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Thofe quit their chain, and those reûgn their palm,

While Britain's awful flag commands a calm.
The curious fage, nor gain nor fame purfues,
With other eyes the boiling deep he views;
Hangs o'er the cliff inquifitive to know
The tecret caufes of its ebb and flow:

True, thou art fpruce and fine, a very beau;
But what are trappings and external fhow?
To real worth alone make my court;
Knaves are my scorn, and coxcombs are my sport.
Once I beheld thee far lefs trim and gay;
Ragged, disjointed, and to worms a prey;
The fafe retreat of every lurking moufe:

Whence breathe the winds that ruffle its fmooth | Derided, fhunn'd; the lumber of my houfe!

face,

Or ranks in claffes all the fihy race,

From thofe enormous monfters of the main,
Who in the world, like other tyrants, reign,
To the poor cockie-tribe, that humble band,
Who cleave to rocks, or loiter on the strand.
Yet ev'n their fhells the forming hand divine
Has, with diflinguish'd lure, taught to shine.
What bright enamel! and what various dyes!
What lively tints delight our wondering eyes!
Th' Almighty Painter glows in every line:
How mean, alas! is Rapheal's hold design,
And Titian's colouring, if compar'd to thine!
July fupreme let us thy power revere,
Thou fill it all fpace! all beauteous every where!
Thy rifing fun with blushes paints the morn,
Thy fhing lamps the face of night adorn;
Thy flowers the meads thy nodding trees the hills;
The vales thy paftures green, and bubbling rills;
Thy coral groves, thy rocks that amber weep,
Deck all the gloomy manfions of the deep:
Thy yellow fands diftinct with golden ore,
And these thy variegated fhells the fhore.
To all thy work fuch grandeur haft thou lent,
And fuch extravagance of ornament.

For the falfe traitor, man. this pomp and fhow!
A fcene fo gay, for us poor worms below!
No-for thy glory all thefe beauties rife,
Yet may improve the good, inftru& the wife.
You, madam, fprung from Beaufort's royal line,
Who, loft to courts, can in your closet fhine,
Best known to ufe each blefling he bestows,
Bell known to praife the power from whence it
flows.

Shells in your hand the Parian rock defy,
Or agat, or Egyptian porphyry-
More gloffy they, their veins of brighter dye.
See! where your rifing pyramids afpire,
Your guests furpriz'd the fhining pile admire!
In future times, if fome great Phidias rife,
Whofe chiffet with his mitrefs Nature vies,
Who, with fuperior fkill, cau lightly trace
In the hard marble block the fofteft face:
To crown this piece, fo elegantly neat,
Your well-wrought bufto fhall the whole compleat;
O'er your own work from age to age prefide,
Its author once, and then its greatest pride.

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Thy robe how chang'd from what it was before!
Thy velvet robe, which pleas'd my fires of yore!
'Tis thus capricious Fortune wheels us round;
Aloft we mount-theu tumble to the ground.
Yet grateful thn, my conftancy I prov'd;
I knew thy worth; my friend in rags I lov'd;
I love thee, more; nor, like a courtier, fpurn'd
My benefactor, when the tide was turn'd.
With confcious fhame, yet frankly, I confefs,
That in my youthful days-1 lov'd thee lefs.
Where vanity, where pleafure call'd, I ftray'd;
And every wayward appetite obey'd.
But fage experience taught me how to prize
Myfelf; and how, this world: the bade me rife
To nobler flights regardlefs of a race
Of factious emmets; pointed where to place
My blifs, and lodg'd me in thy foft embrace.

Here on thy yielding down I fit fecure;
And, patiently, what heaven has fent, endure;
From all the futile cares of business free;
Not fond of life, but yet content to be:
Here mark the fleeting hours; regret the past;
And feriously prepare to meet the laft.

So fafe on thore the penfion'd failor lies;
And all the malice of the ftorm defies:
With cafe of body bleft, and peace of mind,
Pities the reflefs crew he left behind;
Whilft, in his cell, he meditates alone.
On his great voyage, to the world unknown.

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But when I view the radiant queen,
Who form'd this fair enchanting scene;
Pardon, ye giots! ye crystal floods:
Ye breathing thowers! ye fhady woods!
Your coolnets now no more invites;
No more your murmuring ftream delights;
Your fweet, decay, your verdure's flown;
My foul's intent on her alone.

