favonian gales expand

My willing sails-and every hope convey;

For ah ! depriv'd of thee, wreck'd on Despair's dark strand,
We droop beneath each storm, to wretchedness a prey.

Live rpool.

J. B.

THE FAN OF LOVE.

To M***** with a Fan on which was drawn CUPID bearing the club of HERCULES.

CUPID with wanton roguery stole

Alcides' heavy arms :

Panted with pride his joyful soul :
As Bacchus bears the weighty bowl,
Sinking in Nectar's charms,

So march'd majestically droll,

Love, half o'ercome by Fear's alarms,

Yet, led by artful Mirth, in spite of Fear's control.

Weary, at length, his load he threw

Beneath a trembling rose:

The shudd'ring Nymphs soft show'rs of dew

And leafy clouds of fragrance strew,

And hush him to reposé :

Then for his FAN the rustling Zephyr flow;

And as its folds unclose,

Sylphs of the ambient air, ten thousand odou rs blew.

'Tis thus, my DELIA, those who love,

Oft sink o'ercome with care:
Some Poverty's hard bondage prove,
Some chill'd by absence scarcely move,

Some tremble with despair

As o'er its fallen nest the dove

Beats with wild wing the air;

So views yon youth the corse, whose soul Heav`n cites above.

As oft, my Delia, as we think

On this, we'll lead Content,

Who lives on Pleasure's flow'ry brink,

With roses crowns her crystal drink,

To our woe-beaten tent;

She'll teach us ne'er at storms to shrink,

Or, when with toil we're bent,

She'll wave the fan of Love as to repose we sink.

T. NOBLE.

TO MR. COOKE,

Of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden *You know, dear G eorge, I'm none of those,” Who rhyming should prefer to prose;

But what of that ?—Strange things sometimes
This world displays—why not strange rhymes?
Indeed no man with eyes, or woman,

Will long maintain strange rhymes uncommon
But to my point, I'm not without,
However hard to find it out,

Why haps it, Sir, for here's the thing,
You lead these kingdoms in a string,
Winter or summer, wet or dry,
Or cold or hot? Pray tell us why-
Not why you shone forth when you did,
But why so long your pow'rs lay hid.
Rich, poor, town, country, all combine
their homage at your shrine;

To pay

The Miser, trembling to disburse,
Unties for you his ragged purse,
Prefers the gall'ry, to be sure,
But curses not the Shilling door.
Leaving at home their snarling fit,
Critics with silence treat the pit;
But, not content without their vapours,
They flourish in the next day's papers;
And, lest discernment should be lost,
Appear at length by Morning Post.
When winter rules with high behest,
Your voice indignant fires the breast;
When summer suns their rage exert,
Your fictious cruelty strikes cold the heart:
And thus, I take it, weather loses
Its influence o'er the garden houses:
But where your secret lies, in vain
We seek to know with curious pain;
And, since I'm asking, let me ask,
(It will not much enlarge your task)
Why not, my friend, your favours deal,
With equal hand when ladies kneel?
Melpomene, the haughty Miss
And errant Beldam as she is,