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On Miss Rhoda Delavel, eldest daughter of Sir John
Hussey Delavel, Bart. who died August 7, 1770.
And everlasting bliss !
And guide us still to this.
The ev'ry art, and pain ;
Thy sphere of life assign'd;
Ode.- To Signora Cuzzoni.
The Parson's Answer to a Lady, who sent him her
Compliments on the Ten of Hearts. Your compliments, Lady, I pray you forbear, Old English service is much more sincere ; You sent me ten hearts, the tythe's only mine, So give me one heart and burn t'other nine.
The Lady's Reply.
London, August 13.—The following very singular and truly admirable instance of humanity and generosity deserves to be universally known. During the late war in Germany, the present Earl Cornwallis, then Lord Viscount Brome, being only an ensign, though Aid-de-Camp to Prince Ferdinand; his father, the late Earl Cornwallis, bought him a Lieutenant Colonel's commission in General Napier's regiment, upon condition of allowing the last Lieutenant Colonel 300l. a year, who is very old, and has a very large family. A few weeks ago his Lordship being sent for to town from Scotland, where the regiment was quartered, to be a lord of the bed-chamber, which he declined accepting, his Lordship last Wednesday morning resigned his commission, and solicited his Majesty to give his post to the Major of the regiment, who has been many years in the service, is very old, and has a large family: and his Lordship farther requested of his Majesty to permit the other officers of the regiment to rise according to their seniority; all which being granted, his Lordship declared, that out of his own fortune he would continue to allow the 3001. year to the former Lieutenant Colonel.
To the Printer of the London Evening Post.
Sir, In a late excursion, whilst at St. Edmund's Bury, I picked up at church, (a good place you will say for news) the following anecdote. Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIJ. was first married to Lewis XII. of France, and after his death came over to England, where (as a neighbouring Clergymen has ventured to engrave on her tomb) she was married to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. She was first buried in the abbey of St. Edmund's Bury, as it seems by the tomb, in 1533; but after the dissolution of monasteries, her remains were removed and deposited under the altar of St. Mary's church in that place. A few years since, when the church was under a repair, one of the workmen digging to level the ground under the altar, found a body without a coffin, so wrapped in lead, that it was first thought a living image, till by washing off the dust, an inscription was discovered on the breast, which elucidated the whole affair, and proved it to be the remains of the identical Lady Mary, who was a Queen in France, and afterwards married to a subject of England.
Edward and Emma.--A Tale. Written at B
Young Emma was the loveliest maid
Indulgent nature ever blest;
And tender was her virgin breast.
Bright were her eyes as that sweet star
Which bids the lark his matins sing;
The first faint blush of infant spring.
But love too soon that bloom destroy'd,
And made those early blossoms pale,
This fair, mild lily of the vale.
For oft, with many a moving sigh,
An ardent look, and melting tear,
And Emma thought those vows sincere.
Whole days in plaintive notes he sung
But, ah! a parent bids them part,
How hard for lovers to obey !
Reluctant Edward takes his way
On festive Gallia's mirthful shore, Drives from his thoughts his sural maid
And Emma is belov'd no more.
In secret to despair a prey,
She slowly pin'd in grief away.
No pride ber gentle bosom knew,
Of injur'd love, the wounds to heal, Her beart was all sincere and soft,
And keenly such a heart must feel. Her faithless Edward's long neglect,
And broken vows she ne'er wou'd tell, But smiling saw the hour approach,
In which she bid the world farewell.
Around her grave the village maids,
Their cypress garlands weeping bring, And offer to her virgin shade,
The earliest trophies of the spring. Now tir'd with vain and guilty joys,
Young Edward seeks his native shore, And to his lovely Emma flies,
His lovely Emma is no more.
Distracted at the horrid tale,
He sought the spot where Emma lay, And flung him on her new made grave,
And wet with tears the mouldering clay.