To their chafte brides fad fpectacles of woe,
Now only grateful to the fowls of air.

Mean time, the care of Jove, great Hector stood
Secure in scenes of death, in storms of darts,
In flaughter and alarms, in duft and blood.

Still Agamemnon rushing o'er the field Leads his bold bands: whole hofts before him fly; Now Ilus's tomb they pafs, Low urge their way Clofe by the fig-tree fhade: with thouts the king Purfues the foe inceffant : duft and blood, Blood mix'd with duft, diftains his murderous hands. As when a lion in the gloom of night Invades an herd of beeves, o'er all the plains Trembling they scatter; furious on the prey The generous favage flies, and with fierce joy Seizes the last; his hungry foaming jaws Churn the black blood, and rend the panting prey: Thus fled the foe; Atrides thus pursued And still the hindmoft flew; they from their cars Fell headlong; for his javelin, wild for blood, Rag'd terribly and now proud Troy had fall'n, But the dread sire of men and Gods descends Terrific from his heavens, his vengeful hand Ten thousand thunders grafps on ida's heights He takes his ftand; it shakes with all its groves Beneath the God; the god fufpends the war.

A blooming offspring fills the parent's plac
With equal fragranee, and with equal grace

But ah! how fhort a date on earth is given
To the most lovely workmanship of heaven!
Too foon that cheek must every charm refign,
And thofe love-darting eyes forget to shine!
While thousands weeping round, with fighs furvey
What once was you- -now only beauteous clay!
Ev'n from the canvafs fhall thy image fade,
And thou re-perith in thy perish'd shade :
Then may this verfe to future ages fhow
One perfect beautyfuch as thou art now!
May it the graces of thy foul display,

Till this world finks, and funs themfelves decay }
When with immortal beauty thou shalt rife,
To shine the lovelieft angel in the skies.

PROLOGUE

To Mr. FENTON's excellent Tragedy,

MARIAMNE.

TO MRS. ELIZ. M ―T.

ON HER PICTURE, 1716.

O! wondrous

art, that grace to fhadows gives! By whofe command the lovely phantom lives! Smiles with her fmiles! the mimic eye inftils A real frame! the fancy'd lightning kills! Thus mirrors catch the love-inspiring face, And the new charmer grace returns for grace. Hence fhall thy beauties, when no more appears Their fair poffeffor, fhine a thousand years; By age uninjur d, future times adorn

And warm the hearts of millions yet unborn,
Who, gazing on the portrait with a figh,
Shall grieve fuch perfect charms could ever die :
How would they grieve, if to fuch beauties join'd
The paint could show the wonders of thy mind!

O virgin born th' admiring world to grace!
Tranfmit thy excellence to latest days;
Yield to thy lover's vows and then shall rife
A race of beauties conquering with thine eyes;
Who, reigning in thy carms, from death fhall fave
That lovely form, and triumph o'er the grave.
Thus, when through age the rofe-tree's charms
decay,

When all her fading beauties die away ;

WHEN breathing ftatues mouldering waste away,
And tombs, unfaithful to their truft, decay;
The Muse rewards the fuffering good with fame,
Or wakes the profperous villain into shame;
To the ftern tyrant gives fictitious power
To reign the restless monarch of an hour.

Obedient to her call, this night appears
Great Herod rifing from a length of years:
A name! enlarg'd with titles not his own,
Servile to mount, and favage on a throne:
Yet oft a throne is dire misfortune's feat,
A pompous wretchednefs, and woe in ftate!
But fuch the curfe that from ambition springs,
For this he flaughter'd half a race of kings:
But now, reviving in the British scene,
He looks majestic with a milder mien,
His features foften'd with the deep distress
Of love, made greatly wretched by excefs:
From luft of power to jealous fury toft,
We fee the tyrant in the lover loft.

O! Love, thou fource of mighty joy or woe!
Thou foftest friend, or man's most dangerous foe!
Fantastic power!* what rage thy darts inspire,
When too much beauty kindles too much fire!
Those darts, to jealous rage ftern Herod drove;
It was a crime, but crime of too much love!
Yet if condemn'd he falls-with pitying eyes
Behold his injur'd Mariamne rife!
No fancy'd tale! our opening fcenes difclofe
Hiftoric truth, and fwell with real woes.
Awful in virtuous grief the queen appears,
And strong the eloquence of royal tears;
By woes ennobled, with majestic pace,
She meets misfortune, glorious in difgrace
VARIATION..

