440

In dawning purple; from their lips le learn'd,
How to yon ifle, yon round of mofs-clad hills,
Borea nam'd, before the tempest borne,
Thefe iftanders, thrice three, then prifon'd there,
(So heaven ordain'd) with utmost peril rum,
With toil invincible, from fhelve and rock
Their boat preferv'd, and to this happy coaft
Its prow directed fate-He heard no more:
The rest already known, his every sense,
His full collected foul, on her alone
Was fix'd, was hung enraptur'd, while thefe founds,
This voice, as of an angel, pierc'd his ear.

Amyntor! O my life's recover'd hope!
My foul's defpair and rapture!--can this be?
Am I on earth? and thefe arms indeed
Thy real form enfold? Thou dreadful deep
Ye fhores unknown! ye wild impending hills!
Dare 1 yet truft my fenfe?-O yes, 'tis he!
1 is he himself! My eyes, my bounding heart,
Confefs their living lord! What fhall I fay?
How vent the boundless transport that expands
My labouring thought? th' unutterable bliss, 456
Joy, wonder, gratitude, that pain to death
The breaft they charm?-Amyntor, O fupport
This fwimming braia: I would not now be torn
A gain from life and thee; nor cause thy heart
A fecond pang. At this, dilated high
The fwell of joy, most fatal where its force
Is felt moft exquifite, a timely vent
Now found, and broke in tender dews away

461

Of heart-relieving tears. As o'er its charge, 465
With fheltering wing, folicitoufly good,
The guardian-genius hovers, fo the youth,
On her lov'd face, affiduous and alarm'd,
In filent fondnefs dwelt: while all his foul,
With trembling tendernefs of hope and fear
Pleafingly pain'd, was all employ'd for her;
The rouz'd emotions warring in her breast,
Attempering, to compofe, and gradual fit
For further joy her foft impreffive frame.

470

O happy! though as yet thou know'st not half The blifs that waits thee! but, thou gentle mind, Whole figh is pity, and whofe fmile is love, For all who joy or forrow, arm thy breaft With that beft temperance, which from fond excefs,

When rapture lifts to dangerous height its powers, Reflective guards. Know then-and let calm thought

431

On wonder wait-fafe refug'd in this ifle,
Thy god-like father lives! and le--but curb,
Reprefs the transport that o'erheaves thy heart;
'Tis be-look yonder-he, whofe reverend feps
The mountain's fide defcend! Abrupt from his
Her hand the drew; and, as on wings upborne,
Shot o'er the space between. He faw, he knew,
Aftonish'd knew, before him, on her knee,
His Theodora! To his arms he rais'd
The loft lov'd fair, and in his bofom prefs'd.
My father! my child! at once they cry'd :
Nor more, The reft ecftatic filence fpoke,
Aud Nature from her inmoft feat of fenfe
Beyond all utterance mov'd. On this bleft fcene,
Where emulous in either bofon strove
Adoring gratitude, earth, ocean, air,

490

495

Now, while the fong, The choral hymn, in wildly-warbled notes, What Nature dictates when the full heart prompts, Beft harmony, they grateful fouls effus'd Aloud to heaven; Montano, reverend Seer, (Whofe eye prophetic far through time's abyfs Could fhoot its beam, and there the births of fate, Yet immature and in their caufes hid, Illumin'd fee) a space abstracted flood: His frame with fhivery horror ftirr'd, his eyes From outward vifion held, and all the man Entranc'd in wonder at th' unfolding scene, On fluid air, as in a mirror feen, And glowing radiant, to his mental fight.

515

520

They fly he cry'd, they melt in air away, The clouds that long fair Albion's heaven o'ercaft! With tempeft delug'd, or with flame devour'd Her drooping plains: while dawning rofy round 526 A purer morning lights up all her flies! He comes, behold! the great deliverer comes! Immortal William, borne triumphant on, From yonder orient, o'er propitious feas, White with the fails of his unnumber'd fleet, 530 A floating foreft, ftretch'd from fhore to fhore! See! with spread wings Britannia's genius flies, Before his prow; commands the speeding gales To waft him on! and, o'er the hero's head, Inwreath'd with olive bears the laurel crown, 535 Bleft emblem, peace with liberty restor❜d! And hark! from either ftrand, which fiations hide, To welcome-in true treedom's day renew'd What thunders of acclaim! Aurelius, man

By heaven belov'd, thou too that facred fun 540

Shalt live to hail; alt warm thee in his fhine!
I fee thee on the flowery lap diffus'd
of thy lov'd vale, amid a fmiling race
From this bleft pair to fpring: whom equal faith,
And equal fondnefs, in foft league fall hold 545
From youth to reverend age; the calmer hours
Of thy laft day to fweeten and adorn;
Through life thy comfort, and in death thy crown,

TRUTH IN RHYME,

ADDRESSED TO A CERTAIN NOBLE LORD.