PARAPHRASE UPON A FRENCH SONG, "Venge moi d'une ingrate maitreffe, “Dieu du vin, j'implore bon yvreffe.” IND relief in all my pain,

Jolly Bacchus! hear my prayer, Vengeance on th' ingrateful flir !

In thy finiling cordial bowl,
Drown the forrows of my foul,
All thy deity employ,

Gild each gloomy thought with joy,
Jolly Bacchus! fave, oh fave,
From the deep devouring grave,
A poor, despairing, dying fwain.
Hafte away,
Hafte away,

Lafh thy tigers, do not stay,
I'm undone if thou delay.
If I view these eyes once more,
Still fhall love, and ftill adore,

And be more wretched than before
See the glory round her face!
See her move!

With what a grace!-
Ye gods above!

Is the not one of your immortal race?—
Fly, ye winged Cupids, fly,

Dart like lightning through the fky:
Would you in marble temples dwell,
The dear one to my arms compel;
Bring her in bans of myrtle tied;
Bid her forget, and bid her hide,
All her fcorn, and all her pride.
Would ye that your flave repay
A fmoaking hecatomb each day;
O reitore

The beauteous Goddess I adore ;
O restore, with all her charms,
The faithlefs vagrant to my arms!

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DEA

HOR.

EAR knight, how great a drudge is he
Who would excel in poetry!
And yet how few have learnt the art,
T' inform the head, or touch the heart!
Some, with a dry and barren brain,
Poor rogues! like coftive lap-dogs strain;
While others with a flux of wit,
The reader and their friends befh-t.

Would you (Sir Knight) my judgment know?
He ftill writes worst who writes fo-fo.
In this the mighty fecret lies,

To elevate and to furprize;

'I hus far my pen at random run,

The fire was out, the clock ftruck one. When, lo strange hollow murmurs from without, Invade my ears. In every quarter rouz'd, The warring winds rufh from their rocky caves Tumultuous; the vapours dank, or dry, Beneath their standards rang'd, with lowering

front

Darken the welkin. At each dreadful fhock Oaks, pines, and elms, down to their mother earth Bend low their fuppliant heads: the nodding

towers

Menace deftruction, and old Edrick's house From its foundation fhakes. The bellying clouds burst into rain, or gild their fable skirts

With flakes of ruddy fire; fierce elements
In ruin reconcil'd! redoubled peals
Of ceafelefs thunder roar. Convulfions rend
The firmament The whole creation ftands
Mute and appall'd, and trembling waits its doom.
And now perhaps, dear friend, you wonder
In this dread fcene of wind rain, thunder,
What a poor guilty wretch could do;
Then hear (for, faith, I tell you true)
I water'd, fhook my gidly head,
Gravely broke wind, and went to bed.

UPON MIRANDA'S LEAVING THE COUNTRY. HE fun departing hides his head, The lily and the rofe are dead, The birds forget to fing; The cooing turtles now no more Repeat their amorous ditties o'er,

But watch th' approaching spring, For foon the merry month of May Reftores the bright all-chearing ray;

Soft notes charm every grove:
7 he flowers ambrofial incenfe breathe,
And all above, and all beneath,

Is fragrance, joy, and love.
So when Miranda hence retires,
Each fhepherd only not expires:
How rueful is the fcene!
How the dull moments creep along 1.
No fportive dance, no rural fong,
No gambols on the

green.

Yet, when the radiant nymph appears,
Each field its richest livery wears,

All nature's blithe and gay;
The fwains transported with delight,
After a long and gloomy night,

Blefs the reviving day.

While thus, indulgent to our prayer.
Kind heaven permitted us to fhare

A bleffing fo divine;
While fmiling hope gave fome relief,
And joys alternate footh'd our grief,
What fhepherd could repine?
But now-her fatal lofs we mourn,
Never, oh! never to return

To thefe deferted plains;
Undone, abandon'd to defpair,
Alas! 'tis winter all the year
To us unhappy fwains,
Ye little Loves, lament around;
With empty quivers ftrew the ground,
Your bows unbent lay down;
Harmless your wounds pointless your darts,
And frail your empire o'er our hearts,

1

Till the your triumphs crown.
Ye Nymphs, ye Fawns, complaining figh;
Ye Graces, let your treffes fly,

The sport of every wind:
Ye mimic Echoes tell the woods,
Repeat it to the murmuring floods,

She's gone! fhe's gone! unkind!

