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Bidding the pile to future times proclaim
His veneration for thy mighty name.
A place more fit his zeal could never find
Than this fair spot, an emblem of the mind-
As hill and dale there charm the wond'ring eye,
Such sweet variety thy scenes supply-
Like the tall trees sublime thy genius tow'rs,
Sprightly thy fancy, as the opening flow'rs;
While, copious as the tide Thames pours along,
Flow the sweet numbers of thy heav'nly song,
Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong-
Look down, great shade, with pride this tribute see,
The hand that pays it makes it worthy thee-
As fam’d Apelles was allow'd alone
To paint the form august of Philip's son,
None but a GARRICK can, O bard divine !
Lay a fit offering on thy hallow'd shrine.
To speak thy worth is his peculiar boast,
He best can tell it, for he feels it most.
Blest bard! thy fame through every age


grow, Till Nature cease to charm, or Thames to flow. Thou too, with him, whose fame thy talents raise, Shalt share our wonder, and divide our praise; Blended with this thy merits rise to view, And half thy SHAKSPERE's fame to thee is due: Unless the actor with the bard conspire, How impotent his strength, how faint his fire! One boasts the mine, one brings the gold to light, And the Muse triumphs in the Actor's might; Too weak to give her own conceptions birth,

Till all-expressive Aktion call them forth.
Thus the sweet pipe, mute in itself, no sound
Sends forth, nor breathes its pleasing notes around;
But if some swain, with happy skill endu’d,
Inspire with animating breath the wood,
Wak'd into voice, it pours its tuneful strains,
The harmony divine enchants the plains.

Quod spiro, et placeo, si placeo, tuum est.- HOR.






GARRICK! whate'er resembles thee
Must ever claim regard from me ;
Well pleas'd I view thy counter part,
And highly praise the Painter's art.

Arduous the task is, great the merit,
To represent that fire and spirit,
Those piercing eyes, that speaking face,
That form, compos'd of ease and grace :
All this I feel ; -could feelings do,
Then I should be a Painter too;
I should draw GARRICK, and perchance
Produce a work, toutrival Dance.

But GARRICK, sure thou need'st not send A gift of this sort to thy friend,

As if that friend requir'd to see
Something to make him think of thee.

Whoe'er has seen thy wond'rous pow'rs, Whoe'er has shar'd thy social hours, Can he, can such a one forget Thy native humor, sterling wit? No, GARRICK-he must surely find, Deeply imprinted on his mind, In such warm tints thy form and face, No time or distance can efface.







Leave, Garrick, the rich landscape, proudly gay,
Docks, forts, and navies, brightening all the bay:
To my plain roof repair, primaeval seat !
Yet there no wonders your quick eye can meet,
Save, should you deem it wonderful to find
Ambition cur'd, and an unpassion'd mind;
A statesman without power, and without gall,
Hating no courtiers, happier than them all;
Bow'd to no yoke, nor crouching for applause,
Votary alone to freedom and the laws.
Herds, flocks, and smiling Ceres deck our plain,
And, interspers'd, an heart-enlivening train
Of sportive children frolic o'er the green;
Meantime pure Love looks on, and consecrates the


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