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To share thy adverfe fate alone pretend,
In power a servant, out of power a friend.
Here pour thy favours in an ample food,
Indulge thy boundless thirst of doing good.
Nor think that good alone to him confin'd;
Such to oblige is to oblige mankind.
If thus thy mighty master's fteps thou trace,
The brave to cherish, and the good to grace,
Long shalt thou stand from rage and faction free,
And teach us long to love the king and thee;
Or fall a victim, dangerous to the foe,
And make him tremble when he strikes the blow;
While honour, gratitude, affection join,
To deck thy close, and brighten thy decline.
Illustrious doom! the great when thus displac'd,
With friendship guarded, and with virtue graced,
In aweful ruin, like Rome's senate, fall

prey and worship of the wond'ring Gaul.
No doubt to genius, some reward is due,
(Excluding that were satirizing you:)

yet believe thy undefigning friend, When truth and genius for thy choice contend, Though both have weight, when in the balance calt, Let probity be first, and parts the last.


On these foundations if thou dar'it be great,
And check the growth of folly and deceit,
When party rage shall drop through length of days,
And calumny be ripen’d into praise,
Then future times shall to thy worth allow
That fame, which envy would call flattery now.

Thus far my zeal, though for the talk unfit,
Has pointed out the rocks where others split:
By that inspir’d, though stranger to the Nine,
And negligent of any fame but thine,
I take that friendly, but superfluous part,
That acts from nature what I teach from art.

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To a LADY on a LANDSCAPE of her Drawing.



EHOLD the magic of Theresa's hand !

A new creation blooms at her command.
Touch'd into life the vivid colours glow,
Catch the warm stream, and quicken as they fow.
The ravish'd fight the pleasing landscape fills,
Here sink the vallies, and there rise the hills.


Not with more horror nods bleak Calpe's height,
Than here the pictur'd rock astounds the fight.
Not Thames more devious-winding leaves his fource,
Than here the wand'ring rivers shape their course.
Obliquely lab'ring runs the gurgling rill;
Still murm'ring runs, or seems to murmur still.
An aged oak, with hoary moss o'erspread,
Here lifts aloft its venerable head;
There overshadowing hangs a sacred wood,
And nods inverted in the neighb'ring flood.
Each tree as in its native forest shoots,
And blushing bends with Autumn's golden fruits.
Thy pencil lends the rose a lovelier hue,
And gives the lily fairer to our view.
Here fruits and flow'rs adorn the varied year,
And paradise with all its sweets is here.
There stooping to its fall a tow'r appears,
With tempests shaken, and a weight of years.
The daisied meadow, and the woodland green,
In order rise, and fill the various scene.

Some parts, in light magnificently dress’d,
Obtrusive enter, and stand all confess’d;
Whilst others decently in shades are thrown,
And by concealing make their beauties known.



Alternate thus, and mutual is their aid,
Their lights owe half their luftre to the shade.

So the bright fires that light the milky way,
Loft and extinguish'd in the folar ray;
In the sun's absence pour a flood of light,
And borrow all their brightnefs from the night.

To cheat our eyes how well dost thou contrive!
Each object here seems real and alive.
Not more resembling life the figures stand,
Form’d by Lysippus, or by Phidias' hand.
Unnumber'd beauties in the piece unite;
Ruth on the eye, and crowd upon the sight.
At once our wonder and delight you raise,
We view with pleasure, and with rapture praise.

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Visit Britain's rocky fhore,
Britons too thy pow'r adore,
Britons hardy, bold, and free,
Own thy laws, and yield to thee.
Source of

every heart-felt joy, Come thou rofy-dimpled boy.

Haste to Sylvia, hafte away,
This is thine, and Hymen's day;
Bid her thy soft bondage wear,
Bid her for Love's rites prepare.
Let the nymphs with many a flow's
Deck the sacred nuptial bow'r.
Thither lead the lovely fair,
And let Hymen too be there.
This is thine, and Hymen's day,
Hafte to Sylvia, hafte away.

Only while we love, we live,
Love alone can pleasure give;
Pomp and pow'r, and tinsel state,
Those false pageants of the great,
Crowns and fçepters, envied things,
And the pride of Eastern kings,

L 2


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