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Hath some peculiar strange offence;
Against as arm'd Omnipotence,

To check the nation's pride?
Behold th' appointed punishment !
At length the vengeful bolt is sent,

It fell—when Pelham dy'd!

Uncheck'd by shame, unaw'd by dread,
When Vice triumphant rears her head,

Vengeance can sleep no more ;
The evil angel ftalks at large,
The good submits, resigns his charge,

And quits th' unhallow'd fhore.

The fame sad morn a to church and state,
(So for our fins 'twas fix'd by fate)

A double stroke was giv'n;
Black as the whirlwinds of the north,
St. Jn's fell Genius iffu'd forth,

And Pelham Aed to heav'n!

By angels watch'd in Eden's bow'rs,
Our parents pass'd their peaceful hours,

Nor guilt nor pain they knew ;
But on the day which usher'd in
The hell born train of mortal fin,

The heav'nly guards withdrew.

a The 6th of March, 1754, was remarkable for the publication of the works of a late Lord, and the death of Mr. Pelham.


Look down, much honour'd shade, below!
Still let thy pity aid our woe;

Stretch out thy healing hand;
Resume those feelings, which on earth
Proclaim'd thy patriot love and worth,

And fav’d a finking land.

Search, with thy more than mortal eye,
The breasts of all thy friends : descry

What there has got possession.
See if thy unsuspecting heart,
In some for truth mistook not art,

For principle, profeffion.

From these, the pefts of human kind,
Whom royal bounty cannot bind,

Protect our parent King:
Unmask their treach'ry to his fight,
Drag forth the vipers into light,

And crush them ere they sting.

If such his trust and honours share,
Again exert thy guardian care,

Each venom'd heart disclose;
On Him, on Him, our all depends,
Oh save him from his treach'rous friends,
He cannot fear his foes.


Whoe'er shall at the helm preside,
Still let thy prudence be his guide,

To stem the troubled wave;.
But chiefly whisper in his ear,
“ That GEORGE is open, juft, fincere,

“ And dares to scorn a knave."

No selfish views t'oppress mankind,
No mad ambition fir'd thy mind,

To purchase fame with blood;
Thy bofom glow'd with purér heat ;
Convinc'd that to be truly great,

Is only to be good.

To hear no lawless paffion's call,
To serve thy King, yet feel for all,

Such was thy glorious plan!
Wisdom with gen'rous love took part,
Together work thy head and heart,

The Minister and Man.

Unite, ye kindred sons of worth;
Strangle bold faction in its birth;
Be Britain's weal


view! For this great end let all combine, Let virtue link each fair design,

And Pelham live in you.


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By the Rev. Mr. JOSEPH WARTON.
ARN, how delightful wind thy willow'd waves,

But ah! they fructify a land of slaves !
In vain thy bare-foot, sun-burnt peasants hide
With luscious grapes yon' hill's romantic fide ;
No cups nectareous shall their toils repay,
The priest's, the soldier's, and the fermier's prey:
Vain glows this fun in cloudless glory dreft,
That strikes fresh vigour thro' the pining breast;
Give me, beneath a colder, changeful sky,
My soul's best, only pleasure, LIBERTY!
What millions perish'd near thy mournful flood b,
When the red papal tyrant cry'd out“Blood !
Less fierce the Saracen, and quiver’d Moor,
That dash'd thy infants 'gainst the stones of yore.
Be warnd ye nations round; and trembling fee
Dire superstition quench humanity!

Alluding to the perfecutions of the protefiants, and the wars of the Saracens, carried on in the Southern provinces of France,


By all the chiefs in Freedom's battles loft ;
By wife and virtuous Alfred's aweful ghot ;
By old GALGACUS' scythed, iron car,
That swiftly whirling thro' the walks of war,
Dash'd Roman blood, and crush'd the foreign throngs;
By holy Druids' courage-breathing songs ;
By fierce BONDUCA's shield, and foaming steeds ;
By the bold


that met on Thames's meads;
By the fifth HENRY's helm, and lightning spear,
O LIBERTY, my warm petition hear; .
Be ALBION still thy joy! with her remain,
Long as the surge shall lash her oak-crown'd plain !



The Revenge of AMERICA.

By the Same.


HEN fierce PISARRO's legions flew

O'er ravag'd fields of rich Peru,
Struck with his bleeding pecple's woes,
Old India's aweful Genius rose.
He fat on Andes' topmost stone,
And heard a thousand nations

For grief his feathery crown he tore,
To see huge PLATA foam with gore;



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