ASTREA, eldeft born of Jove,

Whom all the gods revere and love,
Was fent, while man deferv'd their care,
On earth to dwell, and govern there :
Till finding earth by heaven unaw'd,
Till fick of violence and fraud,
Abandoning the guilty crew,
Back to her native sky fhe flew,

There, ftation'd in the Virgin-fign,
She long has ceas'd on earth to fhine;
Or if, at times, the deigns a fmile,
'Tis chief 6'er Britain's favour'd ifle.

For there her eyes with wonder fix'd!
That wonder too with pleafure mix'd!
She now beheld, in blooming youth,
The Patron of all worth and truth;
Not where the virtues moft resort,
On peaceful plains, but in a court!
Not in a cottage, all-unknown;
She found him feated on a throne!
What fables paint, what poets fing,
She found in fact-a Patriot-king!

But as a fight, fo nobly new,
Deferv'd, he thought, a nearer view;
To where, by filver-itreaming Thames,
Afcends the palace of St. James,
Swift through furrounding fhades of night,
The goddefs fhot her beamy flight.
She stopp'd; and the revealing ray
Blaz'd round her favourite, where he lay,
In fweet repofe: o'er all his face,
Repose shed foiter bloom and grace!
But fearful left her fun-bright glare
Too foon might wake him into care,
(For fplendid toils and weary ftate
Are every monarch's envy'd fate)
The ftream of circling rays to fhroud,
She drew an interpoling cloud.

In all the filence of furprize,
She gaz'd him o'er! She faw arife,
For gods can read the human breast,
Her own ideas there impreft!
And that his plan, to bless mankind,
The plan now brightening in his mind,
May ftory's whiteft page adorn,
May fhine through nations yet unborn,
She calls Urania to her aid.

At once the fair ethereal maid,
Daughter of Memory and Jove,
Defcending quits her laurel'd grove :
Loofe to the gale her azure robe;
Borne, in her left, a ftarry globe,
Where each fuperior fon of fame
Will find infcribed his deathless name,
Her right fuftains th' immortal lyre,
To praife due merit, or inspire.

Behold Aftrea thus began-
The friend of virtue and of man!
Calm reafon fee, in early youth!
See, in a prince, the foul of truth!
With love of juftice, tender fenfe
For fufiering worth and innocence !
Who means to build his happy reign
On this bleft maxim, wife and plain-
Though plain, how feldom understood!
That, to be great, he must be good.
His breaft is open to your eye;
Approach, Urania, mark, and try.
This bofom needs no thought to hide :
This virtue dares our fearch abide.
The facred fountains to fecure
Of juftice, undisturb'd and pure

From hopes or fears, from fraud or force,
To ruffie or to ftain their course;
That thefe may flow ferene and free,
The law must independent be:
Her minifters, as in my fight,
And mine alone, difpenfing right;
Of piercing eye, of judgment clear,"
As honour, juft, as truth, fincere.
With temper, firm, with fpirit, fage,
The Mansfields of each future age.

And this prime bleffing is to fpring
From youth in purple! from a king!
Who, true to his imperial trutt,
His greatnefs founds in being just;
Prepares, like yon afcending fun,
His glorious race with joy to run,
And, where his gracious eye appears,
To blefs the world he lights and chears!
Such worth with equal voice to fing,
Urania, ftrike thy boldest string;
And truth, whofe voice alone is praife,
That here infpires, fhall guide the lays.
Begin! awake his gentle ear
With founds that monarchs rarely hear.
He merits, let him know our love,
And you record, what I approve.

:

She ended and the heaven-born maid,
With foft furprize, his form furvey'd.
She faw what chastity of thought,
Within his ftainlefs bofom wroughts
Then fix'd on earth her fober eye,
And, paufing, offer'd this reply.

Nor pomp of fong, nor paint of art,
Such truths fhould to the world impart.
My task is but, in fimple verfe,
Thefe promis'd wonders to rehearse:
And when on the fe our verfe we raife,
The plaineft is the nobleft praise.

