can wonder, that he was troubled with melancholy, and dejection of spirit? An apprehension of the worst calamity that can befall human nature hung over him all the rest of his life, like the sword of the tyrant suspended over his guest. In his sixtieth year he had a mind to write the history of his melancholy; but he desisted, not knowing whether it would not too much disturb him. In a Latin poem, however, to which he has prefixed, as a title, [Greek: GNOTHI SEAUTON], he has left a picture of himself, drawn with as much truth, and as firm a hand, as can be seen in the portraits of Hogarth, or sir Joshua Reynolds. The learned reader will find the original poem in this volume; and it is hoped, that a translation, or rather imitation, of so curious a piece, will not be improper in this place. KNOW YOURSELF. (AFTER REVISING AND ENLARGING THE ENGLISH LEXICON, OR DICTIONARY.) When Scaliger, whole years of labour past, Beheld his lexicon complete at last, And weary of his task, with wond'ring eyes, Saw, from words pil'd on words, a fabric rise, He curs'd the industry, inertly strong, In creeping toil that could persist so long; And if, enrag'd he cried, heav'n meant to shed Its keenest vengeance on the guilty head, The drudgery of words the damn'd would know, Doom'd to write lexicons in endless woe[t]. Yes, you had cause, great genius, to repent; "You lost good days, that might be better spent;" You well might grudge the hours of ling'ring pain, And view your learned labours with disdain. To you were given the large expanded mind, The flame of genius, and the taste refin'd. 'Twas yours, on eagle wings, aloft to soar, And, amidst rolling worlds, the great first cause explore, To fix the aeras of recorded time, And live in ev'ry age and ev'ry clime; Record the chiefs, who propt their country's cause; Who founded empires, and establish'd laws; To learn whate'er the sage, with virtue fraught, Whate'er the muse of moral wisdom taught. These were your quarry; these to you were known, And the world's ample volume was your own.