* What fangs, &i.

Small is the praife of beauty, when it flies
Fair honour's laws, at beft but lovely vice.
Charms it like Venus with celestial air?
Ev'n Venus is but fcandalously fair;

But when strict honour with fair features joins,
Like heat and light, at once it warms and fhines.
* Then let her fate your kind attention raife,
Whofe perfect charms were but her fecond praise :
Beauty and virtue your protection claim;
Give tears to beauty, give to virtue fame.

TO MR, A. POPE,

WHO CORRECTED MY VERSES.

IF e'er my humble Mufe melodious fings,

'Tis when you animate and tune her ftrings;
If e'er the mounts, 'tis when you prune her wings.
You, like the fun, your glorious beams display,
Deal to the darkeft orb a friendly ray,
And cloath it with the luftre of the day.
Mean was the piece, unelegantly wrought,
The colours faint, i regular the draught;
But your commanding touch, your nicer art,
Rais'd every ftroke, and brighten'd every part.
So, when Luke drew the rudiments of man,

An angel finish'd what the faint began ;
His wondrous pencil, dipt in heavenly dyes,

}

And age my vital flame invades ;

Faint, and more faint, as it defcends, it fhines,
And haftes, alas! to fet in fhades.

Then fome kind power fhall guide my ghoft to glades,

Where, feated by Elyfian fprings, Fam'd Addifon attun'd to patriot shades

His lyre, and Albion's glory fings.

There round, majestic shades, and heroes' forms,
Will throng, to learn what pilot guides,
Watchful, Britannia's helm through factious ftorms,
And curbs the murmuring rebel tides.

I tell how Townshend treads the glorious path
That leads the great to deathless fame,
And dwell at large on fpotlefs English faith,
While Walpole is the favourite theme.

eyes.

Confus'd it lay, a rough unpolish'd mass;

You gave the royal ftamp, and made it pafs
Hence ev'n deformity a beauty grew;

She pleas'd, the charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd

by you;

Though like Prometheus I the image frame,
You give the life, and bring the heavenly flame.
Thus when the Nile diffus'd his watery train
Inftreams of plenty o'er the fruitful plain ;
Unhapen forms, the refufe of the flood,
Ilued imperfect from the teeming mud;
But the great fource and parent of the day.
Fashion'd the creature, and inform'd the clay.t
Weak of herself, my Mufe forbears her flight,
Views her own lowness, and Parnaffus' height;
But when you you aid her tong, and deign to nod,
She fpreads a bolder wing, and feels the prefent God.
So the Cumaan prophetess was dumb,
Blind to the knowledge of events to come;

The ftedfaft arbiters of right

Exalt the juft and good, to guard her laws,

And call forth merit into light.

A loud applause around the echoing coaft
Of all the pleas'd Elyfium flies.-

But, friend, what place had you, replies fome ghoft,

When merit was the way to rife?

What deanery, or prebend, thine, declare ?
Good heavens unable to reply,
How like a ftupid idiot I fhould ftare
An answer, good my lord, fupply.

Ah! how I liften, while the mortal lay
Lifts me from earth above the folar way !
Ah! how I look with fcorn on pompous crowns,
And pity monarchs on their splendid thrones,
While, thou my guide, I trace all nature's latus,
By juft gradations, to the fovereign caufe!
Pleas'd I furvey how varying Jchemes un te,
Worlds with the atoms, angels with the mite,
And end in God, high thron'd above all height,
Who fees, as Lord of all, with equal eye,
Now a proud tyrant perish, then a fly.
Methinks I view the patriarch's ladder rife,
Its bafe on earth, its fummit in the fkies:
Each wondrous ftep by glorious angels trod,
And heaven unfolding to the throne of God,
Be this thy praile! I haunt the lovely bower,
Sport by the spring, or paint the blooming flower,
Nor dares the Muje attempt an arduous height,

FROM peace, and focial joy, Medufa flies,

And loves to hear the form of anger rife; Thus higs and witches hate the fmiles of day, Sport in loud thunder, and in tempefts play.

