With garlands of beauty the Queen of the May No more will her crook or her temples adorn; For who’d wear a garland when she is away, When she is remov’d, and shall never return? On the grave of Augusta these garlands be plac’d, We’ll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom; And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, And the new-blossom’d thorn shall whiten her tomb. _Chorus._--_Altro modo._ On the grave of Augusta this garland be plac’d, We’ll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom; And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, And the tears of her country shall water her tomb.[40] [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [38] Mother of King George III.; she died February 8th, 1772. [39] From Collins. [40] _Advertisement prefixed to_ THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS:--“The following may more properly be termed a compilation than a poem. It was prepared for the composer in little more than two days; and may therefore rather be considered as an industrious effort of gratitude, than of genius. In justice to the composer, it may likewise be right to inform the public, that the music was composed in a period of time equally short.” [Illustration: A NEW SIMILE] IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. Long had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind-- The modern scribbling kind, who write In wit, and sense, and nature’s spite-- Till reading, I forgot what day on, A chapter out of Tooke’s Pantheon,[41] I think I met with something there, To suit my purpose to a hair. But let us not proceed too furious: First please to turn to god Mercurius: You’ll find him pictur’d at full length, In book the second, page the tenth. The stress of all my proofs on him I lay; And now proceed we to our simile. Imprimis, pray observe his hat; Wings upon either side--mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why, these denote a brain of feather. A brain of feather! very right-- With wit that’s flighty, learning light, Such as to modern bards decreed; A just comparison--proceed. In the next place, his feet peruse: Wings grow again from both his shoes; Design’d, no doubt, their part to bear, And waft his godship through the air. And here my simile unites-- For, in a modern poet’s flights, I’m sure it may be justly said, His feet are useful as his head. Lastly, vouchsafe t’ observe his hand, Fill’d with a snake-encircled wand, By classic authors term’d Caduceus, And highly fam’d for several uses: To wit, most wondrously endued, No poppy-water half so good; For let folks only get a touch, Its soporific virtue’s such, Though ne’er so much awake before, That quickly they begin to snore: Add, too, what certain writers tell, With this he drives men’s souls to hell.