Of colonades, of corridores you talk,

The winding stair-cafe and the cover'd walk:
You blend the orders with Vitruvian toil,
And raise with wond'rous joy the fancy'd pile
But the dull workman's flow performing hand
But coldly executes his lord's command.
With dirt and mortar foon you grow displeas'd,
Planting fucceeds, and avenues are rais'd,
Canals are cut, and mountains level made;
Bowers of retreat, and galleries of fhade;
The shaven turf presents a lively green;
The bordering flow'rs in myftic knots are feen:
With ftudied art on nature you refine-
The fpring beheld you warm in this design;
But fcarce the cold attacks your fav'rite trees,
Your inclination fails, and wishes freeze.
You quit the grove, fo lately you admir'd;
With other views your eager hopes are fir'd.
Post to the city you direct your way;
Not blooming paradife could bribe your stay;
Ambition fhews you power's brightest fide

'Tis meanly poor in folitude to hide,

nobleman poffeffed of the greatest abilities and the most amiable qualities. The friend and patron of the first writers of the times, and a patriot, upon whom no fufpicion ever fell that he acted but according to the dictates of his judgment. At a very advanced period of life, he was honoured with the title of an Earl, and died on the 16th of September 1775, at the age of 91 years,

Though

Though certain pains attend the cares of ftate,
A good man owes his country to be great;
Should act abroad the high diftinguish'd part,
Or fhew at least the purpose of his heart.
With thoughts like these the shining courts you seek;
Full of new projects for almost a week:
You then despise the tinfel glittering fnare;
Think vile mankind below a ferious care.
Life is too short for any distant aim;
And cold the dull reward of future fame :
Be happy then while yet you have to live;
And love is all the bleffing heav'n can give.
Fir'd by new paffion you addrefs the fair;
Survey the opera as a gay parterre :
Young Cloe's bloom had made you certain prize,
But for a fide-long glance from Celia's eyes:
Your beating heart acknowledges her power;
Your eager eyes her lovely form devour ;
You feel the poison fwelling in your breast,
And all your foul by fond defire poffefs'd.
In dying fighs a long three hours are past ;
To fome affembly with impatient haste,
With trembling hope, and doubtful fear you move,
Refolv'd to tempt your fate, and own your love:

But there Belinda meets you on the stairs,
Eafy her shape, attracting all her airs;

A fmile fhe gives, and with a smile can wound;
Her melting voice has mufic in the found;

Her

Her every motion wears refiftlefs grace;
Wit in her mien, and p'eafure in her face:
Here while you vow eternity of love,
Cloe and Celia unregarded move.

Thus on the fands of Afric's burning plains,
However deeply made, no long imprefs remains ;
The lighteft leaf can leave its figure there;
The strongest form is scatter'd by the air.
So yielding the warm temper of your mind,
So touch'd by every eye, fo tofs'd by wind;
Oh! how unlike the heav'n my foul defign'd!
Unfeen, unheard, the throng around me move ;
Not wishing praise, infenfible of love:

No whispers foften, nor no beauties fire;
Careless I fee the dance, and coldly hear the lyre.
So num'rous herds are driven o'er the rock;
No print is left of all the paffing flock:
So fings the wind around the folid stone :
So vainly beat the waves with fruitless moan.
Tedious the toil, and great the workman's care,
Who dare attempt to fix impreffions there:
But fhould fome fwain more skilful than the reft,
Engrave his name upon this marble breast,
Not rolling ages could deface that name;

Through all the ftorms of life 'tis ftill the fame :

Though length of years with mofs may fhade the ground, Deep, though unfeen, remains the fecret wound.

WHAT

To fix her joys, or to extend her pow'r ?

Their every wish was in this Mary seen,
Gay, witty, youthful, beauteous, and a queen.
Vain useless bleffings with ill conduct join'd!
Light as the air, and fleeting as the wind.
Whatever poets write, and lovers vow,
Beauty, what poor omnipotence haft thou!

Queen Befs had wisdom, council, power, and laws;
How few efpous'd a wretched beauty's caufe!

A play which the celebrated Philip Duke of Wharton conceived a defign of writing, but never executed. Mr. Walpole fays, no part of it remains but the following four lines:

"Sure were I free and Norfolk were a prisoner,
"I'd fly with more impatience to his arms

"Than the poor Ifraelite gaz'd on the ferpent,

"When life was the reward of every look."

Catalogue of Royal Authors, vol. ii. p. 134.

Learn

Learn thence, ye fair, more folid charms to prize,
Contemn the idle flatt'rers of your eyes.

The brightest object shines but while 'tis new;
That influence leffens by familiar view.
Monarchs and beauties rule with equal fway,
All strive to ferve, and glory to obey;
Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow-
Men mock the idol of their former vow.
Two great examples have been shown to-day,
To what fure ruin paffion does betray;
What long repentance to fhort joys is due ;
When reafon rules, what glory does enfue.
If you will love, love like Eliza then;
Love for amufement, like those traitors men.
Think that the paftime of a leisure hour
She favour'd oft-but never shar'd her pow'r.
The traveller by defart wolves purfu'd,
If by his art the savage foe's fubdu'd,
The world will ftill the noble act applaud,
Though victory was gain'd by needful fraud.

Such is, my tender fex, our helpless case ;
And fuch the barbarous heart, hid by the begging face.
By paffion fir'd, and not withheld by shame,
They cruel hunters are; we, trembling game.
Trust me, dear ladies, (for I know 'em well)
They burn to triumph, and they figh to tell:
Cruel to them that yield, cullies to them that fell.

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Believe