THE

COQUETTE.

SILLIA, with uncontested fway,
Like Rome's fam'd tyrant reigns;
Behelds adoring crowds obey,

And heroes proud to wear her chains
Yet ftoops, like him, to every prize,
Bafy to murder beaux and flies.

She aims at every trifling heart,
Attends each flatterer's vows,
And, like a picture drawn with art,
A look on all that gaze beftows.
O may the power who lovers rules,
Grant rather fcorn, than hope with fools
Miftaken nymph! the crowds that gaze
Adore thee into fhame;
Unguarded beauty in difgrace,

And coxcombs, when they praise, defame.
O! fly fuch brutes in human fapes,
Nor, like th' Ægyptians, worship apes.

While hearts are offer'd by the dozen : Oh born above your fex to rife, With youth, wealth, beauty, title

wife !

O! Lady bright, did ne'er you mark yet,
In country fair, or country market,

A beau, whofe cloquence might charm ye,
Enlifting foldiers for the army?

He flatters every well-built youth,
And tells him every thing but-truth.
He cries, Good friend, I'm glad I hap'd in
Your company, you'll make a captain!
He lifts- but finds thefe gaudy shows
Soon chang'd to furly looks, and blows:

'Tis now, March, rafcal! what, d'ye grumble?
Thwack goes the cane! I'll make you humble.
Such weddings are: and I resemble 'em,
Almoft in all points to this emblem.
While courtship lafts, 'tis, Dear! 'tis, Madam}
The sweeteft creature fure fince Adam!
Had I the yes of a Methufalem,
How in my charmer's praife I'd use all 'em !
Oh I take me to thy arms, my beauty!

I doat, adore the very fhoe-tye!

They wed--but, fancy grown lefs warming,
Next morn, he thinks the bride lefs charming:
He fays, nay fwears, My wife grows old in
One fingle month; then falls to scolding,
What, madam, gadding every day!
Up to your room! there ftitch, or pray!

Such proves the marriage ftate! but for all Thefe truths, you'll wed, and fcorn the moral.

THE WIDOW AND VIRGIN SISTERS.

Being a Letter to the WIDOW in LONDON. WHILE Delia fhines at Hurlothrumbo,

And darts her fprightly eye at fome beau ; Then, clofe behind her fin retiring, Sees through the fticks whole crowds admiring: You fip your melancholy co-ffy And at the name of man, cry, O phy! Or, when the noify rapper thunders, Say coldly-Sure the fellow blunders ! Unfeen! though peer on peer approaches : James, I'm abroad!-but learn the coaches. As fome young pleader, when his purfe is Unfill'd through want of controverfies, Attends, untill the chinks are fill'd all, Th' affizes, Weftraifter, and Guildhall; While graves lawyers keep their houfe, and Collect the guineas by the thoufand: Or as fome tradefmen, through fhow-glaffes, Expofe their wares to each that paffes; Toys of no ufe! high-priz'd commodities Bonght to no end I eftates in oddities! Others, with like advantage, drive at Their gain, from ftore-houfes in private: Thus Delia fines in places general, Is never miffing where the men are all ; Goes ev'n to church with godly airs, To meet good company at prayers; Where the devoutly plays her fan, Leoks up to heaven, but thinks on man.

AS when the King of Peace, and Lord of Love,
Sends down fome brighter angel from above,
Pleas'd with the beauties of the heavenly Gueft,
Awhile we view him in full glory dreit;
But he, impatient from his heaven to stay,
Soon difappears, and wings his airy way;
So didst thou vanish, eager to appear,
And shine triumphant in thy native sphere.

Yet had'st thou all that virtue can bestow,
All, the good practife, and the learned know;
Such holy rapture, as not warms, but fires,
While the foul feems retiring, or retires;
Such tranfports as thofe faints in vifion fhare,
Who know not whether they are rapt through air,
Or bring down heaven to meet them in a prayer.
Oh early loft! yet stedfaft to furvey
Envy, difeafe, and death, without difmay;
Serene, the fting of pain thy thoughts beguile,
And make afflictions, objects of a smile.

