T

Go to

TO-MORROW.

By the Same.

Pereunt et Imputantur.

O-morrow, didst thou fay!

Methought I heard Horatio fay, To-morrow.

-I will not hear of it-To-morrow!

'Tis a fharper, who ftakes his penury

Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash,

And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and promifes,

The currency of ideots.Injurious bankrupt,

That gulls the eafy creditor!

-To-morrow!

It is a period no where to be found

In all the hoary regifters of Time,
Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.

Wisdom difclaims the word, nor holds fociety
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;
Wrought of fuch ftuff as dreams are; and bafelefs
As the fantastic vifions of the evening.

But foft, my friend-arreft the prefent moments;
For be affured, they all are arrant tell-tales; .
And tho' their flight be filent, and their path

Tracklefs,

Tracklefs, as the wing'd couriers of the air,
They poft to heav'n, and there record thy folly.
Because, tho' ftation'd on th' important watch,
Thou, like a fleeping, faithless centinel,
Didft let them pafs unnotic'd, unimprov'd.

And know, for that thou flumber'dft on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to anfwer at the bar

For ev'ry fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt ftand impleaded at the high tribunal

Of hood-wink'd Justice, who shall tell thy audit!
Then ftay the prefent inftant, dear Horatio;

Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.

'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more precious Than all the crimson treasures of life's fortune.

Oh! let it not elude thy grasp, but like

The good old patriarch upon record,

Hold the fleet angel faft, until he bless thee.

On Lord COBHAM'S Gardens.

By the Same.

T puzzles much the fages' brains,

IWure Eden flood of yore;

Some place it in Arabia's plains,

Some fay, it is no more.

But

But Cobham can thefe tales confute,

As all the curious know;

For he has prov'd beyond difpute,
That paradife is STO W.

F

By the Same.

AIREST flow'r, all flow'rs excelling,
Which in Eden's garden grew;

Flow'rs of Eve's imbower'd dwelling,
Are, my Fair-one, types of you.
Mark, my Polly, how the rofes
Emulate thy damask cheek;
How the bud its fweets difclofes,
Buds thy opening bloom befpeak.
Lilies are, by plain direction,

Emblems of a double kind;

Emblems of thy fair complexion,
Emblems of thy fairer mind.

But, dear girl, both flow'rs and beauty
Bloffom, fade, and die away;

Then purfue good sense and duty,
Evergreens, that ne'er decay.

a Alluding to Milton's description of Eve's bower.

VOL. IV.

R

Father

Father FRANCIS's Prayer.

Written in Lord WESTMORLAND's Hermitage.

N

E gay attire, ne marble hall,

Ne arched roof, ne pictur'd wall;
Ne cook of Fraunce, ne dainty board,
Beftow'd with pypes of perigord;
Ne power, ne fuch like idle fancies;
Sweet Agnes grant to father Francis ;
Let me ne more myself deceive;
Ne more regret the toys I leave ;
The world I quit, the proud, the vain,
Corruption's and Ambition's train ;

But not the good, perdie nor fair,
'Gainst them I make ne vow, ne pray'r;
But fuch aye welcome to my cell,
And oft, not always, with me dwell;
Then caft, fweet Saint, a circle round,
And bless from fools this holy ground;
From all the foes to worth and truth,
From wanton old, and homely youth;

The

The gravely dull and pertly gay,
Oh banish thefe; and by my fay,
Right well I ween that in this age,
Mine houfe fhall prove an hermitage.

An Infcription on the Cell.

Beneath these mofs-grown roots, this ruftick cell,
Truth, Liberty, Content, fequefter'd dwell;
Say you, who dare our hermitage disdain,
What drawing-room can boast so fair a train ?

An Infcription in the Cell.

Sweet bird that fing'ft on yonder fpray,
Purfue unharm'd thy fylvan lay;
While I beneath this breezy fhade,
In peace repose my careless head;
And joining thy enraptur'd fong,
Inftruct the world-enamour'd throng,
That the contented harmless breast
In folitude itself is bleft.

R 2