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Break

Break, hepherds, break each tunelefs recd,
Let all your flocks at random feed,

Each flowery garland tear;
Since Wit and Beauty quit the plain,
Paft pleasures but enhance our pain,

And life's not worth our care.

THOU

TO PHYLLIS.

THOUGH clofe immur'd, poor captive maid! Young Danae play'd a wanton part;

The gold that in her lap was laid,

Soon found a paffage to her heart.
Ambitious Semele, beguil'd

By Juno's unrelenting hate,
Amid the bright destruction fmil'd,
Enjoy'd her God, and dy'd in state.
The fwan on Leda's whiter breast,
Artful deceiver! neftling lay,
With joy the clafp'd her downy guest,
Fond of a bird fo foft and gay.
What boon can faithful merit fhare,
Where intereft reigns, or pride, or show?
'Tis the rich banker wins the fair,

The garter'd knight, or feather'd beau.
No more my panting heart fhall beat,
Nor Phyllis claim one parting groan;
Her tears, her vows, are all a cheat,
For woman loves herself alone.

To the Right Hon. the EARL of Halifax,
With the Fable of the Two Springs.

HALIFAX! a name for ever de Nine revere,

Accept this humble pledge of my esteem,
So justly thine, benevolence my theme.

In myftic tales, and parables, of old
Grave Eastern Seers inftructive lessons told;
Wife Greece from them receiv'd the happy plan,
And taught the brute to pedagogue the man.
The matron truth appears with better grace,
When well-wrought fables veil her reverend face :
Dry precept may inftruct, but can't delight,
While pleafing fictions all our powers excite.
Our bufy minds each faculty employ,

And range around, and start their game with joy; Pleas'd with the chace, make the rich prey their

own,

And glory in the conquests they have won.
Fable alone can crown the poet's brow,
Upon his works immortal charms bestow:
And 'twere a fin that method to difprove,
Which Heaven has fixed by fanctions from above.
My humble Mufe in calm retirement roves
Near moffy fountains, and near fhady groves:
Yet there, ev'n there, her loyal hands would raise
Some rural trophy to her monarch's praise;
Inftruct thofe fountains and thofe groves to show,
What copious bleffings from his bounty flow;
While flowers and fhrubs blefs his propitious aid,
His urn refreshing, or protecting fhade.

Great friend of human kind! thy pious hand
Nor wounds to kill, nor conquers to command.
Let haughty tyrants of falfe glory dream,
Without remorfe pursue the bloody scheme;
To fame forbidden tread the lawless way,
And o'er the ravag'd world extend their fway:
'Tis thine, great George, to guard thy favou-
rite ifle,

From open force, and every fecret wile,

Toraife th'opprefs'd, tomake the captive fmile; -
To pay just heaven what righteous monarchs owe,
And, like that heaven, to blefs the world below:
To build new temples, to repair the old,
To bring the ftraggling fheep into the fold,
And by wife laws reftore an age of gold.
Ye blifsful feats where Tame and Ifis join,
Lovely retirement of the facred Nine,
Parent of arts, and once my fweet abode,
Can ye forget the bleffings he bestow'd?
Can fophiftry prevail against that prince,
Whofe mercy and benevolence convince?
Oh! touch each tuneful string, let every Muse
From all her ftores her nobleft Paans chufe;
Pay what she can in tributary lays,

And to his virtue grant fupplies of praife.

To all the world your grateful hearts make known,
And in your monarch's fame record your own.
His fame-which Envy's breath can never blaft,
But ages yet to come fhall join the past,
And Brunswick's glory with the world shall last.

G

A SONG FOR THE LUTE.
ENTLY, my lute, move every ring,
Soft as my fighs, reveal my pain;
While I, in plaintive numbers, fing
Of lighted yows, and cold difdain.
In vain her airs, in vain her heart,

In vain fhe frowns when I appear,
Thy notes fhall melt her frozen heart;
She cannot hate, if the can hear.
And fee fhe fmiles! through all the groves
Triumphant Io-Pæans found:
Clap all your wings, ye little Loves;

Ye fportive Graces, dance around.
Ye liftening oaks, bend to my fong,

Nor Orpheus play'd a nobler lay: Ye favages, about me torong;

Ye rocks, and harder hearts, obey. She comes, fhe comes, relenting fair! To fill with joy my longing arms; What faithful lover can defpair,

Who thus with verfe, and mufick, charms?