So

Humble, yet learn'd; though innocent, yet zay:
pure of heart, that thou might'ft fafety show
Thy inmot bofom to chy bifeft foe:

Carelefs of wealth, thy bliss a calm retreat,
Far from the infults of the feuinful great;
Thence looking with difdain on proudest things,
Thou deemed'it mean the pageantry of kings;
Who build thei. pride on trappings of a throne,
A painted ribband, or a glittering stone,
Ufelefsly bright 'I'was thine the foul to raise
To nobler objects, fuch as angels praife!
To live, to mortals' empty tame, a foe;
And pity human joy, and human woe!
To view ev'n iplendid vice with generous hate;
In life unblemih'd, and in death fedate!
Then confcience, fhining with a lenient ray,
Dawn'd o'er thy foul, and promis'd endless day.
So from the fetting orb of Phoebus fly
Beams of calm light, and glitter the sky.

Where now, oh! where shall I true friendship

find

Among the treacherous race of base mankind?
Whom, whom confult in all th' uncertain ways
Of various life, fincere to blame, or praise !
O! friend! O! falling in thy ftrength of years,
Warm from the melting foul receive thefe tears i
01 woods O! wild 10! every bowery fhade!
So often vocal by his music made,

Now other founds-far other founds return,
And o'er his hearte with all your echoes mourn!-
Yet dare we grieve that foon the paths he trod
To heaven, and left vain man for Saints and God?
Thus in the theatre the scenes unfold

A thoufand wonders glorious to behold;
And here, or there, as the machine extends,
A hero rifes, or a God defcends:
But foon the momentary pleasure Aies,
Swift vanishes the God, or hero dies.

Where were ye, Mufes, by what fountain fide,
What river fporting, when your favourite dy'd?
He knew by verfe to chain the headlong foods,
Silence loud winds, or charm attentive woods;
Nor deign'd but to high themes to tune the

And while each plant a fmiling grace reveals, Ufefully gay! at once it charms, and heals.

Trinicend ev'n after death, ye great, show; Lend pomp to afhes, and be vain in woe; Hire fubftitutes to mourn with formal cries, And bribe unwilling drops from venal eyes; While here fincenty of grier appears, Silence that ipeaks, and eloquence in tears! While, tir'd of life, we but comment to live To fhow world how really we grieve! As fome fond fire, whole only fon es dead, All loft to comfort makes the duit his bed, Hangs o'er his urn, with frantic grief deplores, And bathes his clay-cold cheek with copious

showers;

Such heart-felt pangs on thy fad bier attend ;
Companion! brother! all in one-my friend!
Unlefs the foul a wound eternal bears,
Sighs are but air; but common water, tears:
The proud, relentles, weep in ftate, and show
Not forrow, but magnificence of woe.

Thus in the fountain, from the fculptor's hands,
With imitated life, an image ftands;
From rocky entrails, through his stony eyes,
The mimic tears in itre uns inceffant rife:
Unconscious! while aloft the waters flow,
The gazer's wonder, and a public show.

Ye hallow'd domes, his frequent visits tell; Thou court, where God himself delights to dwell; Thou mystic table, and thou holy feaft, How often have ye feen the facred guest! How oft his foul with heavenly manna fed! His faith enliven'd, while his fin lay dead! While listening angels heard fuch raptures rife, As, when they hy meth' Almighty, charm the skies! But where, now where, without the body's aid, New to the heavens, fubfilts thy gentle thade? Glides it beyond our grofs imperfect sky, Pleas'd high o'er ftars, from world to world, to fly! And fearless marks the comet's dreadful Maze, While monarchs quake, and tremol ng nations gaze? Or holds deep converse with the mighty dead, Champions of virtue, who for virtue bled? Or joins in concert with angelic choirs, Where hymning teraphs found their golden lyres, Where raptur'd faints unfading crowns inwreath, Triumphant o'er the world, o'er fin and death? O may the thought his friend's devotion raife! O may he imitate, as well as praife! Awake, my heavy foul! and upward fly, Speak to the faint, and meet him in the iky, And afk the certain way to rife as high.

