THE KING OF FRANCE's BREAKING THE
PEACE OF RESWICK.
Spartan youths! what fascinating charms
Have froze your blood? why ruft your idle
When with awaken'd courage will you go,
And minds refolv'd, to meet the threatening foe?
What! fhall our vile lethargic floth betray
To greedy neighbours an unguarded prey?
Or can you see their armies ruth from far,
And fit fecure amidst the rage of war?
Ye gods! how great, how glorious, 'tis to fee
The warrior-hero fight for liberty,
For his dear children, for his tender wife,
For all the valued joys, and foft fupports of life
Then let him draw his fword, and take the field,
And fortify his breaft behind the spacious shield.
Nor fear to die; in vain you fhun your fate,
Nor can you shorten, nor prolong its date;
For life's a measur'd race, and he that flies
From darts and fighting foes, at home inglorious dies;
No grieving crowds his obfequies attend ;
But all applaud and weep the soldier's end,
Who, desperately brave, in fight fuftains
Inflicted wounds, and honourable stains,
And falls a facrifice to glory's charms :
But if a juft fuccefs fhall crown his arms,
For his return the rescued people wait,
To fee the guardian genius of the state;
With rapture viewing his majestic face,
His dauntless mien, and every martial grace,
They'll bless the toils he for their safety bore,
Admire him living, and when dead adore.
UNDER THE PRINT OF TOM BRITTON,
THE MUSICAL SMALL-COAL MAN.
THOUGH mean thy rank, yet in thy humble
Did gentle peace and arts unpurchas'd dwell.
Well-pleas'd Apollo thither led his train,
And Mufic warbled in her fweeteft ftrain !
Cyllenius fo, as fables tell, and Jove,
Came willing guests to poor Philemon's grove.
Let useless Pomp behold, and blush to find
So low a station, fuch a liberal mind.
N young Aftrea's sparkling eye,
Refiftless Love has fix'd his throne; A thoufand lovers bleeding lie
For her, with wounds they fear to own.
While the coy beauty fpeeds her flight
To diftant groves from whence the came;
So lightning vanishes from fight,
But leaves the foreft in a flame !
LOVE, I defy thee!
Venus, I fly thee!
I'm of chafte Diana's train.
Away, thou winged boy!
Thou bear' thy darts in vain,
I hate the languid joy,
I mock the trifling pain.
Venus, I fly thee!
I'm of chafte Diana's train.
RECITATIVE.
Bright Venus and her son stood by,
And heard a proud difdainful fair
Thus boat her wretched liberty;
They fcorn'd the fhould the raptures share,
Which their happier captives know,
Nor would Cupid draw his bow
To wound the nymph, but laugh'd out this reply.
Proud and foolish! hear your fate!
Waste your youth, and figh too late
For joys which now you fay you hate.
When your decaying eyes
Can dart their fires no more,
The wrinkles of threefcore
Shall make you vainly wife.
Proud and foolish! hear your fate!
Waste your youth, and figh too late
For joys which now you say you hate.
O N G.
WOULD you gain the tender creature,
Softly gently-kindly-treat her;
Suffering is the lover's part:
Beauty by constraint poffefling,
You enjoy but half the bleffing,
Lifelefs charms without the heart.
RECITATIVE.
ON filver Tyber's vocal fhore,
The fam'd Scarlati ftrook his lyre,
And ftrove, with charms unknown before,
The fprings of tuneful found t' explore,
Beyond what art alone could e'er inspire ;
When fee-the sweet effay to hear,
Venus with her fon drew near,
And, pleas'd to ask the mafter's aid,
The mother goddess smiling said.
Harmonious fon of Phoebus, fee!
'Tis Love, 'tis little Love I bring.
The Queen of Beauty fues to thee,
To teach her wanton boy to fing.
RECITATIVE.
The pleas'd musician heard with joy,
And, proud to teach th' immortal boy,
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