Take we its positive virtues next!
For so at first we split our text.

The more Resentment tugs and kicks,
The closer still the Bramble sticks ;
Yet gently handled, quits its hold;

Like heroes of true British mould:
Nothing so touchy, when they're teased,-
No touchiness so soon appeased.

Full in your view, and next your hand,
The Bramble's homely berries stand :
Eat as you list,―nòne calls you glutton;
Forbear,-it matters not a button.
And is not, pray, this very quality
The essence of true Hospitality?
When frank simplicity and sense
Make no parade, take no offence`;
Such as it is, set forth their best,
And let the welcome-add the rest.

The Bramble's shoot, though Fortune lay
Point-blank obstructions in it's way,

For no obstructions will give out;
Climbs up, creeps under, winds about;

Like valour, that can suffer, die,

Do any thing, but yield, or fly.
While Brambles hints like these can start,
Am I to blame to take their part >
No, let who will affect to scorn 'em,
My Muse shall glory to adorn 'em ;
For as Rhyme did, in my Preamble,
So Reason now cries, Bravo! Bramble !'

JAMES FORDYCE.

1721.1796.

A Dissenting Minister, whose Sermons to young women, should be marked in the Index Expurgatorius of Morality. He published a volume of Poems, in 1786.

TO COURTESEY:

AN ODE.

HAIL! Courtesy, thou gracious power,
Of Heaven-born Chastity the child;
Remote from all that's rude and sour,
Akin to all that's soft and mild!
Earth-bred Politeness is thy feeble ape;
Without thy soul she only wears the shape.

For selfish ends her tricks she plays;
She bows and smiles, devoid of heart:
To impose she tries a thousand ways;

The practised eye perceives her art.
Mean-while, that art thy real worth proclaims;
Since to partake thy honours thus, she aims.

Let polish'd Falsehood dazzle youth;

Let Flatt'ry speak the style of courts:
Give me Benevolence, and Truth,

Far from dark Treachery's resorts.
Clear as the sky that lights a sunshine eve,
Thy style sweet Courtesy can ne'er deceive.

Prompted by love of human race,

From generous motives bent to please:

Thy feelings answer to thy face;

Thy manners still are stampt with ease.
Each social being, in thy presence blest,
With ardour clasps thee to his grateful breast.

The rich sometimes may-succour want :
For ever to oblige is thine.

The great external gifts may grant,

To charm the soul, but few incline,

Sincere delight, would you each hour impart, Make haste to learn the breeding of the Heart.

THOMAS COLE.

1796.

Rector of Dalverton, in Somersetshire; two or three of his pieces are in Dodsley's Collection. The Specimens he.e given, are taken from a volume of his poems, published

in 1795.

This author published a volume of Sermons, and two poems. 1, The Arbour, or the Rural Philosopher, 1756; re-printed in Dodsley's Collection. 2, The Life of Hubert, A Narrative, Descriptive, and Didactic Poem. Book I, 1796.

THE BEECH TREE,

AN ALLEGORICAL ODE.

SERENE and calm, the morning ray
Had pour'd a cheerful gloom of day