To any Minifter or great Man.

Whether you lead the patriot band,

Or in the clafs of courtiers ftand,
Or prudently prefer

The middle courfe, with equal zeal
To serve both king and common-weal,
Your grace, my lord, or fir!
Know, minifter! whate'er your plan,
Whate'er your politics, great man,
You must expect detraction;
Though of clean hand and honeft heart,
Your greatnefs muft expect to fmart
Beneath the rod of faction.

Like blockheads, eager in dispute,
The mob, that many-headed brute,
All bark and bawl together,

For continental measures fome,

And tome cry, Keep your troops at home,"
And fome are pleas'd with neither.

Lo! a militia guards the land;
Thoufands applaud your faving hand,
And hail you their protector;

While thousands cenfure and defame,
And brand you with the hideous name
Of state-quack or projector.

Are active, vig'rous means preferr'd,
Lord! what harangues are hourly heard
Of wafted blood and treature!
Then all for enterprize and plot,
And, Pox o' this unmeaning Scot!'
If cautious be your measure.
Corruption's influence you despise;
Thefe lift your glory to the fkies,
Thofe pluck your glory down;
So ftrangely different is the note
Of fcoundrels that have right to vote,
And fccundrels that have none.

Ye then, who guide the car of flate,
Scorning the rabble's idle prate,
Proceed as ye defign'd;

In rugged ways, the reius and feeds
Alone the fkilful driver heeds,

Nor flays to cut behind.

Advies

Advice to the Marquis of RoCKINGHAM, upon a late cafion.

By an OLD COURTIER.

ELL may they, Wentworth, call thee young,

W What, hear and feel! fift right from wrong.

And to a wretch be kind!
Old statesmen would reverse your plan,
Sink, in the minifter, the man,
And be both deaf and blind!

If thus, my lord, your heart o'erflows,
Know you, how many mighty foes
Such weakness will create you?
Regard not what Fitzherbert fays,
For tho' you gain each good man's praife,
We older folks fhall hate you.

You should have fent, the other day,
G-k, the player, with frowns away;
Your fmiles but made him bolder ;
Why would you hear his ftrange appeal,
Which dar'd to make a statefman feel?
I would that you were older!

You should be proud, and feem difpleas'd,
Or you for ever will be teaz'd,

Your house with beggars haunted:
What, ev'ry fuitor kindly us'd?
If wrong, their folly is excus'd,

If right, their fuit is granted.

From preffing crowds of great and small,
To free youriclf, give hopes to all,

And fail nineteen in twenty:

What, wound my honour, break my word!
You're young again-You may, my lord,
Have precedents in plenty !

Indeed, young ftatefman, 'twill not do,

Some other ways and means pursue,

More fitted to your station!

T 4

What

What from your boyish freaks can spring?
Mere toys-The favour of your king,
And love of all the nation,

Dedication of the Second Edition of the Castle of Otranto, to the Right Hon. Lady MARY COKE.

But peevish Age, and gloomy Pride,
And churlish Avarice, dare divide

Thofe links, which, powerful, draw
To union dear, congenial loves:
The fire condemns what God approves,
And tyranny is law.

Far other maxims form'd our flate ;
All orders mix'd of low and great
Compos'd the harmonious frame.
Firm hath the mighty fabric flood,
And Britain boats her mingled blood,
In many a deathless name.

Free fhould the fons of freedom wed
The maid by equal fondness led,

Nor, heaping wealth on wealth,
Youth pine in age's wither'd arms,
Deformity polluting charms,

And fickness blasting health.

But houfe for houfe, and grounds for grounds,
And mutual blifs in balanc'd pounds,
Each parent's thoughts employ:
Thefe, fumm'd by Wingate's folid rules,
Let fools, and all the fons of fools,
Count lefs fubftantial joys!

And yet no niggard care confines,
The child indulg'd-Lo! India's mines
Flame in the daughter's drefs:
As gorgeous fhines the lavish fon;
-No luxury refus'd-but one,
Domestic happiness.

The victim comes in rich attire,
Dragg'd, trembling, by her ruthless fire:

Thy child, O monfer! fave;

Better the facrificing knife,

Plung'd in her bofom, end that life
Thy fatal paflion gave!

With torch inverted Hymen ftands,
The Furies wave their livid brands:
Wild Horror, pale Difmay:
Soft Pity drops the melting tear,
And lufiful Satyrs grinning leer,

Sure of their destin'd prey.

Compell'd,

Compell'd, the faltering priest flow ties
The knot of plighted perjuries,
For fpotlefs truth ordain'd.

More fitly had fome dæmon fell,
Some minister of fin and hell,
The facred rites profan'd.

Go, wedded pair! all blithe and gay,
Young virgins ftrew the flowery way,
And crown your feftal gate:
Invok'd the genial powers attend;
-So fhall a hapless line defcend,
Heir to your wretched fate.

TH

EVENING.

HE fun now fhoots a fainter ray,
And all things fpeak the ebbing day.
All on a hill's inviting fide,

Whole wealthy profpect ftretches wide,
I penfive fit, and all alone

Obferve calm even-tide come on.
The foaring lark has ceas'd her song,
Who fang fo fweetly all day long;
The hinds, their labour at an end,
With whistling footsteps homeward bend;
The fhepherd now within the fold
Secures his flock from harm and cold ;
The fmoke from village-tops is feen;
The fhadows lengthen crofs the green;
The herds now low in yonder vale;
The glow-worm fpreads its glift'ning tail;
A pleafing ftillness round me reigns,
Now fade from fight the hills and plains:
On didant fwampy heath I fee

A will-a-whifp-ah lucklefs he,
Who to next hamlet bends his way!
That glimple will lead him far aftray:

The fcreaming fcreech-owl ftrains her throat,

I fear her mifchief-boding note:

Now awful night has chang'd the fcene,
And gloom fucceeds the fweet ferene.
Hark! 'tis the tolling bell I hear,
It speaks too plain the paffing bier :

Denbys, near Darking in Surry.

From