These weighty reasons sway'd the vicar's mind-
To town he hied, but left his wife behind:-
Next levee-day he waited on his grace,
With hundreds more, who bow'd to get a place;
Shov'd in the crowd, he stood amaz'd to see
Lords who to Baal bent the supple knee,
And doctors sage he could not but admire,
Who stoop'd profoundly low-to rise the higher.
So much of ermine, lace, beaus, bishops, young
and old,

'Twas like a cloud of sable edg'd with gold:
By turns his grace the servile train addrest,
Pleas'd with a smile, or in a whisper blest.
Sick of the scene, the vicar sought the door,
Determin'd never to see London more;
But, as his friend had pleas'd the hour to fix,
First went to dinner to my lord's at six ;-
He knock'd-was usher'd to the room of state,
(My lord abroad) and dinner serv'd in plate;
Which, though it seem'd but common soup and
Was really callipee and callipash, [hash,
(The relics of the gaudy day before)
What Indians eat, and Englishmen adore ;
With bright champaign the courtier crown'd the
feast,

Sooth'd his own pride, and gratified his guest
All this conspir'd our Stoic to controul,
And warpt the steady purpose of his soul-
When lo! the cry of fire creates amaze-
"The next house, Lady Riot's, in a blaze"-
Aghast the vicar stood, in wild affright,
Then briefly thus addres'd the priest polite :
"Adieu, my friend-your state I envy not→→→
Beef, liberty, and safety be my lot".

HORACE, EPIST. V. BOOK I. IMI-
TATED.

TO JOHN HAWKESWORTH, ESQ.

IF you dear sir, will deign to pass a day
In the fair vale of Orpington and Cray,
And live for once as humble vicars do;
On Thursday let me see you here by two.
Expect no niceties my plates to foul,
But Bansted mutton, and a barn-door fowl,
My friends with generous liquors I regale,
Good port, old hock, or, if they like it, ale;
But if of richer wine you chuse a quart,
Why bring, and drink it here--with all my heart.
Plain is my furniture, as is my treat,
For 'tis my best ambition, to be neat.
Leave then all sordid views, and hopes of gain,
To mortals miserable, mad, or vain;
Put the last polish to th' historic page,
And cease awhile to moralize the age.

By your sweet converse cheer'd, the live-long day
Will pass unnotic'd like the stream, away.
Why should kind Providence abundance give,
If we, like niggards, can't afford to live?
The wretched miser, poor 'midst heaps of pelf,
To cram his heir, most madly starves himself-
So will not I-give me good wine and ease,
And let all misers call me fool that please.
What cannot wine?-it opens all the soul;
Faint hope grows brilliant o'er the sparkling bowl:
Wine's generous spirit makes the coward brave,
Gives ease to kings, and freedom to the slave:

Bemus'd in wine the bard his duns forgets,
And drinks serene oblivion to his debts:
Wine drives all cares, and anguish from the heart,
And dubs us connoisseurs of every art:
Whom does not wine with eloquence inspire?
The bousey beggar struts into a squire.
This you well know- to me belongs to mind,
That neatness with frugality be join'd;
That no intruding blab, with itching ears,
Darken my doors, who tells whate'er he hears;
Two D-s, each a poet, with me dine,
Your friends, and decent C-n, a divine:
There's room for more-so to complete the band,
Your wife will bring fair Innocence 'in hand,
Should Cave want copy, let the teaser wait,
While you steal secret through the garden gate.

A PASSAGE FROM PETRONIUS,

TRANSLATED.

FALLEN are thy locks! for woeful winter hoar
Has stolen thy bloom, and beauty is no more!
Thy temples mourn their shady honours shorn,
Parch'd like the fallow destitute of corn.
Fallacious gods! whose blessings thus betray;
What first ye give us, first ye take away.
Thou, late exulting in thy golden hair,
As bright as Phoebus, or as Cynthia fair,
Now view'st, alas! thy forehead smooth and plain
As the round fungus, daughter of the rain:
Smooth as the surface of well polish'd brass,
And fly'st with fear each laughter-loving lass:
Death hastes amain-thy wretched fate deplore-
Fallen are thy locks, and beauty is no more.

WH

AGAINST LIFE.

FROM THE GREEK OF POSIDIPPUS.

WHAT tranquil road, unvex'd by strife,
Can imortals chuse through human life?
Attend the courts, attend the bar-
There discord reigns, and endless jar:
At home the weary wretches find
Severe disquietude of mind;
To till the fields, gives toil and pain;
Eternal terrours sweep the main:
If rich, we fear to lose our store,
Need and distress await the poor :
Sad cares the bands of hymen give ;
Friendless, forlorn, th' unmarried live:

Are children born? we anxious groan;
Childless, our lack of heirs we moan:
Wild, giddy schemes our youth engage;
Weakness and wants depress old age.
Would fatethen with my wish comply,
I'd never live, or quickly die.

FOR LIFE

FROM THE GREEK OF METRODORUS.

MANKIND may rove, unvex'd by strife,
Through every road of human life,
Fair wisdom regula:es the bar,
And peace concludes the wordy war:

1 The name of a very agreeable young lady,

At home auspicious mortals find
Serene tranquillity of mind;
All-beauteous nature decks the plain,
And merchants plough for gold the main:
Respect arises from our store,
Security from being poor:

More joys the bands of Hymen give ;
Th' unmarried with more freedom live:
If parents, our blest lot we own ;
Childless, we have no cause to moan:
Firm vigour crowns our youthful stage,
And venerable hairs old-age.

