O'ertakes him, and with many a giddy whirl
To earth he falls, and at my feet expires.

When Autumn smiles, all beauteous in decay,
And paints each chequer❜d grove with various hues,
My setter ranges in the new-shorn fields,
His nose in air erect; from ridge to ridge
Panting he bounds, his quarter'd ground divides
In equal intervals, nor careless leaves

One inch untried. At length the tainted gales
His nostrils wide inhale; quick joy elates
His beating heart, which, awed by discipline
Severe, he dares not own, but cautious creeps
Low-cowering, step by step; at last attains
His proper distance; there he stops at once,
And points with his instructive nose upon
The trembling prey. On wings of wind upborne
The floating net unfolded flies, then drops,
And the poor fluttering captives rise in vain.
Or haply on some river's cooling bank,
Patiently musing, all intent I stand

To hook the scaly glutton. See! down sinks
My cork, that faithful monitor; his weight
My taper angle bends; surpriz'd, amaz'd,
He glitters in the sun, and struggling, pants
For liberty, till in the purer air

He breathes no more. Such are our pleasing cares
And sweet amusements; such each busy drudge
Envious must wish, and all the wise enjoy.

Thus, most illustrious Prince! have I presum'd, In my obscure sojourn, to sing at ease

Rural delights, the joy and sweet repast
Of every noble mind; and now perchance
Untimely sing, since from yon neighbouring shore
The grumbling thunder rolls, calm Peace alarm'd

Starts from her couch, and the rude din of war
Sounds harsh in every ear. But, righteous Heav'n!
Britain deserted, friendless and alone,

Will not as yet despair: shine but in arms,
O Prince! belov'd by all; patron profess'd
Of liberty; with every virtue crown'd ;

Millions shall crowd her strand, and her white cliffs,
As Teneriffe or Atlas firm, defy

The break of seas, and malice of her foes,
Nor the proud Gaul prevail where Cæsar fail'd.

THE BOWLING-GREEN.

WHERE fair Sabrina's wandering currents flow,
A large smooth plain extends its verdant brow;
Here every morn, while fruitful vapours feed
The swelling blade, and bless the smoking mead,
A cruel tyrant reigns: like Time, the swain
Whets his unrighteous scythe, and shaves the plain :
Beneath each stroke the peeping flowers decay,
And all the' unripen'd crop is swept away:
The heavy roller next he tugs along,
Whiffs his short pipe, or rears a rural song;
With curious eye then the press'd turf he views,
And every rising prominence subdues.

Now when each craving stomach was well-stor'd,
And Church and King had travell'd round the board,
Hither at Fortune's shrine to pay their court
With eager hopes the motley tribe resort;
Attornies spruce, in their plate-button'd frocks,
And rosy parsons, fat and orthodox :

Of every sect, Whigs, Papists, and Highflyers,
Cornuted aldermen and hen-peck'd squires ;

Fox-hunters, quacks, scribblers in verse and prose,
And half-pay captains, and half-witted beaus.
On the green cirque the ready racers stand,
Dispos'd in pairs, and tempt the bowler's hand;
Each polish'd sphere does his round brother own,
The twins distinguish'd by their marks are known.
As the strong rein guides the well-manag'd horse,
Here weighty lead infus'd directs their course :
These in the ready road drive on with speed,
But those in crooked paths more artfully succeed.
So the tall ship that makes some dangerous bay,
With a side wind obliquely slopes her way.
Lo! there the silver tumbler fix'd on high,
The victor's prize, inviting every eye!
The champions or consent or chance divide,
While each man thinks his own the surer side,
And the jack leads the skilful bowler's guide.
Bendo stripp'd first; from foreign coasts he
brought

A chaos of receipts, and anarchy of thought;
Where the tumultuous whims to faction prone,
Still justled monarch Reason from her throne:
More dangerous than the porcupine's his quill,
Inur'd to slaughter, and secure to kill.

Let loose, just Heav'n! each virulent disease,
But save us from such murderers as these.
Might Bendo live but half a patriarch's age,
The' unpeopled world would sink beneath his rage;
Nor need to' appease the just Creator's ire
A second deluge or consuming fire.

He winks one eye, and knits his brow severe,
Then from his hand launches the flying sphere;
Out of the green the guiltless wood he hurl'd,
Swift as his patients from this nether world;

Then grinn'd malignant, but the jocund crowd
Deride his senseless rage, and shout aloud.

Next, Zadoc, 'tis thy turn, imperious priest!
Still late at church, but early at a feast.
No turkey-cock appears with better grace,
His garments black, vermilion paints his face :
His wattles hang upon his stiffen'd band,
His platter feet upon the trigger stand,
He grasps the bowl in his rough brawny hand:
Then squatting down, with his grey goggle-eyes
He takes his aim, and at the mark it flies;
Zadoc pursues, and wabbles o'er the plain,
But shakes his strutting paunch, and ambles on in
vain;

For, oh! wide-erring to the left it glides,
The inmate lead the lighter wood misguides.
He, sharp reproofs with kind entreaties joins,
Then on the counter side with pain reclines,
As if he meant to regulate its course,
By pow'r attractive and magnetic force :
Now almost in despair, he raves, he storms,
Writhes his unwieldy trunk in various forms.
Unhappy Proteus! still in vain he tries
A thousand shapes, the bowl erroneous flies,
Deaf to his pray'rs, regardless of his cries:
His puffing cheeks with rising rage inflame,
And all his sparkling rubies glow with shame.
Bendo's proud heart, proof against Fortune's
frown,

Resolves once more to make the prize his own :
Cautious he plods surveying all the green,
And measures with his eye the space between :
But as on him 'twas a peculiar curse

To fall from one extreme into a worse,

Conscious of too much vigour, now for fear
He should exceed, at hand he checks the sphere.
Soon as he found its languid force decay,
And the too weak impression die away,
Quick after it he scuds, urges behind,
Step after step, and now, with anxious mind,
Hangs o'er the bowl, slow-creeping on the plain,
And chides its faint efforts, and bawls amain:
Then on the guiltless green the blame to lay,
Curses the mountains that obstruct his way;
Brazens it out with an audacious face,
His insolence improving by disgrace.

Zadoc,who now with three black mugs had cheer'd
His drooping heart, and his sunk spirits rear'd,
Advances to the trigg with solemn pace,
And ruddy hope sits blooming on his face.
The bowl he pois'd, with pain his hams he bends,
On well-chose ground unto the mark it tends:
Each adverse heart pants with unusual fear,
With joy he follows the propitious sphere:
Alas! how frail is every mortal scheme,
We build on sand, our happiness a dream!
Bendo's short bowl stops the proud victor's course,
Purloins his fame, and deadens all its force.
At Bendo, from each corner of his eyes,
He darts malignant rays, then muttering flies
Into the bower; there, panting and half dead,
In thick mundungus clouds he hides his head.

Muse! raise thy voice: to win the glorious prize, Bid all the fury of the battle rise.

These but the light-arm'd champions of the field,
See Griper there! a veteran well skill'd:
This able pilot knows to steer a cause

Through all the rocks and shallows of the laws;