THE ENQUIRY. [The following amatory Lines having been found among the MSS. of Gray, but bearing no title, I have ventured, for the sake of uniformity in this Volume, to prefix the above. The Lines themselves will be found in a Note in the second volume of Warton's Edition of Pope's Works, lately published.] WITH Beauty, with Pleasure surrounded, to languish To weep without knowing the cause of my anguish ; To start from short slumbers, and wish for the morn ing To close my dull eyes when I see it returning; Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejected— Words that steal from my tongue, by no meaning connected! Ah, say, fellow-swains, how these symptoms befel me? They smile, but reply not-Sure DELIA CAN TELL ME! TOPHET: AN EPIGRAM. [Mr. Etough [53], of Cambridge University, was a person as remarkable for the eccentricities of his character, as for his personal appearance. A Mr. Tyson, of Bene't College, made an etching of his head, and presented it to Mr. Gray, who wrote under it the following lines:] THUS Tophet look'd; so grinn'd the brawling fiend, [53] Some information respecting this gentleman (who was Rector of Therfield, Herts, and of Colm worth, Bedfordshire) will be found in the Gentleman's Magazine, Vol. LVI. p. 25. 281. IMPROMPTU, SUGGESTED BY A VIEW, IN 1766, OF THE SEAT AND RUINS OF A DECEASED NOBLEMAN, AT KINGSGATE, KENT. OLD, and abandon'd by each venal friend, On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice; Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast, Here mould'ring fanes and battlements arise, Unpeopled monast❜ries delude our eyes, "Ah!" said the sighing peer," had B-te been true, "Purg'd by the sword, and purify'd by fire, “Then had we seen proud London's hated walls; "Owls would have hooted in St. Peter's choir, "And foxes stunk and litter'd in St. Paul's." THE CANDIDATE; OR, THE CAMBRIDGE COURTSHIP. [This jeu d'esprit was written a short time previous to the Election of a High Steward of the University of Cambridge, for which Office the Noble Lord alluded to made an active Canvas.] WHEN sly Jemmy Twitcher had smugg'd up his face, With a lick of court white-wash, and pious grimace, Lord! sister, says PHYSIC to LAW, I declare, Such a sheep-biting look, such a pick-pocket air! Not I for the Indies!-You know I'm no prude,But his name is a shame, and his eyes are so lewd! Then he shambles and straddles so oddly-I fearNo-at our time of life 'twould be silly, my dear. I don't know, says Law, but methinks for his look 'Tis just like the picture in Rochester's book; P |