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sad melancholy ev'ry visage wears;
What, no electior come in seven long years ?
* Of all our race of Mayors, shail Snow alone
Be by Sir Richard's dedication known
Our ítreeis no more with tides of ale shall Aoat,
Nor coblers feast three years upon one vote.

Next morn, twelve miles led o’erth’unbounded plains
Where the cloak'd shepherd guides his fleecy train ;
No leafy bow'rs a noon-day shelter lend,
Nor from the chilly dews at night defend:
With wondrous art, he counts the straggling flock,
And by the sun informs you what's a clock.
How are our shepherds fall’n from antient days!
No Amvryllis chaunts alternate lays;
From her no lift'ning echoes learn to fing,
Nor with his reed the jocund valleys ring.

Here sheep the pasture hide, there harveits bend, See Sorum's iteeple o'er yon bill ascend; Our horses faintly trot beneath the heat, And our keen ftomachs know the hour to eat. Who can forsake thy walls, and not admire The proud cathedral, and the lofty spire ? What sempitress has not prov'd thy sciffars good ? From hence frit came th' intriguing riding-hood. Amid + three b:arding-schools well stock'd with misses, Shall three knight-errants starve for want of kisses?

O'er the green turf the miles Nide swift away, And Plandford ends the labours of the da;.

* Sir Richard Steele, Member for Stockbridre, wrote a treatise called Tire Importance of Dunkirk consideied, and dedicated it to Mr. John Snow, Bailiff of Si ckbridge. + There are three boarding schools in this town.

The

The morning rose; the fupper reck’ning paid,
And our due fees discharg'd to man and maid,
The ready oftler near the stirrup stands,
And as we mount, our half-pence load his hands.

Now the steep hill fair Dorchester o’erlooks,
Border'd by meads, and wal’d by silver brocks.
Here sleep my two companions eyes fuppreit,
And p:opt in elbow chairs they snoring rett':
I weary fit, and with my pencil trace
Their painful postures, and their eyelefs face;
Then dedicate each glass to some fair name,
And on the fall the diamond fcrawls my Aame.
Now o'er true Roman way our horses found,
Grævius would kneel, and kiss the sacred ground:
On either side low fertile vallies lie,
The dilant prospects tire the travelling eye:
Through Bridport's fony lanes our rout we take,
And the proud steep descend to Morcombe's lake.
As herfes pass’d, our landlord robb'd the pall,
And with the mournful scutcheon hung his hall.
On unadulterate wine we here regale,
And strip the lobster of his scarlet mail.

We climbid the hills, when starry night arole,
And Axminter affords a kind repose.
The maid subdu'd by fees, her trunk unlocks,
And gives the cleanly aid of dowlas smocks.
Mean time our shirts her busy fingers rub,
While the soap lathers o'er the foaming tub.
If women's geer such pleasing dreams incite,
Lend us your smocks, ye dan fels, ev'ry night!
Werise, our beards demand the barber's art;
A female enters, and performs the part.

The

The weighty golden chain adorns her neck,
And three gold rings her skilful hand bedeck :
Smooth o'er our chin her easy fingers move,
Soft as when Venus stroak’d the beard of Jove.

Now from the steep, midit scatter'd farms and groves,
Our eye through Honiton's fair valley roves.
Behind us foon the busy town we leave,
Where finest lace industrious laffes weave,
Now swelling clouds rolld on; the rainy load
Stream'd down our hats, and smoak'd along the road,
When (O bleft fight!) a friendly sign we spy'd,
Our spurs are sacken'd from the horses fide ;
For fure a civil host the house commands,
Upon whose sign this courteous motto stands,
This is the antient hand, and eke the pen;
Here is for horlés hay, and meat for men.
How rhyme would fipurilh, did each son of fame
Know his own genius, and direct his flame!
Then he, that could not Epic flights rehearse,
Might sweetly mourn in Elegiac verle.
But were his Mufe for Elegy unfit,
Perhaps a Diftich might not strain his wit;

Epigram offend, bis harmless lines Might in gold letters swing on ale-house figns. Then Hobbinol might propagate his bays, And Tuttle-fields record his simple lays ; Where rhymes like these might lure the nurses eyes, While gaping infants squall for farthing pies. Treat here, ye shepherds blithe, your damsels sweet, For pies and cheesecakes are for damsels meet. Then Maurus in his proper sphere might fine, And these proud numbers grace great William's fign.

This

* This is the man, this the Nassovian, whom
I nam'd the brave deliverer to come.
But now the driving gales suspend the rain,
We mount our steeds, and Devon's city gain.
Hail happy native land! but I forbear,
What other Counties must with

envy

hear. * Blackmore's Prince Arthur, Book V.

EPISTLE

E P I S T L E

III.

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE.

WILLIAMPULTEN EY, ESQ.

pultner, methinks you blame m; breach of

word;
What, cannot Paris one poor page

afford ?
Yes, I can sagely, when the times are past,
Laugh at those follies which I strove to taile,
And each amusement, which we shar'd, review,
Pleas'd with mere talking, since I talk to you.
But how shall I describe in humble prose,
Their Balls, Assemblies, Operas, and Beaus?
In prose! you cry: Oh no, the Muse must aid,
And leave Parnassus for the Tui'lerie's shade;
Shall he (who late Britannia's city trod,
And led the draggled Muse, with pattens lhod,
Through dirty lanes, and alleys doubtful ways)
Refuse to write, when Paris asks his lays !

Well then, I'll try. Descend, ye beauteous Nine,
In all the colours of the rainbow shine,
Let sparkling stars your neck and ear adorn,
Lay on the blushes of the crimson morn,
Balls and
gay Assemblies

grace, And at the Opera claim the foremost place.

Trav'llers should ever fit expreffion chule, Nor with low phrase the lofty theme abufe.

When

So may ye

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