Yet more; a virtuous doubt remains :
Would fuch a prince permit my ftrains?
Deferving, but still fhunning fame,
The homage due he might difclaim.
A prince, who rules, to fave, mankind,
His praife would, in their virtue, find;
Would deem their ftrict regard to laws,
Their faith and worth, his best applause,
Then, Britons, your just tribute bring,
In deeds, to emulate your king;
In virtues, to redeem your age
From venal views and party-rage.
On his example safely rest;
He calls, he courts you to be bleft;
As friends, as brethren, to unite
In one firm league of just and right.
My part is laft; if Britain yet
A lover boasts of truth and wit,
To him thefe grateful lays to fend,
The Monarch's and the Mufe's friend;
And whofe fair name, in facred rhymes,
My voice may give to latest times.

She faid; and, after thinking o'er The men in place near half a score, To ftrike at once all scandal mute, The goddess found, and fix'd on BUTE.

TO THE

AUTHOR OF THE PRECEDING POEM.

BY S. J. ESQUIRE.

WELL-now, I think, we fhall be wifer,
Crie Grub, who reads the Advertiser,
Here's Truth in Rhyme--a glorious treat!
It furely must abuse the great;
Perhaps the king ;---without dispute
'Twill all mott devilish hard on Bute.

Thrice he revi ws his parting killing,
At lait refolves, though much unwilling,
To break all rules imbib'd in youth,
And give it up for Rhyme and fruth:

He reads--he frowns---Why, what's the matter?
Damn it--here's neither fenie, nor fatyr-
Here, take it, boy, there's nothing in't:-
Such fellows!to pretend to print!

Blame not, good cit, the poet's rhymes,
The fault's not his, but in the times:
The times, in which a monarch reigns,
Form'd to make happy Britain's plains;
To ftop in their deftru&tive course,
Domeitic phrenfy, foreign force,
To bid war, faction, party cease,
And bleis the weary'd world with peace.
The times in which is feen, ftrange fight!
A court both virtuous and polite,
Where merit beft can recommend,
And fcience finds a conftant friend.

How then fhould fatyr dare to sport,
With fuch a king, and fuch a court,
While Truth looks on with rigid eye,
And tells her, every line 's alye?

THE DISCOVERY:

UPON READING SOME VERSES, WRITTEN BY

A YOUNG LADY AT A BOARDING-SCHOOL,

6EPTEMBER, M,DCC,LX.

POLLO lately fent to know,

A'If he had any fons below:

For, by the trafh he long had feen
In male and female Magazine,
A hundred quires not worth a groat,
The race must be extinct, he thought.
His meffenger to court repairs;
Wals foftly with the croud up flairs:
But when he had his errand told,

The courtiers freer'd, both young and old,
Auguftus knit his royal brow,

And bade him let Apollo know it,

That from his infancy till now,

He lov'd or poetry nor poet.
His next adventure was the Park,
When it grew faniorably dark:

There beauties, boobies, ftrumpets, rakes,
Talk much of commerce, whift, and ftakes;
Who tips the wink, who drops the card :
But not one word of Verfe or Bard.

The stage, Apollo's old domain, Where his true fons were wont to reign,

His courier now paft frowning by:
Ye modern Durfeys, tell us why.
Slow, to the city laft he went:
There, all was profe, of cent per cent.
There, alley-omniun, fcript, and bonus,
(Latin, for which a Mufe would ftone us,
Yet honeft Gideon's claffic tile)

Made our poor Nuncio ftare and fmile.

And now the clock had ftruck eleven: The meffer ger muft back to heaven; But, just as he his wings had ty'd, Look'd up Queen-Square, the North-east side. A blooming creature there he found, With pea and ink, and books around, Alone, and writing by a taper : He read unfeen, then ftole her paper. It much amus'd him on his way; And reaching heaven by break of day, He fhew'd Apollo what he ftole. The god perus'd, and lik'd the whole : Then, calling for his pocket-book, Some right celeftial vellum took; And what he with a fun-beam there Writ down, the Mufe thus copies fair: "If I no men my fons must call,' "Here's one fair daughter worth them all: "Mark then the facred words that follow, "Sophia's mine”—fo fign'd

VERSES,

APOLLO.

WRITTEN FOR, AND GIVEN IN PRINT TO, A BEGGAR.

MERCY, heaven's first attribute,

Whofe care embraces man and brute!
Behold me, where I fhivering ftand;
Bid gentle Pity tretch her hand
To want and age, difeafe and pain,
That all in one fad object reign.
Still feeling bad, ftill fearing worse,
Exiftence is to me a curfe

Yet, how to clofe this weary eye?
By my own hand I dare not die':
And death, the friend of human woes,
Who brings the laft and found repose;
Death does at dreadful distance keep,
And leaves one wretch to wake and weep!

Of Bumbo, when a bard is feen
Charg'd with his dedication-book?

