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To the Right Hon. HENRY PELHAM, Esq.

HE humble Petition of the worshipful company

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of Poets and News-writers,



your honour's petitioners (dealers in rhymes,
And writers of fcandal, for mending the times)
By loffes in bus'nefs, and England's well-doing,
Are funk in their credit, and verging on ruin.

That these their misfortunes, they humbly conceive,
Arife not from dulnefs, as fome folks believe,
But from rubs in their way, that your honour has laid,
And want of materials to carry on trade.

That they always had form'd high conceits of their use,
And meant their last breath should go out in abuse;
But now (and they speak it with forrow and tears)
Since your honour has fate at the helm of affairs,
No party will join 'em, no faction invite

To heed what they fay, or to read what they write;
Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord are fled,
And Slander scarce ventures to lift up her head-


In fhort, public bus'ness is so carry'd on,
That their country is fav'd, and the patriots undone.

To perplex 'em ftill more, and fure famine to bring
(Now fatire has lost both its truth and its sting)
If, in spite of their natures, they bungle at praise,
Your honour regards not, and nobody pays.

YOUR Petitioners therefore most humbly entreat (As times will allow, and your honour thinks meet) That measures be chang'd, and fome caufe of complaint Be immediately furnish'd, to end their restraint; Their credit thereby, and their trade to retrieve, That again they may rail, and the nation believe.

Or elfe (if your wifdom fhall deem it all one) Now the parliament's rifing, and bus'nefs is done, That your honour would please, at this dangerous crisis, To take to your bofom a few private vices, By which your petitioners, haply, might thrive, And keep both themselves and contention alive.

In compaffion, good Sir! give 'em fomething to fay, And your honour's petitioners ever shall pray.


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Senate-House at Cambridge July 1, 1749,

At the Installation of his Grace


canit errantem Permeffi ad flumina Gallum Aonas in montes ut duxerit una fororum; Utque viro Phabi chorus affurrexerit omnis.


By Mr. MASON, Fellow of Pembroke-Hall.

Set to Mufic by Mr. Boyce, Composer to his Majefty.

Recitative. H

ERE all thy active fires diffufe,

Thou genuine British Mufe;

Hither defcend from yonder orient sky,

Cloth'd in thy heav'n-wove robe of harmony.

T 2

Air I.

Air I. Come, imperial queen of fong;
Come with all that free-born grace,
Which lifts thee from the fervile throng,
Who meanly mimic thy majestic pace;

That glance of dignity divine,
Which speaks thee of celestial line;
Proclaims thee inmate of the sky,
Daughter of Jove and Liberty.

Recitative. The elevated foul, who feels
Thy aweful impulfe, walks the fragrant ways
Of honeft unpolluted praise:

He with impartial justice deals

The blooming chaplets of immortal lays :
He flies above ambition's low career;

And nobly thron'd in Truth's meridian sphere,
Thence, with a bold and heav'n-directed aim,

Full on fair Virtue's fhrine he pours the rays of fame.


Air II. Goddess! thy piercing eye explores
The radiant range of Beauty's ftores,
The steep afcent of pine-clad hills,
The filver flope of falling rills,
Catches each lively-colour'd grace,
The crimson of the wood-nymph's face,


The verdure of the velvet lawn,
The purple in the eastern dawn,

Or all those tints, which rang'd in vivid glow
Mark the bold sweep of the celestial bow.


Recitative. But chief fhe lifts her tuneful transports high, When to her intellectual eye

The mental beauties rife in moral dignity :

The facred zeal for Freedom's cause,
That fires the glowing Patriot's breast;
The honest pride that plumes the Hero's creft,
When for his country's aid the steel he draws;
Or that, the calm, yet active heat,

With which mild Genius warms the Sage's heart,
To lift fair Science to a loftier feat,

Or stretch to ampler bounds the wide domain of art.
Air III. These, the best bloffoms of the virtuous mind,
She culls with tafte refin'd;
From their ambrofial bloom

With bee-like fkill fhe draws the rich perfume,
And blends the sweets they all convey,

In the foft balm of her mellifluous lay.

V. Recitative. Is there a clime, where all these beauties rife In one collected radiance to her eyes?

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