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William, who high upon the yard Rock'd with the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sigh'd and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast (If chance his mate's shrill call he hear), And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear; We only part to meet again. Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind. They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For thou art present wheresoe’er I go.

If to fair India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view, Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

Though battle call me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, William shall to his dear return. Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard: They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land: Adieu ! she cries; and wav'd her lily hand.

WERSES

To be placed under the Picture of SIR. Richard BlackMoRE, England's Arch-Poet, containing a complete Catalogue of his Works.

See who ne'er was nor will be half read:
Who first sang Arthur, than sang Alfred,
Prais'd great Eliza in God's anger,
Till all true Englishmen cry’d, Hang her!
Made William's virtues wipe the bare a-
And hang'd up Marlborough in arras;
Then, hiss'd from earth, grew heavenly quite;
Made every reader curse the light:
Maul'd human wit in one thick satire,
Next in three books spoil'd human nature;

Undid creation at a jirk,
And of redemption made damn'd work,
Then took his Muse at once and dipt her
Full in the middle of the Scripture.
What wonders there the man, grown old, did?
Sternhold himself, he out-Sternholded. 3 utu i
. o so mad and freakish,
ought him iust wh - -
No . read o o king Achish,
o Re’boam his own son.
oses he serv’d as Moses
And Deborah, as she o
Made Jeremy full sore to cry,
*so himself curse God and die
at punishment all thi -
Shall Arthur use him loor
Shall David as Uriah slay him? o
Or dext'rous Deborah Sisera-him?
Or shall Eliza lay a plot,
To treat him like her sister Scot?
Shall William dub his better end
Or Marlborough serve him like Wria,
No!—none of these !—Heaven spare his life!
But send him, honest Job, thy wife!

*-
FABLES.

*** *AGLE AND THE Assembly or Animals, As Jupiter's all-seeing eye survey'd the worlds beneath the sky, From this small speck of earth were sent Murmurs and sounds of discontent; For everything alive complain'd, That he the hardest life sustain'd.

Jove calls his eagle. At the word,
Before him stands the royal bird.
The bird, obedient, from heaven's height,
Downward directs his rapid flight;
Then cited every living thing,
To hear the mandates of his king. .

“ Ungrateful creatures 1 whence ar”
These murmurs which offend the skies?
why this disorder? say the cause;
For just are Jove's eternal laws.
Let each his discontent . o,

on sour dog I first "PP” :as

To: is . (the o: .! !
On what fleet nerve” the o o
whili, with weary"...,go.
o'er plains, and vo" and o usly
The morning sees "Y *. #.
Nor ends it till the o o I pursue,
... when (says the E. view;

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Whose wings were rapid, strong, and light:
The pigeon strength of wing despis d;
And the cock's matchless valour priz d.
The fishes wish'd to graze the plain ;
The beasts, to skim beneath the main.
Thus, envious of another's state,
Each blam'd the partial hand of fate.
The bird of heaven then cry’d aloud;
“Jove bids disperse the murmuring crowd;
The god rejects your idle prayers.
Would ye, rebellious mutineers!
Entirely change your name and nature,
And be the very envy'd creature ?
What! silent all, and none consent?
Be happy, then, and learn content;
Nor imitate the restless mind,
And proud ambition, of mankind.”

The Miser AND PluTUS.

The wind was high, the window shakes,
With sudden start the miser wakes;
Along the silent room he stalks,
Looks back, and trembles as he walks.
Each lock and every bolt he tries,
In every creek and corner pries;
Then opes the chest with treasure stor'd,
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard.
But now, with sudden qualms possest,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast,
By conscience stung, he wildly stares,
And thus his guilty soul declares:
“Had the deep earth her stores confin'd,
This heart had known sweet peace of mind.
But virtue's sold. Good gods ! what price
Can recompense the pangs of vice:
Obane of good! seducing cheat!
Can man, weak man, thy power defeat
Gold banish'd honour from the mind,
And only left the name behind;
Gold sow'd the world with every ill;
Gold taught the murderer's sword to kill:
'Twas gold instructed coward-hearts
In treachery's more pernicious arts.
Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
Virtue resides on earth no more 1”
He spoke, and sigh’d. In angry mood
Plutus, his god, before him stood.
The miser, trembling, lock'd his chest:
The vision frown'd, and thus address'd :
“Whence is this vile ungrateful rant,
Each sordid rascal's daily cant?
Did I, base wretch! corrupt mankind
The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
Because my blessings are abus'd,
Must I be censur'd, curs'd, accus’d 2
Ev’n virtue's self by knaves is made
A cloak to carry on the trade ;

And power (when lodg'd in their possession)

Grows tyranny, and rank oppression.
Thus, when the villain crams his chest,
Gold is the canker of the breast;
'Tis avarice, insolence, and pride,

And every shocking vice beside;

But, when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
It blesses, like the dews of heaven:
Like heaven, it hears the orphan's cries,
And wipes the tears from widows' eyes.
Their crimes on gold shall misers lay,
Who pawn'd their sordid souls for pay?
Let bravos, then, when blood is spilt,
Upbraid the passive sword with guilt."