But gods are never in the wrong:
What then difpleas'd the power of fong?
The cafe was this: Where noble arts
Once flourish'd, as our fathers tell us,
He now can find, for men of parts,

None but rich blockheads and mere fellows;
Since drums and dice and diffipation
Have chac'd all tafte from all the nation.
For is there, now, one table fpread,
Where fenfe and fcience may be fed?
Where, with a fmile on every face,
Invited Merit takes his place?
Thefe thoughts put Phoebus in the spleen,
(For gods, like men, can feel chagrin)
And left him on the point to shroud
His head in one eternal cloud;
When, lo! his all-difcerning eye
Chanc'd one remaining friend to spy,
Juft crept abroad, as is his way,
To bak him in the moon-tide ray.
This Phebus noting, call'd aloud
To every interpong cloud;
And bade their gather'd mifts afcend,
That he might warm his good old friend:
Then, as his chariot roll'd along,
Tun'd to his lyre this grateful fong.

"With talents, fuch as God has given
To common mortals, fix in feven;
Who yet have titles, ribbons, pay,
And govern whom they fhould obey;
With no more frailties than are found
In thousand others, count them round;
With much good-will, inftead of parts,
Exprefs'd for artifts and for arts;
Who fmiles, if you have fmartly spoke ;
Or nods applause to his own joke;
This bearded child, this grey-hair'd
Still plays with life, as with a toy;
Still keeps amufement full in view:
Wife? Now and then-but oftener new;
His coach, this hour, at Watson's door;
The next, in waiting on a whore.

Whene'er the welcome tidings ran
Of monster ftrange, or ftranger man,
A Selkirke from his defart-ifle,
Or Alligator from the Nile;

He faw the moufter in its Crine,

And had the man, next day, to dine.
Or was it an hermaphrodite?
You found him in a two-fold hurry;
Neglecting, for this he-fhe-fight,

boy,

The fingle charms of Fanny Murray.
Gathering, from fuburb and from city,
Who were, who would be, wife or witty;
The full-wigg'd fons of pills and potions;
The bags, of maggot and new notions;
The fage, of microscopic eye,
Who reads him lectures on a fly;
Grave Antiquaries, with their flams;
And Poets, fquirting epigrams:

With fome few Lords of thofe that think,

And dip, at times, their pen in ink :

Nay, Ladies too, of diverse fame,

Who are, and are not, of the game,

For he has look'd the world around,

And pleasure, in each quarter, found."
Now young, now old, now grave, now gay,
He finks from life by foft decay;
And fees at hand, without affright,
Th' inevitable hour of night."

But here, fome pillar of the state,
Whofe lite is one long dull debate;
Some pedant of the fable gown,
Who fpares no failings, but his own,
Set up at once their deep-mouth'd hollow:
Is this a fubject for Apollo!

What! can the God of wit and verfe
Such trifles in our ears rebearfe?

"Know, puppies, this man's eafy life,
Serene from cares, unvex'd with ftrife,
Was oft employ'd in doing good;
A fcience you ne'er understood:
And Charity, ye fons of Pride,"
A multitude of faults will hide.

I, at his board, more fenfe have found,
Than at a hundred dinners round.

Tafte, learning, mirth, my weftern eye
Could often, there, collected spy:
And I have gone well-pleas'd to bed,
Revolving what was fung or faid.

;

"And he, who entertain'd them all With much good liquor, ftrong and small With food in plenty, and a welcome, Which would become my Lord of Melcombe *, Whofe foups and fauces duly feafou'd,

Whofe wit well tin'd, and fenfe well reafon'd,
Give Burgundy a brighter ftain,

And add new flavour to Champagne-
Shall this man to the grave defcend,
Unown'd, unhonour'd as my friend?
No: by my deity I fwear,
Nor f all the vow be loft in air;
While you, and millions tuch as you,
Are fuch or ever from my view,
And loft in kindred-darkness lye,
This good old man all never die :
No matter where I place his name,
His love of learning fhall be fame.

IT

TY BURN:

TO THE

MARINE SOCIETY.

has been, all examples fhow it,
The privilege of every poet,

From ancient dowif through modern time,
To bid dead matter live in rhyme;
With wit enliven fenfelefs rocks;
Draw repartee from wooden blocks;

Make buzzards fenators of note,

And rooks harangue, that geefe may vote.
Thefe moral fictions, first defign'd

To mend and mortify mankind,

*This Poem was certainly written in 1757 ; but the reader has only to remember, that Apollo is the Ged of Prophecy as well as of Petry. MALLET.

