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(for sure the most obdurate maid must blame,

the rigid coyness of the cruel dame):
then lovely Laura, think, you faintly feel
the symtoms of a flame I dare not tell;
think, then, you hear your suppliant lover sigh,
but generously, more than see him die;
and if you kindly listen to his pain,
successful Waller has not sung in vain.

EFFIGIES AUTHORIS.

Oppress'd with griefs, with poverty, and scorn, of all forsaken, and of all forlorn,

what shall I do? or whither shall I fly?

or what kind ear will hear the muse's cry? With restless heart from place to place I roam, a wretched vagrant destitute of home;

driv'n from fair Granta's shade by fortune's frown,
I came to court the flatt'rer in the town.
Three tedious days detain'd me on the road,
whilst the winds whistled, and the torrents flow'd,
on my devoted head the gusty breeze,
shook the collected teinpest, from the trees;
for shelter to the shades, I ran in vain,
the shades deceitful delug'd me with rain;
thus when fate frowns upon our happier days,
our friend, perhaps, our bosom friend betrays;
but as vicissitudes controul our fate,

and griefs and joys maintain a doubtful state,
so now the sun's emerging orb appears,
and with the spongy clouds dispels my fears,
in tears the transient tempests flits away,
and all the blue expansion flames with day.
My gazing eyes o'er pleasing prospects roll,
and look away the sorrows of my soul,

pleas'd at each view, some rueful thought to draw, and moralize on every scene I saw;

here, with inviting pride blue mountains rise, like joys more pleasant to our distant eyes: in golden waves, there tides of harvest flow, whilst idle poppies intermingling grow. How like their brother fops an empty show! in every bush the warbling birds advance, sing to the sun, and on the branches dance; no grief, no cares perplex their souls with strife, like bards they live a poor but merry life; in every place alike their fortunes lie, both live in want, and unregarded die, with like concern they meet approaching death, in prison, or in fields, resign their breath; musing, I saw the fate I could not shun, shook my grave head, and pensive travell❜d on; but as Augusta's wish'd-for domes arise, peep o'er the clouds, and dance before my eyes. What thoughts, what tumults fill'd my lab'ring breast, to be conceiv'd alone, but not express'd;

what intermingled multitudes arose,

lords, parsons, lawyers, baronets, and beaux,
fops, coxcombs, cits, and knaves of ev'ry class,
while some the better half, some wholly ass,
on either side bewailing suppliants stand,

speak with their looks, and stretch their wither'd hand. In feeble accents supplicate relief,

and by their sorrows multiply my grief,
mov'd by their wants, my fortune I deplore,
and deal a tribute from my slender store.
With joy, the favour they receive, and pray,
that God, the bounteous blessing, may repay;
thus providently wise, the lab'ring swain

o'er the plough'd furrows strews the fertile grain:

the grateful plain o'er-pays his bounteous care,
with tenfold blessings, and a golden year.

Now lost in thought, I wander up and down
of all unknowing, and to all unknown;
try in each place, and ransack ev'ry news,
to find some friend, some patron of the muse:
but where? or whom? alas! I search in vain,
the fruitless labour only gives me pain;
but soon each pleasing prospect fades away
and with my money all my hopes decay.

But now the sun diffus'd a fainter ray,
and falling dews bewail'd the falling day,
when to St. James's park my way I took,
solemn in pace, and sadden'd in my look:
on the first bench my wearied bones I laid,
for gnawing hunger on my vitals prey'd;
there faint in melancholy mood I sate,
and meditated on my future fate.

Nights sable vapours now the trees invade,
and gloomy darkness deepen'd ev'ry shade;
and now, ah! whither shall the helpless fly,
from the nocturnal horrors of the sky:
with empty rage my cruel fate I curse,
while falling tears bedew my meagre purse;
what shall I do? or whither shall I run?
how 'scape the threat'ning fate I cannot shun;
there, trembling cold, and motionless I lay,
till sleep beguil'd the tumults of the day.

RICHARD SAVAGE.

The life of this poet has been amply detailed by Dr. Johnson, who was favoured with his confidence and collected from himself the facts which he relates; it is indeed enriched throughout with such a variety of anecdote and abounds with so much accurate re mark on human life as to form a most interesting biographic disquisition. In the year 1697, Anne countess of Macclesfield, living unhappily with her husband, thought a declaration of adultery an obvious and expeditious means of obtaining her liberty; and therefore declared that the child with which she was pregnant was begotten, not by her husband, but the Earl Rivers. This declaration caused her husband, to apply to the parliament for an act for dissolving his marriage, which he obtained. As to the truth of the fact there is no doubt made of it; for Lord Rivers acquiesced in her declaration appear ed to consider the child as his own, and left him, unfortunately to the care of his mother, who having forfeited the title of lady Macclesfield by divorce, retained her large fortune, and soon after married Colonel Henry Brett, whom she survived many years. She died October 11, 1753, aged above fourscore. She looked upon this son, from the day of his birth, with resentment and abhorrence; instead of supporting, assisting, and defending him, she delighted to see him struggling with misery, and took every opportunity of aggravating his misfortunes, obstructing his resources, and with an implacable and restless cruelty continued her persecution from the first hour of his life to the last. She intrusted her offNo. 80.

spring to the care of a shoemaker's wife, whom she directed to educate him, as her own, enjoining her never to inform him of his true parents. The hapless infant was not, however, wholly abandoned. Her mother, Lady Mason, took some charge of his education, and placed him at a small grammar-school near St. Albans. During this obscurity his father Lord Rivers was seized with a distemper which threatened his life; and as he lay upon his death-bed, he thought it his duty to provide for him among his other natural children. Accordingly, he sent to his mother to enquire after him, who declared he was dead. The earl did not imagine that there could exist a mother who would ruin her son without enriching herself and therefore bestowed upon some other person six thousand pounds, which he had in his will bequeathed to Savage. He died Aug. 18, 1712. The same cruelty which incited his mother to intercept this provision which had been intended him, prompted her, on his leaving school, to rid herself from the danger of being at any time made known to him, by sending him secretly to the American plantations; but this contrivance was by some accident defeated. She then formed a scheme of burying him in poverty and obscurity for the remainder of his days, and placed him with a shoemaker in Holborn. His nurse dying, he went to take care of the effects of his supposed mother, and found in her boxes some of Lady Mason's letters to her, which informed him of his birth, and the cause of his concealment. He now thought he had a right to share in the affluence of his mother, and applied to her as her son, employing every means of awakening her tenderness and attracting her regard; but she paid him no attention and