THE LIow, The Fox, AND THE GEEse. A lion, tir’d with state-affairs, Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares, Resolv’d (remote from noise and strife) In peace to pass his latter life. It was proclaim'd; the day was set; Behold the general council met. The fox was viceroy nam'd. The crowd To the new regent humbly bow’d. Wolves, bears, and mighty tigers bend, And strive who most shall condescend. He straight assumes a solemn grace, Collects his wisdom in his face. The crowd admire his wit, his sense; Each word hath weight and consequence. The flatterer all his art displays: He who hath power is sure of praise. A fox stept forth before the rest, And thus the servile throng addrest: “How vast his talents, born to rule, And train'd in virtue's honest school I What clemency his temper sways! How uncorrupt are all his ways! Beneath his conduct and command, Rapine shall cease to waste the land. His brain hath stratagem and art; Prudence and mercy rule his heart. What blessings must attend the nation Under this good administration.” He said. A goose who distant stood, Harangu'd apart the cackling brood: “Whene'er I hear a knave commend, He bids me shun his worthy friend. What Praise! what mighty commendation! But 'twas a fox who spoke th' oration. Foxes this government may prize, As gentle, plentiful and wise; If they enjoy the sweets, 'tis plain We geese must feel a tyrant reign. What havoc now shall thin our race, When every petty clerk in place, To prove his taste, and seem polite, Will feed on geese both noon and night!”

**onkey who had sers rue Wortlan, A monkey, to reform the times Resolv’d to visit foreign clime: ; For men in distant regions roam, To bring politer manners home. so forth he fares, all toil defies: Misfortune serves to makeu, wise.

*length the treacherous snare was laid;

Poor Pug was caught; to town convey'd;
There sold. (How envy'd was his doom,
Made captive in a lady's room ()
Proud, as a lover, of his chains,
He day by day her favour gains.
Whene'er the duty of the day
The toilette calls, with mimic play
He twirls her knots, he cracks her fan,
Like any other gentleman.
In visits too, his parts and wit,
When jests grew dull, were sure to hit.
Proud with applause he thought his mind
In every courtly art refin'd;
Like Orpheus, burnt with public zeal,
To civilize the monkey-weal;
So watch'd occasion, broke his chain,
And sought his native woods again.
The hairy sylvans round him press,
Astonish'd at his strut and dress.
Some praise his sleeve, and others gloat
Upon his rich embroider'd coat;
His dapper perriwig commending,
With the black tail behind depending;
His powder'd back, above, below,
Like hoary frosts, or fleecy snow;
But all, with envy and desire,
His fluttering shoulder-knot admire.
“Hear and improve,” he pertly cries:
I come to make a nation wise.
Weigh your own worth ; support your place,
The next in rank to human race.
In cities long I pass'd my days, -
Convers'd with men, and learn'd their ways.
Their dress, their courtly manners see;
Reform your state, and copy me.
Seek ye to thrive? In flattery deal;
Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal.
Seem only to regard your friends,
But use them for your private ends.
Stint not to truth the flow of wit:
Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit.
Bend all your force to spatter merit;
Scandal is conversation's spirit.
Boldly to every thing pretend,
And men your talents shall commend.
I knew the great. Observe me right;
So shall you grow, like man, polite.”
He spoke, and bow’d. With muttering jaws
The wondering circle grinn'd applause.
Now, warm'd with malice, envy, spite,
Their most obliging friends they bite;
And, fond to copy human ways,
Practise new mischiefs all their days.
Thus the dull lad, too tall for school,
With travel finishes the fool;
Studious of every coxcomb's airs,
He drinks, games, dresses, whores, and swears;
O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts,
For vice is fitted to his parts.