Old fop, as our children know,
Taught twice ten hundred years ago.
His tiy, upon the chariot-wheel,
Could all a ftatefman's merit feel;
And, to its own importance juft,
Exclaim with Bufo, What a duft!
His horfe-dung, when the flood ran high,
In Colon's air and accent cry,
While tumbling down the turbid ftream,
Lord love us, how we apples fwim!

But farther inftances to cite,
Would tire the hearer's patience quite.
No: what their numbers and their worth,
How these admire, while those hold forth,
From Hyde-park on to Clerkenwell,
Let clubs, let coffee-houfes tell;

Where England, through the world renown'd,
In all its wifdom may be found:
While I, for ornament and use,
An orator of wood produce,

Why should the gentle reader ftare?
Aare wooden orators fo rare ?
Saint Stephen's Chapel, Rufus' Hall,
That hears them in the pleader bawl,
That bears them in the patriot thunder,
I Can tell if fuch things are a wonder,
So can Saint Dunftan's in the West,
When good Romaine barangues his beft,
And tells his ftaring congregation,
That fober fenfe is fure damnation;
That Newton's guilt was worfe than treafon,
For ufing, what God gave him, reason.
A pox of all this prefacing!

Smart Balbus cries: come, name the thing:
That fuch there are we all agree:
What is this wood?-Tyburn tree.

Hear then this reverend oak harangue;
Who makes men do fo, ere they hang.

Patibulum loquitur.

"Each thing whatever, when aggriev'd, Of right complains, to be reliev'd. When rogues fo rais'd the price of wheat, That few folks could afford to eat, (Juft as, when doctor's fees run high, Few patients can afford to die)

1

The poor durft into murmurs break;
For lofers must have leave to fpeak :
Then, from reproaching, fell to mawling
Each neighbour-rogue they found foreftalling.
As thefe again, their knaves and fetters,
Durft vent complaints against their betters;
Whofe only crime was 'in defeating
Their fcheme of growing rich by cheating:
So, fhall not I my wrongs relate,
An injur'd Minister of state?
The finisher of care and pain

May, fure, wish better grace complain,
For reafons no lefs ftrong and true,
Marine Society, of you!

Of you, as every carman knows,
My lateft and most fatal foes.

My property you bafely steal,
Which e'en a British oak can feel;
Feel and refent! what wonder, then
1: fhould be felt by British men,

When France, infulting, durft invade
Their cleareft property of trade?
For which both nations, at the bar
Of that fupreme tribunal, war,
To fhow their reafons have agreed,
And lawyers, by ten thousands, feed;
Who now, for legal quirks and puns,
Plead with the rhetoric of great guns ;
And each his client's caufe maintains,
By knocking out th' opponent's brains :
While Europe all-but we adjourn
This wife digreffion, and return.

Your rules and ftatutes have undone me:
My fureft cards begin to fhun me.
My native fubjects dare rebel,
Thofe who were born for me and hell:
And, but for you, the fcoundrel-line
Had, every mother's fon, died mine.
A race unnumber'd as unknown,
Whom town or fuburb calls her own;
Of vagrar- love the various fpawn,
From rags and filth, from lace and lawn,
Sons of Fleet-ditch, of bulks, of benches,
Where peer and porter meet their wenches,
For neither health nor fhame can wean us,
From mixing with the midnight Venus.

Nor let my cits be here forgot:
They know to fin, as well as fot.
When Night demure walks forth, array'd
In her thin negligee of fhade.
Late rifen from their long regale
Of beef and beer, and bawdy tale,
Abroad the common-council fally,
To poach for game in lane or alley;
This gets a fon, whofe firft effay
Will filch his father's till away;
A daughter that, who may retire,
Some few years hence, with her own fire:
And, while his hand is in her placket,
The flial virtue picks his pocket.
Change-alley too, is grown fo nice,
A broker dares refine on vice:

With lord-li e fcorn of marriage vows,

In her own arms he cuckolds fpouse ;
For young and fresh while he would with her,
His loufe thought glows with Kitty Fisher;
Or, after nobler quarry running,

Profanely paints her out a Gunning.

Now thefe, of each degeee and fort,
At Wapping dropp'd, perhaps at Court,
Bred up for me, to fwear and lie,
To laugh at hell, and heaven defy;
Thefe, Tyburn's regimental train,
Who rifk their necks to fpread my reign,
From age to age, by right divine,
Hereditary rogues, were mine:
And each, by difcipline fevere,
Improv'd beyond all fhame and fear,
From guilt to guilt advancing daily,
My conftant friend the good Old-Bailey
To me made over, late or foon;
I think, at lateft, once a noon:
But, by your interloping care,
Not one in ten fhall be my fhare.

Ere 'tis too late your error fee,
You foes to Britain, and to me.