Short Poems

FOR MRS. M —

Toward the dark gate we saw her slowly glide,
The angel Patience moving at her side;
The noiseless portal opened, and the light
A moment gleamed, then left us in the night,
Where still we sit beside her sacred urn,
Praying the angel Patience to return.

Upon sending a Present of Tea into the Country, bought at the Grass-hopper, in Gracechurch-Street.

Accept the Grass-hopper Contents,
I hope you'll find 'em good;
When done, expect a fresh Supply
From Poet Underwood .

Upon seeing Mr . MORRIS, for the first Time, in the
Character of G ILES in the Maid of the Mill.

Tho' Johnny B EARD has quitted Stage,
His Loss we cannot rue;
Since ev'ry Eye with Pleasure owns
His Giles reviv'd in Y OU .

Occasion'd by a scurrilous Epigram in an Evening Paper upon the Death of the Right Honourable C HARLES T OWNSEND .

Such gross Depravity of Heart
Bespeaks the foulest Aim;
Then what must be his future State,
Who stabs a T OWNSEND'S Fame?

Upon seeing Mrs . Y EATES ( after Mrs . C IBBER'S Death ) in the reviv'd Tragedy of Heroic Love, for her own Benefit .

Cease, cease your unavailing Griefs,
Tho' C IBBER is no more,
Y EATES with resistless Charms revives,
And shines with equal Pow'r!

Upon the much-lamented Death of the Right Honourable C HARLES T OWNSEND , obit Friday, Sept . 4, 1767.

With gushing Eyes, and Heart-felt Grief,
Britannia plaintive cries,
Alas! where shall I find Relief,
When Worth like T OWNSEND'S dies?

Upon a Report in the public Papers that Lord C***** M was in great Danger at the Castle Inn, Marlbro', of being crush'd by the Ceiling of a Room giving Way while his Lordship was at Dinner there .

Alas! what Danger was the Public-Weal in
When C***** M was near crush'd by Marlbro's Ceiling?
This dire Event would distant Ages mourn,
And what had been the Fate of this own?
Our Crippl'd Patriot gone! What then remains?
Our Hands as well as Tongues would groan in Chains.

Upon seeing Mrs. YEATES in the Character of M ARGARET , in the Earl of Warwick .

To see, and to admire's the same; I swear
E'en C IBBER never rivall'd this our Fair;
Gods! with what noble, what vindictive Ire,
Each Feature speaking, and her Eyes all Fire;
With what maternal Emphasis she cries,
" I conquer still, there, there my Victim lies. "

Upon W ILKES'S writing Word from France of the Death of his Friend C HURCHILL there , L LOYD'S Imprisonment, and his own Exile: (A Paragraph versified.)

Alas! no more poor C HURCHILL lives to write!
Unhappy L LOYD exists in woeful Plight!
And I (curse to the Scandal of the Times)
Tho' I ne'er dealt in poignant Rhimes,
Am exil'd for remaining Life,
Depriv'd of Country-Seat, and Wife.

I can sigh but cannot think,
Or can think but cannot see.
A string left broken on my guitar bridge,
A trace of lipstick stains my concert fan.