THE COQUET.

WHEN tortur'd by the cruel fair,

And almost mad with wild defpair,
My fleeting fpirits rove;

One cordial glance reflores her flave,
Redeems me from the gaping grave,

And foothes my foul to love.

Thus

Thus in a fea of doubt I'm tofs'd,
Now funk, now thrown upon the coast;
What wretch can long endure
Such odd, perplexing pangs as thefe,
When neither mortal the difeafe,

Nor yet compleat the cure?
Proud tyrant! fince to fave, or kill,
Depends on thy capricious will,

This milder fentence give; Reverse my range, untoward fate, Oh! let me perish by thy hate,

D

Or by thy kindness live!

THE SUPERANUATED LOVER. EAD to the foft delights of love,

Spare me, O fpare me, cruel boy; Nor feek in vain that heart to move, Which pants no more with amorous joy. Of old, thy faithful hardy fwain,

(When fmit with fair Paftora's charms) I ferv'd thee many a long campaign, And wide Ifpread thy conquering arms. Now, mighty god, difmifs thy flave,

To feeble age let youth fucceed; Recruit among the ftrong and brave, And kindly fpare an invalide. Adieu, fond hopes, fantastic cares,

Ye killing joys, ye pleafing pains! My foul for better guests prepares, Reafon reftor'd, and virtue reigns. But why, my Cloe, tell me why?

Why trickles down this filent tear? Why do thefe blushes rife and die? Why ftand I mute when thou art here? Ev'n fleep affords my foul no reft,

Thee bathing in the ftream I view; With thee 1 dance, with thee I fealt, Thee through the gloomy grove pursue. Triumphant God of gay defires!

Thy vaffal's raging pins remove; Iburn, I burn, with fiercer fires,

Oh! take my life, or crown my love.

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Her fighs, and fond wishes, and aukward repining! What a pother is here, with her amorous glances, Soft fragments of Ovid, and scraps of romances! A nice prude at fifteen! and a romp in decay! Cold December affects the fweet bloffoms of May; To fawn in her datage, and in her bloom fpurnus, Is to quench love' bright torch, and with touchwood to burn us

Believe me, dear n aids, there's no way of evading; While ye pith, and cry nay, your roles are fading: Though your paflion furvive, your beauty will dwindle,

And our languifling embers can never rekindle.

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Each glafs you drink ftill paints your face
With fome new victorious grace:
Charms in referve my foul furprize,
And by fresh wounds your lover dies.
Who can refift thee, lovely fair!
That wit! that foft engaging air!
Each panting heart its homage pays,
And all the vaffal world obeys.
God of the grape, boaft now no more,
Thy triumphs on far Indus' fhore:
Each ufelefs weapon now lay down,
Thy tigers, car, and ivy-crown;
Give but this juice in full fupplies,
And truft thy fame to Cioe's cyes.

TO A DISCARDED TOAST.

Ce patch the ruins of thy face;

NELIA, confefs 'tis all in vain,

Nor of ill-natur'd Time complain,

That robs it of each blooming grace. If Love no more can bend his bow,

Nor point his arrows from thine eye, If no lac'd fop, nor feather'd beau,

Defpairing at thy feet fhall die: Yet ftill, my charmer, wit like thine

Shall triumph over age and fate; Thy fetting beams with luftre shine,

And rival their meridian height. Beauty, fair flower! foon fades away,

And tranfient are the joys of love; But wit, and virtue, ne'er decay, Ador'd below, and blefs'd above.

THE PERJURED MISTRESS. From Horace, Epod. xv. ad Neæram. TWA 'WAS night, and heaven intent with all its eyes Gaz'd on the deceitful maid; A thoufand pretty things the faid,

A thousand artful tricks the play'd, From me, deluded me, her faltehood to disguife, She clafp'd me in her foft encircling arms, She prefs'd her glowing cheek to mine, The clinging ivy, or the curling vine, Did never yet fo clofely twine;

Who could be man and bear the luftre of her charms? And thus the fwore: by all the powers above,

When winter forms fhall cease to roar, When fummer funs fhall fhine no more, When wolves their cruelty give o'er, Neæra then, and not till then, fhall cease to love.