The PIN AND THE NEEDLE. A pin, who long had serv'd a beauty,

Proficient in the toilette's duty;
Had form'd her sleeve, confin'd her hair,
Or given her knot a smarter air;
Now nearest to her heart was plac'd,
Now in her mantua's tail disgrac'd :
But could she partial fortune blame,
Who saw her lovers serv'd the same *
At length from all her honours cast,
Through various turns of life she past;
Now glitter'd on a taylor's arm,
Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
Now, rang'd within a miser's coat,
Contributes to his yearly groat;
Now rais'd again from low approach,
She visits in the doctor's coach:
Here, there, by various fortune tost,
At last in Gresham hall was lost.
Charm'd with the wonders of the show,
On every side, above, below,
She now of this or that inquires,
What least was understood admires.
"Tis plain, each thing so struck her mind,
Her head's of virtuoso kind.
“And pray what's this, and this, dear sir?”
“A needle,” says th’ interpreter.
She knew the name; and thus the fool
Address'd her as a taylor's tool.
“A needle with that filthy stone,
Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown;

. You better might employ your parts,

And aid the sempstress in her arts;
But tell me how the friendship grew
Between that paltry flint and you.”
“Friend,” says the needle, “cease to blame;
I follow real worth and fame.
Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art,
That virtue virtues can impart?
Of all his talents I partake:
Who then can such a friend forsake?
'Tis I direct the pilot's hand
To shun the rocks and treacherous sand:

By me the distant world is known,

And either India is our own.
Had I with milliners been bred,
What had I been the guide of thread;
And drudg’d as vulgar needles do,
Of no more consequence than you.”

The PAINTER WHo PLEASED Nobody AND EVERY Bold Y.

Lest men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.
The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.
Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes even his real courage doubted.
But flattery never seems absurd;
The flatter'd always takes your word:
Impossibilities seem just;
They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.

So very like a painter drew, That every eye the picture knew; He hit complexion, feature, air, So just, the life itself was there. No flattery, with his colours laid, To bloom restor'd the faded maid; He gave each muscle all its strength; The mouth, the chin, the nose's length; His honest pencil touch'd with truth, And mark'd the date of age and youth. He lost his friends, his practice fail'd : Truth should not always be reveal’d: In dusty piles his pictures lay, For no one sent the second pay. Two bustos, fraught with every grace, A Venus’ and Apollo's face, He plac'd in view; resolv'd to please, Whoever sat he drew from these ; From these corrected every feature, And spirited each aukward creature. All things were set; the hour was come, His pallet ready o'er his thumb. My lord appear'd ; and seated right, In proper attitude and light, The painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece, Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece, Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air: “Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there, Might well a Raphael's hand require, To give them all the native fire; The features, fraught with sense and wit, You'll grant, are very hard to hit; But yet with patience you shall view As much as paint and art can do.” Observe the work. My lord replied, “Till now I thought my mouth was wide; Besides, my nose is somewhat long: Dear sir, for me, ’tis far too young.” “Oh pardon me,” the artist cry’d; “In this we painters must decide. The piece ev'n common eyes must strike, I warrant it extremely like.” My lord examin'd it anew; No looking-glass seem'd half so true. A lady came; with borrow'd grace He from his Venus form'd her face. Her lover prais'd the painter's art; So like the picture in his heart! To every age some charm he lent; Ev’n beauties were almost content. Through all the town his art they prais'd; His custom grew, his price was rais'd. Had he the real likeness shown, Would any man the picture own 2 But, when thus happily he wrought, Each found the likeness in his thought.

The BUTTERFLY AND THE snail,

All upstarts, insolent in place,

Remind us of their vulgar race. As in the sunshine of the morn

A butterfly (but newly born)

Sat proudly perking on a rose,
With pert conceit his bosom glows;
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he displays; the spangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.
His now-forgotten friend a snail,
Beneath his house, with slimy trail,
Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies,
In wrath he to the gardener cries:
“What means yon peasant's daily toil,
From choking weeds to rid the soil
Why wake you to the morning's care
Why with new arts correct the year?
Why grows the peach with crimson hue?
And why the plum's inviting blue?
Were they to feast his taste design'd,
That vermin of voracious kind
Crush then the slow, the pilfering race,
So purge thy garden from disgrace.”
“What arrogance 1” the snail reply'd;
“How insolent is upstart pride 1
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain,
I had conceal’d thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth:
For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours,
To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
Since I thy humbler life survey'd,
In base, in sordid guise array'd;
A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
You dragg’d a slow and noisome train;
And from your spider bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and snail shall end.
And what's a butterfly? at best
He's but a caterpillar drest;
And all thy race (a numerous seed)
Shall prove of caterpillar breed.”

THE Fox AT THE Point or death.

A fox, in life's extreme decay,
Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay :
All appetite had left his maw,
And age disarm'd his mumbling jaw.
His numerous race around him stand,
To learn their dying sire's command:
He rais'd his head with whining moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone:
“Ah! sons! from evil ways depart;
My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
See, see, the murder'd geese appear !
Why are those bleeding turkeys there?
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chickens slain "
The hungry foxes round them star'd,
And for the promis'd feast prepar’d.
“Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer?
Nor turkey, goose, nor hen, is here.
These are the phantoms of your brain;
And your sons lick their lips in vain.”

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