}

Prefix your name to the following poem,'as a monument of the long and fincere friendship I have borne you: I am fentible you are too good a judge

teftimony of my refpect: You conferred obligations upon me very early in life, almost as foon as I was capable of receiving them: May thefe verfes on Death long furvive my own! and remain a memorial of our friendship, and my gratitude, when I am no more.

A POEM ON DEATH.

OH! for Elijah's car, to wing my way

O'er the dark gulph of death to endless day! A thousand ways, alas! frail mortals lead To her dire den, and dreadful all to tread ! See! in the horrors of yon house of woes, Troops of all maladies the fiend inclofe ! High on a trophy rais'd of human bones, Swords, fpears, and arrows, and fepulchral ftones, In horrid state the reigns! attendant ills Befiege her throne, and when the frowns, fhe kills: Through the thick gloom the torch red-gleaming

burns

O'er shrouds, and fable palls, and mouldering urns; While flowing ftoles, black plumes, and fcutcheons fpread

An idle pomp around the filent dead:
Unaw'd by power, in common heap the flings
The fcrips of beggars, and the crowns of kings:
Here gales of fighs, instead of breezes, blow,
And streams of tears for ever murmuring flow:
The mournful yew with foleron horror waves
His baleful branches, faddening even the graves:
Around all birds obfcene loud-fcreaming fly,
Clang their black wings, and fhriek along the fky:
The ground perverfe, tho' bare and barren, breeds
All poifons, foes to life, and noxious weeds;
But, Elafted frequent by th' unwholesome sky,
Dead fall the birds, the very poifons die.

Full in the entrance of the dreadful doors,
Old-age, half vanish'd to a ghoft, deplores:
Propp'd on his crutch, he drags with many a groan
The load of life, yet dreads to lay it down.

There, downward driving an unnumber'd band, Intemperance and Difeafe walk hand in hand: Thefe, Torment, whirling with remorseless sway A fcourge of iron, lafhes on the way.

There frantic Anger, prone to wild extremes, Grafps an enfarguin'd fword, and heaven blafphemes. There heart fick Agony distorted stands,, Writhes his convulfive limbs, and wrings his hands. There Sorrow droops his ever-penfive head, And Care ftill toffes on his iron bed: Or, mufing, faftens on the ground his eye, With folded arms; with every breath a figh. Hydrops unwieldy wallows in a flood; And Murther rages, red with human blood, With Fever, Famine, and affli&tive Pain, Plague, Pestilence, and War, a difmal train! These, and a thousand more, the fiend furround,

Valn man! wouldft thou efcape the common
lot,

To live, to fuffer, die, and be forgot?
Look back on ancient times, primæval years,
All, all are paft! a mighty void appears!
Heroes, and kings, thofe gods of earth, whose fame
Aw'd half the nations, now are but a name!
The great in arts or arms, the wife, the juft,
Mix with the meanest in congenial duft!
Ev'n Saints and Prophets the fame paths have trod,
Ambaffadors of heaven, and friends of God!
And thou, wouldst thou the general fentence fly?
Mofes is dead! thy Saviour deign'd to die!
Mortal, in all thy acts regard thy end;

Live well, the time thou liv't, and death's thy friend:

Then curb each rebel thought against the sky,
And die refign'd, O! Man ordain'd to die!

He added not, but fpread his wings in flight,
And vanish'd inftant in a blaze of light.

Abafh'd, afham'd, I cry, Eternal Power, I yield! I wait refign'd th' appointed hour! Man, foolish man, no more thy foul deceive! To die, is but the fureft way to live: When age we ask, we afk it in our wrong, And pray our time of fuffering may be long; The naufeous draught, and dregs of life ts drain,

And feel infirmity, and length of pain!. What art thou, life, that we should court thy stay?

A breath, one fingle gasp must away!

A fhort-liv'd flower, that with the day muft fade!

A fleeting vapour, and an empty shade!
A ftream, that filently but fwiftly glides
To meet eternity's immeafur'd tides!
A being, loft alike by pain or joy!
A fly can kill it, or a worm destroy!
Impair'd by labour, and by eafe undone,
Commenc'd in tears, and ended in a groan!
Ev'n while i write, the tranfient Now is paft,
And death more near, this fentence than the
laft!

As fome weak ifthmus feas from feas divides,