Ah!

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As fair, ungrateful nymph! and far more just than Shouldst thou repent, and at my feet be laid, Dejected, penitent, forlorn,

And all thy former follies mourn, Thy proffer'd paffion I would fcorn :

The Gods fhall do me right on that devoted head.

And you, fpruce fir, who infolently gay, Exulting, laugh at my difgrace, Boaft with vain airs, and ftiff grimace, Your large eftate, your handfone face, Proud of a fleeting blifs, the pageant of a day: You too fall foon repent this haughty scorn; When, fickle as the fea or wind, The prostitute fhali change her mind, To iuch another coxcomb kind; [turn. Then fhall I clap my wings, and triumph in my

Toa YOUNG LADY, who spent the night in Tears, upon a Report that her Brother was to fight a Duel the next Morning.

PASTORA weeps, let every lover mourn,

Her grief is no lefs fatal than her fcorn: Thofe fhining orbs inflict an equal pain, O'erflown with tears, or pointed with disdain. When doubts and fears invade that tender breast, Where peace, and joy, and love should ever reft; As flowers depriv'd of the fun's genial ray, Earthward we bend, and filently decay ; la fpight of all philosophy can do,

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Our hearts relent, the bursting torrents flow,
We feel her pains, and propagate her woe.
Each mournful Mufe laments the weeping fair,
The Graces all their comely treffes tear,
Love drags his wings, and droops his little head,
And Venus mourns as for Adonis dead.

Patience, dear maid, nor without caufe complain,

Olavifh not thofe precious drops in vain ;
Under the fhield of your prevailing charms,
Your happy brother lives fecure from harms,
Your bright refembiance all my rage difarms
Your influence unable to withstand,

The confcious fteel drops from my trembling hand;
Low at your feet the guilty weapon lies,
The foe repents, and the fond lover dies.
Eneasthus by men and Gods pursued,
Freble with wounds, defil'd with duft and blood,
Beauty's bright Goddess interpos'd her charms,
And fav'd the hopes of Troy from Grecian arms.

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FROM MARTIAL. EPIG, xlvii.

OULD you, my friend, find out the true

WOULD receipt,

To live at eafe, and ftem the tide of fate;
The grand elixir thus you must infufe,
And these ingredients to be happy chuse :
First an estate, not got with toil and sweat,
But unincumber'd left, and free from debt :
For let that be your dull forefather's care,
To pinch and drudge for his deferving heir;
Fruitful and rich, in land that s found and good.
That fills your barns with corn, your hearth with
wood;

That cold nor hunger may your house infest, While flames invade the fkies, and pudding crowns the feaft.

A quiet mind, ferene, and free from care,
Nor puzzling on the bench, nor noisy at the bar;
A body found, that phyfick cannot mend ;
And the best phyfick of the mind, a friend,
Equal in birth, in humour, and in place,
Thy other feif, diftinguifh'd but by face;
Whole fympathetic foul takes equal share
Of all thy pleasure, and of all thy care.
A modest board, adorn'd with men of fenfe,
No French ragouts, nor French impertinence;
A merry bottle to engender wit,
Not over-dos'd, but quantum
ficit:
Equal the error is in each excefs,
Nor dulnefs lefs a fin than drunkenness.
A tender wife diffolving by thy fide,
Easy and chafte, free from debate and pride,
Each day a mistress, and each night a bride.
Sleep undisturb'd, and at the dawn of day,
The merry horn, that chides thy tedious flay;
A horfe that's clean, fure-footed, fwift, and found,
And dogs that make the echoing clifts refound;
That sweep the dewy plains, out-fly the wind,
And leave domeftic forrows far behind.

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HILE I was yours, and yours alone,
Proudand tranfported with your charms,

I envy'd not the Perfan throne,

But reign'd more glorious in your arms.

B. While you were true, nor fuky fair
Had chac'd poor Bruny from your breast";
Not Ilia could with me compare,
So fame, or fo divinely bleft.

D In Suky's arms entranc'd Ilie,

So fweetly fings the warbling fair! For whom most willingly i'd die, Would Fate the gentle Syren fpare. B. Me Billy burns with mutual fire,

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