Since all is good, then who would cry,
"I'd never live, or quickly die?"

ON OCCASION OF THE PEACE.

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extends,
And white-rob'd Innocence from Heaven de-

scends.

POPE.

ADIEU the horrours of destructive war,
And mad Bellona in her iron car!
But welcome to our smiling fields again,
Sweet Peace! attended with thy jocund train,
Truth, Virtue, Freedom, that can never cloy,
And all the pleasing family of Joy.
[plan'd,
Those schemes pursued, which Pitt so wisely
Conquest has shower'd her blessings on the land;
And Britain's sons more laurels have obtain'd,
Than all her Henries, or her Edwards gain'd:
George saw with joy the peaceful period given,
And bow'd obedient to the will of Heaven:
Awful he rose to bid dissention cease,

And all the warring world was calm'd to peace;
"Thus did the roaring waves their rage compose.
When the great father of the floods arose.
Then came Astrea mild, our isle to bless,
Fair queen of virtue, and of happiness!
Then came our troops in fighting fields renown'd,
And mark'd with many an honourable wound.
The tender fair one, long by fears opprest,
Now feels soft raptures rising in her breast,
The blooming hero of her heart to view,
And hear him bid the dangerous camp adieu.
The widow'd bride, that long on grief had fed,
And bath'd with weeping the deserted bed,
Glad that the tumults of the war are o'er,
That terrour, rage, and rapine are no more,
Greets her rough lord, secure from hostile harms,
And hopes an age of pleasure in his arms:
While he, with pompous eloquence, recites
Dire scenes of castles, storm'd and desperate

fights;

Or tells how Wolfe the free-born Britons led,
How Granby conquer'd and the household fled;
She, to the pleasing dreadful tale intent,

Now smiles,

Where cattle pastured late, the purple plain,
Sad scene of horrour! teems with heroes slain;
Where the proud palace rear'd its haughty head,
Deep in the dust, see! crumbling columns
spread;

[flow,

now trembles, for the great event.
O curst Ambition, foe to human good,
Pregnant with woe, and prodigal of blood!
Thou fruitful source, whence streams of sorrow
What devastations to thy guilt we owe!
Where-e'er thy fury riots, all around
Confusion, havoc, and dread deaths abound:
Where Ceres flourish'd, and gay Flora smil'd,
Behold a barren, solitary wild!

To stately cedars thorns and briars succeed,
And in the garden spreads the noxious weed;

See gallant Britons in the field expire,

Towns turn'd to ashes, fanes involv'd in fire!
These deeds the guilt of rash Ambition tell,
And bloody Discord, furious fiend of Hell!
Ye baneful sisters, with your frantic crew,
Hence speed your flight, and take your last adieu,
Eternal wars in barbarous worlds to wage;
There vent your inextinguishable rage.
But come, fair Peace, and be the nation's bride,
And let thy sister Plenty grace thy side,
O come! and with thy placid presence cheer
Our drooping hearts, and stay for ever here.
Now be the shrill, strife-stirring trumpet mute;
Now let us listen to the softer lute:

The shepherd now his numerous flocks shall feed,
Where war relentless doom'd the brave to bleed;
On ruin'd ramparts shall the hawthorn flower,
And mantling ivy clasp the nodding tower,
Unusual harvests wave along the dale,
And the bent sickle o'er the sword prevail.
No more shall states with rival rage contend,
But arts their empire o'er the world extend;
Ingenious arts, that humanize the mind,
And give the brightest polish to mankind!
Then shall our chiefs in breathing marble stand,
And life seem starting from the sculptor's hand
Then lovely nymphs in living picture rise,
The fairest faces, and the brightest eyes:
There polish'd Lane no loss of beauty fears;
Her charms, still mellowing with revolving years,
Shall, ev'n on canvas, youthful hearts engage,
And warm the cold indifference of age:
Then the firm arch shall stem the roaring tide,
And join those countries which the streams di-
Then villas rise of true palladian proof, [vide;
And the proud palace rear its ample roof;
Then statelier temples to the skies ascend,
Where mix'd with nobles mighty kings may bend,
Where poverty may send her sighs to Heaven,
And guilt return, repent, and be forgiven.
Such are the fruits which sacred peace imparts,
Sweet nurse of liberty and learned arts!
These she restores-O! that she could restore
Life to those Britons who now breathe no more,
Who in th' embattled field undaunted stood,
And greatly perish'd in their country's good;
Or who, by rage of angry tempests tost,
Ye honour'd shades of chiefs untimely slain!
In whirlpools of the whelming main were lost.
Whose bones lie scatter'd on some foreign plain;
That now perchance by lonely hind are seen
In glittering armour gliding o'er the green;
Ye! that beneath the cold cerulean wave
Have made the watery element your grave,
Whose wandering spirits haunt the winding shore,
Or ride on whirlwinds while the billows roar,
With kind protection still our isle defend,
(If souls unbodied can protection lend)
Still o'er the king your shadowy pinions spread,
And in the day of danger shield his head;

'The hon. Mrs. Lane, daughter of the right hon. lord chancellor Henley, and wife to the hon. Mr. Lane.